Art Nouveau Styled Composers🌹✨️

this is the face he drew

I have a lot of feelings about Ereinion Gil-galad Last High King of the Noldor

Kidnap fam

oh yea they’re kind of related this is so fucked up

and I have to admit it didn’t meant to go downhill like this when it was in my head

Preview for Lady of the Noldor - Noldoriel of Eregion (Part I)

Screams rang out in the courtyard as the panicked elves rushed about, desperate to go to the safety of their homes. Fear had taken a hold of Noldoriel’s heart as she glanced at the flaming spheres launched by the orcs slowly streaking towards Eregion. Her mind raced as she thought of all the times she’d spent here, the moments she’d shared with friends, with Erestor, Mirdania, Malendol, amongst others.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder. It was Annatar, returning to her side after issuing orders. Noldoriel whirled around to face him, a question burning in her eyes. “What if Mirdania was right?”

“About what?” Annatar’s head tilted sideways, his eyebrow raised.

“A few days ago, she told me,” Noldoriel began. “She told me she was resizing a Ring of Power, accidentally put it on. She saw a being of flame and darkness, reeking of death. That it had been here among us all along.”

After a moment of silence between them, Noldoriel spoke again. “What if she was right? The Deceiver had been among us all along?”

“What brings you to that conclusion?” Annatar questioned. Noldoriel didn’t miss the way his lip curled at the query.

“Things have been going wrong in Eregion of late,” Noldoriel responded. “Celebrimbor has become…more irritable. Consumed by making the Rings. This has never happened to him before. And I feel…I feel a strange malevolence in the air, even now. Something that has been there since, since…”

She looked at him, their eyes meeting. “Since you arrived.”

----

Comment your thoughts guys!

I’ve Got You (Elrond Peredhel, Rings of Power) – S1 Ep7

Author’s note: Technically Elrond x OC, but could be a reader insert if you block out the OC’s name 😉; she’s the daughter of Gil-galad and Princess of Lindon, Eleniel, she had gone to Eregion with Elrond earlier in the season; I write better with named characters (so I write with OCs); italic phases with “S.” denote the use of Sindarin, while “Q.” denotes the use of Quenya

Eleniel paced the floor of Celebrimbor’s forges anxiously as she waited for her husband to return. It had been days since Elrond left for Khazad-dûm, hoping to pay a visit to his friend, the Dwarven prince Durin. At least, that’s what Elrond told her.

Eleniel couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something would go wrong. Every second spent delving deeper into the recesses of her mind was another moment spent pacing in the forges. Someone cleared his throat behind her, snapping her out of her reverie.

“You’re going to wear a hole in my floor, ingaranel nin (S. my princess),” Celebrimbor mused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He wiped his brow before running a hand through his brown curls. “It’s Elrond, isn’t it? You worry for him.”

“Yes, Lord Celebrimbor,” Eleniel admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I know he’s just visiting Durin, but I can’t shake this feeling that I have. It’s not a good one.” Her blue eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lip, refusing to let them fall. The smith sighed before moving to stand by her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know you care for him, but all this worry…it’s not good for you. Look, you haven’t stopped pacing. I’m sure the young Peredhel wouldn’t want you to worry about him like this.”

“Well, he’s a hypocrite then, isn’t he?” Eleniel laughed, her voice hollow. “He wishes I do not concern myself about him, yet he keeps giving me reasons to worry.” Even till now, this was Elrond’s habit, and Eleniel only let him get away with it because of the adorable expression he’d flash at her every time she was about to admonish him.

“I suggest you take a break from pacing. Perhaps the view of Ost-in-Edhil from my study would do you well?” Celebrimbor suggested, already walking away and gesturing for Eleniel to follow. She did, the hem of her pale blue gown flowing behind her and sweeping the ground like leaves.

Celebrimbor was right, Eleniel told herself. At this time of day, Ost-in-Edhil was bustling with activity. The light of the setting sun bathed everything before her in hues of pink and gold. Truly, the capital city of Eregion was splendid.  Eleniel’s hands gripped the cool railing of the balcony, her eyes following the elves milling about below. Two elven children looked up at her, waving and flashing excited smiles, and she waved back, gracing them with a smile of her own.

Just then, a flicker of activity just not too far away from where the children had stood caught her eye. A figure approached the gates of Ost-in-Edhil, cloaked in what was supposed to be white, but his clothes were matted with dirt. Eleniel’s heart caught in her throat as she gazed at the figure.

