Oh My God

Morgoth hated the Feanorians. Or no, that's not quite it. He hated the Finwëans, he loathed them.

The whole line of Finwe had his hatred (and the hatred of Sauron as well, but that's a bit different pice of cake).

He hated them because that whole lineage, from Finwe himself to his very last descendants were the only ones of this world who could look him in the eyes and stand straight, to oppose him.

(Because Luthien doesn't count, now does she? She wasn't fully of the Eldar after all, no. She was other, and half. But the line of Finwe had no such advantages!)

Morgoth hated and feared them, thought not in ways that often could be perceived.

He saw weak, worthless elves who could look at him and say 'you are nothing'. Elves who could look the Darkness into the eyes and burn brighter, bright enough to banish the shadows.

Finwe, who stood between him and the Silmarils (Morgoth was wrong, Finwe wasn't protecting the Silmarils only). The High King of the Noldor who knew he will die and died with his head high and back unbroken, with eyes fearless and blood boiling with fire (where did you think Feanor got it from huh?).

Feanor, who slammed the door in his face, who spat and ragged and could not be contained. Feanor who he manipulated but couldn't corrupt. Feanor who lost only due to himself, whose death was his own no matter what Morgoth would give to be able to say that the Spirit of Fire was his at the end.

Maitimo, Maedhros, who endured torment and torture, humiliation and agony under which any other would break. Nelyafinwe who was rescued and came back, making himself the wall and shield between Morgoth and the whole world. Russandol who died by his own hand, because of his own pain and his own mind, his own actions. He who was never Morgoths, even at his lowest.

Maglor, a singer of such renown and talent one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a Maia. Makalaure who bend the reality in ways that should have been impossible to the elves and that were alien to Ainur. Kanafinwe who walks upon Middle Earth, enduring through his pain because it is his, his crimes, his mind, his hands. He is his own.

Celegrom who was hild, of the forest and rivers and streams, of the Hunt. Turcafinwe who rode against dark beasts and hunted in Oromes train long before Morgoths was released. Tyelkormo the Fair, the Cruel, master of his own soul, untamed and free as the wind. He who looked upon the shadows and walked right through them, he who looked at it and grinned with blood on his mouth and said at it 'i am better'.

Caranthir, never seen or heard but always there. Morifinwe who walked the thin line of Dark and Light with ease seen in none other before. Carnistir who burned with cold fire and walked in the shadows of others with skill unparalleled. He who was called The Dark, and he who carried that name with grace of the night sky. Unbending, master of his own life.

Curufin, so like his father and yet so different. Atarince who instead of jewels made draggers, he who forged armour that somehow was as unbreakable as the house that wore it. Curufinwe, The Crafty they called him, not knowing how close to the truth they were. He burned brightly, which made it all more tragic when he met his own end.

Ambarussa, one never without the other, red hair as the fire raging within. Amrod and Amras, wild as Celegrom, yet as silent as Caranthir. They who were twins, one an extension of the other. They who were so like their brothers, while being entirely different. They who burned the hottest.

I think Glorfindel would act cool and confident around his crush, making it known he’s into you by looking for reasons to hang around/talk to you. He’ll just let those encounters slide into a relationship overtime, with him having already taken you out several times before he finally puts the label “date” in front of it. After all, he sees no reason to rush. He knows you’ll end up together eventually so he has no problem just coasting into it. 💛

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits)

Part 2

He had no intention of doing so at all.

But those obligations never ceased.

No sooner had Gil-galad left Linnea’s side - looking back over his shoulder once and very nearly turning around again, seeing her standing there alone and uncertain - but that Elrond was back. They were drawn into a hasty conference with the surviving Lindon soldiers; he had to arrange defense for both what was left of Eregion, as they continued to search for survivors, and for the northern valley. They would all be spread too thin, but the valley was well-positioned. Along with the Elven rings, it would be enough.  

And they were modestly supplemented by Eregion’s forces as well, those that had made it through the battle. He sent two soldiers to Linnea; it was a diversion of resources that he could admit to himself would have been better spent elsewhere, but that beast inside him that had been awoken would not rest until it knew she was protected. If he could not stay close to her, warriors who had survived the siege were acceptable substitutes.    

And as the hours passed, as the sun crawled its way across the sky, as he left Eregion and rode north, and sat and waited for Galadriel to awaken, the certainty settled within him. 

He would court Linnea properly, he promised himself. She deserved that. But the conclusion of it was already as clear to him as day: this was his wife, this was his queen. He knew that with every fiber of his being, and yet, part of him still struggled to believe. 

He still wondered if he might wake up from this dream any moment. 