Elrond was back.

Without a second thought, Eleniel turned and ran out of Celebrimbor’s study and down the stairs until she had reached the ground floor. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the forge tower, not caring as they slammed behind her. Running as fast as her feet would take her, she finally made it to the gates. The guards, recognising her, let her pass.

Eleniel threw her arms around Elrond, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “You’re home, meldanya (Q. my beloved), you’re home,” she murmured, her voice low enough only for his ears. When she pulled apart to gaze into those grey eyes she loved so much, she found them full of tears. “Elrond?” Eleniel asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m such a failure, ingaranel nin,” Elrond sniffled, hastily wiping his eyes, but more tears came. “I was so close! We could’ve gotten the mithril needed to save elvenkind, but…but I…”

“It’s okay, Elrond,” Eleniel said soothingly. Her hand cupped his face, her thumb wiping soot from his cheeks. She knew what had happened. Her sunshine had tried his best, but the dwarven king, Prince Durin’s father, had forbade any further mining for mithril. She’d suspected that the dwarven king would respond as such, but never did she expect that he would throw her beloved out like that.

Elrond sobbed silently. Eleniel grabbed his shoulders gently and steered them away from the gates. “Hush, Elrond, you did your best. No one will blame you, you tried,” Eleniel said softly, pulling her husband down to her height to kiss his forehead.

“I failed, Eleniel,” Elrond said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Now the elves will fade, all because of me.” He fished something out of his pocket, a small ore that gleamed in the light of the setting sun. “Durin gave me this, a small mithril ore. Such a small piece for all elvenkind, how can it even help?”

“It helps more than you know, Elrond,” Eleniel smiled at him, the kind of smile Elrond loved to see. “Celebrimbor will find a way, I’m sure of it. He’s only the best smith in all Middle-earth. How could he not?”

“The High King entrusted me with this,” Elrond sniffled once more, tears streaming silently down his face. “I failed him. How can I face him?”

“Listen to me, husband.” Eleniel’s voice was firm. Her fingers wiped the tears from his face, before brushing one of his brown curls behind his pointed ear. “You’ve done your best, and I’ll see to it that my father knows so. No one can blame you for King Durin’s response.” She hugged Elrond tight, and he returned her embrace, pressing a kiss into her fragrant hair. “Truly?” Elrond pulled away just enough to look into Eleniel’s blue eyes.

She nodded. “I’ve got you, Elrond. I’ve got you.”

Absolutely

I can't wait to see Elrond in battle. 🥵

The king’s place is where he is most needed. The Elves form ranks one last time.

Celebrimbor 😂

High King Gil-Galad: I have noticed something as of late, and I need to ask you something.

High Queen Merry: Yes, dear?

High king Gil-Galad: Why are you only wearing black?

High Queen Merry: It’s a thing we did in the world I am from, to wear black clothing while we are in mourning.

High King Gil-Galad: I should do the same.

High Queen Merry: You don’t have to.

High King Gil-Galad: I have too, I need to. I miss him, I mourn him, I loved him, I -

High Queen Merry: I know sweetheart, I know.

Alternatively,

Lord Celebrimbor: I AM NOT DEAD.

High Queen Merry: Sometimes I can still hear his voice.

wash away the blood | celebrimbor

gif by beaulesbian

this idea was WAY too good for my little brain to pass up. I'm gonna keep writing these regardless of what happens to him (I have 2 hurt/comfort fics for Celebrimbor in my drafts... let me know what else you want to see!) and this was born from my desire to hug Celebrimbor and never let go.

this still follows the elf reader for my past fic Ease and is a female reader + the prompt is ''river'' and ''blood'' (which I came up with myself LOL)

LIGHT SPOILERS FOR 2x07 READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

His entire being aches down to the very core of his soul. His hands are bloodied, and his cheeks are cut up and bruised, but Celebrimbor cannot help but allow himself this one moment of comfort as Galadriel stands in front of him and cradles his face like he is the most precious thing in this world.

The hearts of his kin were always far bigger than he could comprehend.

"I built this city. My place is here."

Galadriel shook her head. "No," She replied. "Your place is with her, far away from Sauron's influence. I will take The Nine for you. You dare not face him alone."

Like a being straight out of his dreams, Celebrimbor watches you emerge from the darkness of Eregion's ruins with all the desperation of a woman just trying to save the man she loves.

That is the promise you made to him, after all.

It was the one thing he could count on amid the illusion.

"Celebrimbor, my love," You slip your bow over your shoulders and approach him with haste, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him as he leans his weight into the warmth of your embrace. You have been an embodiment of safety and security since Annatar showed up. You had proven to him that despite his misgivings, his pride, and his arrogance, he was worth more than simply the skills he had to offer Middle Earth. "She's right. We have to go. I distracted Annatar enough that he'd be struggling to look for The Nine for a while. We have time to flee the city if we go now."

"Go to Lindon. You will be safe there," Galadriel assures. "Tell them it was I who sent you. I will buy you time."

You don't tell Celebrimbor that you've regained your memory of the spells you grew up learning or how you successfully kept yourself shielded from Sauron's manipulations. You don't tell him that the staff slung across your back is your own either. He will surely find out that you've regained your magical capabilities soon enough.

Your face crumples when you feel his hand come to cradle your jaw and find it slick with blood. His thumb is missing. You feel the weight of him sinking into you further and shifting to accommodate as you turn yourself and Celebrimbor toward Galadriel. She has no argument. The Commander of the Northern Armies simply nods her confirmation and disappears into the shadow and flame.

Celebrimbor's quiet, agonized confession echoes soundlessly in your ears as you lead the way toward the Dwarven tunnel.

"All that loss, all that death... And it all remains on my hands."

You don't have anything to say to him. Bracing your hand against his hip, you lead the Smith you love to the horse at the end of the tunnel and help him into the saddle first. He is barely conscious by the time you sit behind him and gently pull his body into your own so he will sit upright.

A quiet sigh breaks past your lips as you press your chin into his shoulder and allow silent tears to fall. Celebrimbor follows suit, swallowing the knot in his throat as tears fall down the blood on his cheeks.

He can only manage a strangled whisper of, "I love you." before your fingers are pressed against his stomach, murmuring in Quenya under your breath as he falls into unconsciousness.

***

The first thing Celebrimbor feels upon waking is warmth. His entire being is warm. The crackle of a fire echoes beside him as he slowly opens his eyes, greeted with a twilight sky and the gentle hum of a voice somewhere above him as fingers card through his hair.

He feigns sleep for another moment to bask in the moment. It is the first true moment of safety he has felt in weeks.

"Good morning, my love." You murmur. Celebrimbor forces his eyes open again to gaze upon your face and softens. You look the picture of beauty, even with your unkempt hair and ash and blood upon your cheeks. "You've been asleep for two days."

Well. That was mostly true. Sauron's influence had not fully lost its grip until you were well out of Eregion's reach, and in that time, he had attempted to attack you twice and had left bruises on you. You chalked it up to exhaustion and delirium. He would not. Celebrimbor would never forgive himself for it.

"I seem to be a mess," He said quietly. You pressed your hands against his shoulders and slowly helped him to sit up. The forest around you was quiet save for the chatter of creatures and bird song. There was no war to be seen for miles. "And here you are, taking care of me yet again."

"I love you. What happened in Eregion and what Sauron did does not change that." You said firmly. Reaching over him, you produce a bag of fruits and nuts you'd obtained earlier that morning while he slept. "I do however want you to try to eat."

He almost immediately complies, were it not for the shock of seeing his hand healed.

Celebrimbor's eyes snap to you in astonishment as he runs his other hand over where his injured thumb is. He remembered being in agonizing pain, remembered the gentle lull of your voice and the warmth of silver light engulfing him.

It was you.

"You..." His voice falters, leaving you an opportunity to interject if you so wish to. You did not dare. His voice had been taken from him for so long that you would never put him in a position where he could not speak his thoughts and feelings again. "It was mangled when we left Eregion. Bloodied. What did you do?"

You tap your circlet and wiggle your fingers. "I told you I have healing magic. It's just one thing I've remembered how to do." You said. "But I cannot heal weariness. That only comes with time."

Your eyes are fixated on his mouth as his tongue slides across one of the berries before disappearing behind his lips.

The air between you is thick with tension, electrified by your growing desire for him. He knows it. So do you, but you do not wish to overstep, especially when he is in this state. That is what prompts Celebrimbor to motion toward the river and then to his robes.

"I believe we are both in need of a cleansing. I am too weak to do it on my own." He states. Realization flickers behind your eyes as he sets the bag of food aside before gesturing for your hand. "Would you guide me to the river, My Lady?"