And he could only assume that Linnea felt the same; she had gone from the peace of Eregion to the tumult of battle to the loss of her family to finding her lifemate - who happened to be the High King of the Noldor - in a matter of days. The world had to feel as though it spun madly beneath her feet and she was moments away from falling.

He should do something about that. But it would have to wait, as Galadriel finally stirred.

As the sun set, the valley was full of stars. 

Golden stars, small campfires in the night, as the exhausted survivors finally found rest. Makeshift shelters had been erected, cobbled together from the army's supplies and what had been recovered from Eregion, and it would do well enough until the morning when they would leave for Lindon.

Some of them. Some would stay, under Elrond’s leadership. The valley was a promising place to raise a new stronghold, and it would be needed for the fights to come. Gil-galad had chosen the sword, but he would not neglect the shield; they would need to fortify their defenses as well as muster new offense. 

Linnea was seated on a small stool in front of one of the campfires as Gil-galad approached, watching a kettle that had been hung over the flames. He was glad to see that she was clean, and had found clothing as well - he suspected her own, recovered from the rubble. The simple dark blue dress fit her well, and the style suited her. 

There was much and more to do. But one task asserted itself over all else, as the camp grew quiet.  

She rose as he stepped into the circle of light, leaving his guard just outside it. His steps had been unerring; the soldier acting as quartermaster had been able to give him a basic location, but his feet had known where to go.

Or perhaps it was his heart. 

Her smile was beautiful as she saw him, and the Two Lamps could not have been brighter.

He couldn’t stop himself. He was at her side before he quite knew what he’d done, sliding his arms gently around her waist - and it was like drawing a young willow to himself, slender and supple, her body curving pliantly against him to fit with him perfectly. Her hands rested on his upper arms and he leaned his forehead down to meet hers and closed his eyes, and he wished that the moment might never end, that he might simply stay right there for the rest of eternity. 

“Linnea,” he whispered. “My lady.”

His lady, and he could tell she’d noticed. She pulled back slightly, making sure to meet his eyes, and murmured back to him. “My King.”

That pleased the great beast. 

He took her hands, bringing them to his lips for a more lingering kiss than that first time - a promise of what was to come, and a reminder that they were in this together. But even as he did, he kept his eyes on hers, hoping that they would say everything that he hadn’t had time for yet. 

“I have heard you are to depart in the morning,” she said quietly.

He nodded, keeping hold of her hands between them. “I leave at first light, with the bulk of our forces. We travel at speed to fortify Lindon. But there are those who will remain - those who are too injured to travel as yet, or those who will begin the work of building here. Many of the survivors of Eregion will stay. And that is why I have come - to learn your will, my lady.”

“My will?”

She looked confused, and he couldn’t blame her; he was fumbling, dancing around the offer he did not want to make. He had spoken of Lindon earlier, and she had seemed to agree, but that had been before the plans for the valley had been laid. Perhaps she would prefer, at least for a time, to stay with the people she knew. Her entire life had been uprooted, and as much as he wanted her by his side, immediately, it was perhaps more than he could fairly ask.

But he would not know unless he did ask.

“It is your choice,” he said softly. “Should you wish to stay for now, I will not stand in your way. I promised you that there would be time, and so there shall be, no matter where we find ourselves.”

The confusion faded from her face, but uncertainty was left in its wake. He saw her lips tremble, felt a shiver run through the hands he still held. 

“Then - you do not want me to come with you?” 

He cursed himself for a fool. Clearly, he knew even less of courtship than he’d thought, to have spoken so clumsily. Everything had been ripped away from her; he owed it to her to leave nothing unsaid, nothing that was not plain when it came to him. Especially when it had all happened like this, when they had met and fallen before a single word had been exchanged. 

“I would have you with me always,” he murmured, breaking the bonds on his tongue and his heart. “Yes, lady. I would have you come with me now, I would have you begin to make your home in Lindon as soon as may be done. But mine is not the only will, and it is your choice.” 

Linnea took a deep breath. She looked reassured, and he ran his thumbs gently over the backs of her hands.

“I would like more time to sort through the shop,” she said softly. “A few days, if that is possible. If I am to live in Lindon now, I would not leave anything behind that might be saved.”

It made sense, as much as it made the beast inside him growl at the thought of being separated. There was no way he could linger; the best he could do was to ensure that she would be able to travel to Lindon. He offered her a gentle smile, stroking her hands again.

“I understand. I shall leave an escort with you, that you might come safely when you are ready…melethel.”

It was an endearment that he had never spoken, not in two thousand years. It felt strange on his tongue and at the same time, the most natural thing in the world. And he saw it strike home, more than embrace or touch or glance had yet done - she heard the truth in his voice. 