How are you supposed to say no when he's looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon in the sky, like you are an emissary sent straight from the Valar themselves, ever the image of true beauty?

Despite knowing you love him and he loves you, he still has such capacity to reduce you into a stuttering mess.

You nod wordlessly and stand to your feet. He's still hesitant to be in the open, as is expected, but there is something about your protection in Celebrimbor's most vulnerable moment that puts him at ease as you two trek the distance to the river.

It only occurs to you upon spotting its banks that this is the first time since you will see him fully unclothed. It's not like the massage when you met. It's more intimate. It's vulnerable.

"My love," Celebrimbor's voice breaks through your reverie as you step into the sand. "I believe I may need help removing these old things. I don't know what use they will be anymore. Can you assist me?"

You don't know why you're hesitating. You love him. He's made it clear he loves you too, and no one else in this world has ever made you feel so safe. He'd taken such good care of you when you arrived in Eregion. Alone and destitute, The Lord of the Elven Smiths had brought you under his wing as you sought out refuge from the world around you. From your lack of memories, from your lack of trust.

And then he'd shown you what pure love looked like. You had been his ever since.

"Lift your arms." You murmur low in his ear. Celebrimbor complies, wincing as the fabric grazes a wound on his side before he finds himself free of the confines of his robes. His underclothes do not fare much better. "I'm sorry, Celebrimbor."

"Whatever for? You are not to blame for this."

"I'm sorry that he inflicted such pain upon you. You have a kind and gracious heart that only wished to fulfill a legacy you feel is an expectation of being from the House of Feanör," You state as you slowly lead him into the water just enough to where it dips beneath your waist. You are still dressed in your own clothes. The armor you'd worn during the Siege has long been discarded. "And I'm sorry he used you as a means to his own end."

"I survived." He replies. You lean outward as his good hand catches your face, seeking out the warmth and comfort of a desired touch as his thumb traces your lips. "You were my only truth amid all the deceit."

You allow him to draw you to him as he bends his head to meet your mouth, sighing softly in response as you press your hands to his chest. It is a sweet and short kiss that conveys nothing short of Celebrimbor's gratitude that you have stood by his side throughout it all.

When you are the first to pull away, you bend down to cup your hands and fill them with water. "It'll be easier for me to wash your hair if you are kneeling. Would you?"

"Of course."

The next few minutes pass in silence as you wash the blood from his hair. The water of the river tinges red as you continue, working your fingers through his curls and deep against his scalp to ensure you have removed all of the dirt and grime that has settled there. He tips his head into your hands, at your total mercy, and allows his eyes to flicker across your aspect as you continue.

"Okay," You remark. "That is your hair. The rest-"

"I would very much like it to be your turn, My Love." He interjects. You raise a brow at his forwardness and laugh as his cheeks tinge pink. "If you'll allow it."

You turn your body toward him and lift your hair to allow him access to the fastenings of your clothing. You are just as bloodied as he is, skin smeared with orc and elf blood as you had spent the majority of your time during the Siege at the front when Elrond had shown up.

A shiver runs down your spine as Celebrimbors fingers graze the curve of your back, loosening each fastening before your shirt is loose and heavy with water. You nod your confirmation and watch it fly back in the direction of the shoreline where his robes sit.

You kneel and peer up at him through your hair. You're so glad he's here. You were so sure that Sauron was going to kill him before you could get back to the Tower.

''Hey, hey. What are these tears for?" He asks, urgency and concern lingering in his tone as he kneels to meet you in the water.

"I thought-" You swallow your fear and screw your eyes shut as your forehead seeks his own. Celebrimbor softens. He's always admired your ability to be vulnerable with him. To let him see your heart in a way no one else ever has. "I thought Sauron was going to kill you. Kill you, make me watch-"

He'd thought the same thing.

Celebrimbor runs his fingers over the bruises on your cheeks before shaking his head. "You and Galadriel made me see reason. You got me out. You took care of me and tended to my wounds. No one else would have been able to break through his influence like you did. And now that we are here?" You open your eyes and sigh as water descends through your hair and down your neck. "Let us be cleansed of Him."

So that's exactly what happens. Minutes feel like hours as you keep him afloat atop the water and help him wash his body of the war you have left behind. Even though Celebrimbor struggles, he does the same to you, cradling you with such a tenderness that it makes your heart ache.

When you are both cleansed, you stop him from returning to the shore with a kiss that takes his breath away. He is only just able to return the kiss with equal fervor when he manages to get your feet out from beneath you and topples you into the water.

Laughter echoes in the air as you sink below the water before you pull yourself back up, flabbergasted that he'd pulled such a move.

Then you see why.

Celebrimbor is smiling.

He may not be as whole as he once was, oh no, but he's still the most beautiful person you know. That soul is so gentle despite all he has endured.

Precious.

"You're staring."

You snap to attention at his remark and grin. You can't help it. "I love you." You reply. His response is immediate: That smile you love so much as he slowly chases you through the water with all the strength you both can muster before you both collapse on the boulder where your clothes are drying.

It is there in the light of the sun with you wrapped in his embrace that he finds the courage to ask the question.

Sauron has no influence here. Not anymore.

"Will you marry me?"

Domestic headcanons: sleeping, RoP edition (pt. 1)

(Disclaimer: I know canonically instead of sleeping elves have those long nightly meditations, but I personally prefer that fan-made version where they can do without sleep/food etc. for way longer then mortals, but this would drain their strength and eventually they'd have to rest either way, so it's better for them to actually have at least some sleep every night)

Elrond

The fandom has collectively decided him to be an early bird, which makes sense considering how much work he has all the time. He would totally be awake at 5-6 a.m., he gets straight out of bed immediately into busy mode. A side-effect of that, considering him being a peredhel - he gets drowsy pretty early in the evening, and if by 11 p.m. he isn't in bed his brain would just stop braining a.k.a. ping goes over 99999 (Gil-Galad find this hilarious). He might pull an all-nighter if duty really demands, but he needs some excessive rest afterwards. He has some nightwear in his wardrobes somewhere, however more often that not he would just kick his day-clothes off and climb in bed as is. Also he sleeps like a cat: gets all his limbs tangled in blankets, kicks in his sleep and drools on pillows.

Gil-Galad

The High King loves comfort and luxury in everything, including his sleep. He has a Huge bed with tons of pillows of different sizes and levels of softness, which he arranges around himself so that not a single muscle would be sore in the morning. He falls asleep immediately and takes some time to wake, allowing himself to wallow for a little while. He has several very well-made and expensive night gowns of finest silk and he manages to sleep so still that they never wrinkle. He also absolutely doesn't snore. Ever.

Galadriel

Considering her boiling nature and how much she has traveled, lady Galadriel is the one who could sleep anywhere and in any conditions. When life gets frantic she would catch as much naps as she can: 15 minutes seated on a windowsill before a meeting, half-an-hour in a tree while others are busy with her bidding, an undefined short break on an ottoman in High King's waiting room while he's somewhere doing something - not to mention how she can fall asleep in any levels of noise around her, but to wake at the slightest wrong sound. Sleepwear is for softies, when it comes to Galadriel, just as sore muscles.

Arondir

As much as he gets used to sleep in barracks or on the road, sometimes he just longs for a soft mattress. Doesn't need to be royal-quality, just a bed that's simple but nice. He gets something sore in the morning no matter what position he takes before falling asleep. Arondir tries his best to hold on to a sleeping pattern, especially when he isn't stationed in the Southlands anymore (it's a bit easier when you're a part of a group of soldiers who all follow same rules as a unit), but he has to fight the fact that he's completely and utterly a night owl, resulting in perpetual feeling of not sleeping his full. Secretly he'd be over the moon of someone gifted him a stuffed toy to hold at night.

Celebrimbor

The smith only has two modes of existence: when he is in the middle of a project he could not sleep at all for several days or nap for a little while just to keep going, but when he doesn't have any immediate work that fills all of his mind - he would very much enjoy late-night social gatherings and entertainments to try and force himself to wake anywhere earlier than mid-day. His room is a total mess, which includes the bed that used to be luxurious when first bought but now has mountains of random stuff hoarded upon and beside it (which also makes it difficult to change bedsheets, and he tends to get angry and annoyed at his servants if any of thousands of his papers are moved, even though he himself could forget of them for months). Celebrimbor's sleep is generally erratic, he can wake up in the middle of the night and just get up because he has a new brilliant idea, and just the same if he suddenly gets bored in the middle of doing something - he'd drop everything, lie on the nearest couch, cover his face with a random book and snooze away.