“Very well,” she said. “But keep yourself safe as well, meleth nín. For me.”

Meleth nín. Beloved. Never had he thought those words would pass another's lips, for him, and the urge to kiss her flared up. He squashed it again, promising the great beast soon, soon.

“I will exercise the utmost care,” he promised. “And I shall count the moments until you arrive. Were you able to save much from your workshop thus far?”

“A few things,” she said softly. “Some yarns that my mother had spun and dyed. Some of my father's tools. I have hope that there may be more. But the looms were all crushed beyond any thought of repair.”

“We shall commission new, from whichever crafter in Lindon you choose,” he said. “And you shall have a workshop to do with as you will.”

She smiled. The grief had returned to her face with the mention of her parents, but it did not dim her beauty in the slightest. “My lord is kind.”

“My queen deserves nothing less.”

Her eyes widened, and he had to make an effort to stop himself from gulping. Yes, they both knew what was happening, that was plain but still - he cursed himself for a fool once more, he should have waited, should have made it more special, kept his promise to court her and then asked her to wed properly instead of blurting it out like a child -

Her smile didn't change. But tears sparkled in her blue eyes, spilling over and down her cheeks - but when he went to wipe them away, she tightened her hold on his hands.

“I never thought,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “I never thought - and then for it to be you, I…”

He pulled his hands free, cupped her beautiful face in his palms, and kissed her.

Sunlight exploded in his veins at the touch of her lips, and if he'd thought that her face was the softest thing in Arda, it was nothing to compare to this. He felt her arms slide around his neck, clinging to him, and he wrapped his around her slim waist to hold her tight. Yes, this - not the moment and yet exactly the moment, this little campfire in the night. His guard only a few feet away and none of it mattered, absolutely none of it. Not when he'd finally found her.

And soon, soon, there would be much more. 

He drew back slightly, contenting himself for now with those few earth-shattering seconds. Linnea’s eyes were hazy, filled with desire, and…oh, and.

“Verinín,” he whispered. It wasn't a question; it was a statement, as if he had asked properly. But perhaps he had; perhaps it had been asked, and answered, when their eyes had met that very first time. 

Betrothed.

They were interrupted by the merry clatter of Linnea's kettle finally coming to a boil, and she left his embrace to tend to it. He watched, eyes lingering over her figure with love, as she lifted the iron pot from the fire and set to making the tea.  

He would deprive her of none of the ceremony, if that was what she wanted. He would have a betrothal ring waiting for her by the time she arrived in Lindon, and then they could talk about it. If she wanted a betrothal feast, he would heartily grant it; if she wanted to wait the full traditional year before the wedding, he would find the patience. A year would be gone in the blink of an eye…and yet, his body burned at the thought of that wedding, the real wedding. Not the feast where they would exchange blessings, invoking the names of the Valar and of Eru. Not even trading the silver betrothal rings for golden ones. 

No. 

After their friends and kin had departed, after they were alone in his - their - bedchamber. Linnea in his bed, his to love, his to wed through the union of their bodies. The act that truly made a marriage for their people, that which was only to be shared with their lifemate. He would be her first and her only; she would be the same for him.

It was not the nature of Elves to dwell on the physical. Gil-galad had not pined for that aspect of marriage; he had more longed for the idea of a partner, a queen, someone to share his life with. But faced with the thought, the reality that he would have all of it - yes, that was ample spark to set his skin alight. 

“Would you like some?” she asked, stirring him from his thoughts. “I often enjoy this tea at night before retiring.”

He stepped closer, intending to accept her offer. The aroma of the tea was pleasant - something herbal, earthy, soothing - and as it hit his nose, his vision clouded over.

“Ereinion. Come.”

He smiles, replacing his quill in the inkpot. The smell alone had told him that their evening tea was done steeping, but he never grows weary of his queen’s voice speaking his name. 

He rises from his desk. Linnea is by the fireplace, lying back in the lounging chair he had specially commissioned for her. The kettle that hangs above the hearth is worked steel, engraved and beautiful in addition to functional. The cups are fine too, elegant porcelain, painted with the golden leaves of the great Tree. For a moment his vision blurs, he sees durable iron and simple clay, but then those memories of the past are gone.

She smiles up at him, lying back and stretched out. Her hair is loose around her, a riot of chestnut waves cascading over her blue nightrobe. It is cold outside, snow swirling on the other side of the window, but in the light of the fire, Linnea’s skin glows, her cheeks pink, her bare feet peeking from below her robe. 

He sits down next to her, in the more traditionally-made chair, letting out a sigh of contentment. Linnea turns over on her side to be able to see him, and as she does, her nightrobe moves, revealing the proud curve of her stomach beneath her creamy silk shift. And before he takes his cup, he reaches out, gently running his hand over their child.

“My lord?”

He shook his head, coming back to himself. The vision was fading, and he stared down at Vilya on his hand. The ring’s power had unlocked his foresight, showing visions of the future, but seldom had they been so clear. More often there had been fleeting images, flashes, cloaked in metaphor that he was forced to try and puzzle out. 

But this had been as if he was really there. He could still feel the warmth of the fire on his skin, the faint hint of cold through the window. 

He could still see Linnea, reclining back in her chair. Lovely, warm, pregnant. Carrying their child.

For a moment, he considered telling her, explaining. But that was a much longer conversation than he had time for this night. And there was something else he could say to her instead, something much closer to now.

“Ereinion,” he murmured. “My name is Ereinion. And it would please me to hear you use it.”

Few enough called him by his name, these days. And Linnea’s expression said she was unsure; he understood, it had been so fast between them, there had not been much time at all for her to adjust the High King in her mind to include just him. 

But she licked her lips, and met his gaze, and smiled. “Ereinion.” 

It sounded just as lovely as it had in the vision, and nothing would do for it but for him to kiss her again. 

He could savor it more, that time. He could cherish the feel of her in his arms, the sensation of her fingers cupping his face and threading through his hair. The softness of her lips and the taste of her mouth; would he ever grow used to it? As the centuries passed, Valar and Eru willing, would it feel different? He prayed not.

He felt her back off, but only slightly - and his eyes were still closed, but he felt her smile against his lips.

“If that is my reward for saying your name, I fear I shall wear it out,” she whispered. “Ereinion.”

He laughed, his lips still brushing hers. “Never, my lady,” he vowed, finally opening his eyes. “Never.”

But as much as Gil-galad did not wish it, the hand of time was marching forward, and he had more to do that night before he could find rest. He sighed, stepping back and once more taking her hands.

“I must go,” he murmured. “I am sorry. But I promise you, in Lindon, there will be time for us.”

She stepped forward, following him, and released one of his hands. In the next moment, hers was over his heart, and he reached up to hold it there. And he could swear there was a warmth coming from it that penetrated even his breastplate, reaching down into his very soul. 

“I understand,” she whispered. “It is not so long to wait. And you are worth it.”

He had no idea as to what he had done to merit this gift, but it had been given to him. And he was not foolish enough to refuse it, or to do aught but hold it tight. 

“Travel safely, melethel. For you carry my heart with you.” 

“And you mine.” She stretched up on her tiptoes, giving him one final kiss. “Ereinion.”

TBC...

Casual census: Reblog if you are in the Silmarillion fandom

I just want to see how many of us there are out there

Oh Elrond…

yes!

How I’m guessing the romance starts between these two:

Celebrían: according to lore

[Elrond swoons]

really kind as summer

“Just. Tell me I am wrong. That I’m mistaken or— Tell me if— Tell me I have overstepped.”

Fanart for my Elrond fic because why not? — Read it here! AO3 | Tumblr

Elrond has mad main character energy for a dude that shows up only in the background of other people’s stories. I mean think about it:

Orphaned during the “cruelest of the slayings of Elf by Elf” and raised by the guys that destroyed his people and drove his mother to her death*

Dad spends his time flying a magical star-ship around and slew Ancalagon the Black, the biggest dragon ever to live

Child of unusual blood (part Elf, part Man)

Got to choose his destiny (mortal vs. immortal)

Child of the union of two of the most noteworthy bloodlines of the Noldor and the Sindar (Finwe’s line through Earendil; Thingol’s line through Elwing)

Tragically loses his twin brother to making the opposite choice vis-a-vis destiny

Power of foresight

Great-grandchild of Luthien Tinuviel and Beren

Member of the court of Gil-Galad, last high king of the Noldor in Middle-earth

Builds his own retreat for Elves which becomes one of the last Elven settlements in Middle-earth

Bearer of a ring of power

Marries Celebrian daughter of Galadriel, arguably the only one of Finwe’s grandchildren to survive to the Third Age**

Loses Celebrian when she sails West to preserve her life after being captured by Orcs

Was present at the War of the Last Alliance; likely saw Gil-Galad get killed

And yet he’s never the star of the show, but the playing a supporting role. In some ways he might prefer this, but it is a bit funny I think because in any other story a dude with this backstory would definitely be the main character.

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?"

Durin will come

The Rings of Power 2.07. Doomed to Die.