Elrond X Oc - Blog Posts

Overzealous Herald (Elrond Peredhel, Rings of Power)

Author's note: Written with my OC Eleniel but can be a reader insert too

Summary: Elrond is an overzealous herald, and some day, he burns out. His darling wife nurses him back to health.

As the daughter of High King Gil-galad, Eleniel knew the pressure was on for her to maintain a graceful and elegant front as the Princess of Lindon. She knew the pressure of the court, to live up to everyone's expectations, but never in her life had she seen someone so...committed to it as Elrond was.

She knew that he always felt inferior, due to his half-elven heritage. Many a night, she had spent with him in their bed, reassuring him that he was more than enough as she pressed soft kisses to his shoulders. But it seemed that she had failed to actually convince him.

She saw the emotion he hid behind his perpetually lingering smile and his sweet words. Deep down, Eleniel knew one thing.

Elrond wasn't okay.

----

"Elrond," Eleniel spoke as she entered his study, shutting the door gently behind her. He was bent over his desk, scribbling madly, a fire burning in his eyes as his quill scratched the parchment. On the ground, she saw several broken quills, no doubt swept away in anger.

"What?" Gone was the shy, sweet herald she'd fallen in love with. In his place was a tone of vindictiveness, pent up anger. Eleniel was a little taken aback by his tone of voice, but she needed to get around whatever it was Elrond was experiencing this time.

"Elrond," she spoke softly, fiddling with a lock of her long hair. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer her. Eleniel could hear her heart shattering, but she ignored the pain and continued to linger in his study. She moved closer to his desk, her steps feather-light, and reached out to pick up a particular document to read it.

Almost like lightning, his hand shot out to catch hers. Elrond snatched the document out of her hands and slammed it on the desk so hard the quills rattled in their inkwells.

"Leave it," he growled.

Eleniel's blue eyes widened at his words. What had happened. "Elrond, I-"

Her sweet herald snapped. "If you have nothing to say, leave!" He got out of his chair, grey eyes blazing and a stray strand of brown hair falling in front of his face. Elrond was glaring back at her, his eyes ablaze with a fury she'd never seen.

However, he saw Eleniel's eyes, blue like the boundless sea. They were wide open, perhaps with shock and a little fear. Instantly, Elrond's eyes softened, and he took a step towards his wife. "Melda, I...I apologise," he murmured, his eyes downcast. "I don't know what came over me, I..."

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes, and before he knew it, they started cascading like pearls broken from a chain down his cheeks. Eleniel's heart clenched and she pulled him into her embrace.

"Talk to me, Elrond. What's happening?"

"I...I push myself too hard..." he sniffled, burying his face in her shoulder. "It's my fault...all of it."

"I hear them talk, you know," he continued, "that I'm not worthy of you, not even worthy of being here, because I'm a peredhel. I'm trying to prove them wrong."

Eleniel pressed a kiss to his forehead, and pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. The beautiful grey eyes she so loved. "Elrond," she sighed, "you don't need to prove yourself to anyone. If those...idiots cannot see that you're more than your heritage, the fault lies with them and their poor judgement."

"You think so?"

"I know so, Elrond," Eleniel agreed firmly. "Your kindness and sincerity far surpass any flattery the courtiers utter. You're genuine, you love helping others no matter who they are...need I go on?"

She pulled him to her again. "Okay, I'm officially relieving you of your duties for the rest of the week. You're to take a break, away from your work."

Elrond looked up at her, unintentionally flashing those puppy eyes. "What about the High King?"

Eleniel laughed. "Whatever objections the High King has, he can run them by me, because my lovely herald needs a break!"

She tackled him to the ground, pressing kisses to any inch of him she could reach, namely his face. Elrond laughed as he felt a knot in his chest unravel.

He needed this. To heal, to rest. As he looked down at his wife, still kissing him fervently, he knew something.

Elrond had all he needed right here.

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.”

🌸 How Do You Hold A Moonbeam In Your Hand 🌸

(Chapter 3: Navigating & Negotiations)

GIF by elronds-pointy-ears / Divider by olenvasynyt / Support by saradika

Pairings: Elrond Peredhel / OC (Isilmë, daughter of Gil-galad)

Summary: Continuing where we last left them, Elrond and Isilmë find themselves navigating the murky waters between propriety and their undeniable attraction to one another…

Warnings: None. Complete and utter fluff.

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: 🌸

Word Count: 2.6k

Isilmë’s little sailboat drifted leisurely into a secluded cove, the water calm and glittering, like liquid sapphires under the midday sun. Towering white cliffs framed the shoreline, their jagged slopes softened by lush greenery and the dusting of bright yellow flowers. A small inlet lay waiting just beyond the shallows, covered in glittering iridescent sand. 

It was the perfect place to drop anchor, take in the sun, and enjoy a humble picnic. Isilmë finished tying off the sail, and sprawled luxuriously across the stern. Tilting her face towards the sun, she exhaled a self-satisfied sigh. 

“Now this is a perfect day,” she declared, beginning to undo the clasps below her neckline.  

Elrond, who had been diligently tying off the remainder of the ropes, glanced over just as she pulled her tunic over her head, revealing the cropped linen shift beneath. He opened his mouth, then promptly closed it as she loosened her belt and shimmied out of her loose linen trousers, leaving her in nothing but her small clothes.  

She caught his eye and smirked. “Something the matter?”  

Elrond turned back to secure the boat with measured focus. “No, nothing, nothing at all,”  

Still reclined across the sun-soaked planks like a wild sea spirit, Isilmë propped herself up on her elbows. The sea breeze tugged her long silver hair as she basked, eyes closed, savoring the warmth of the sun on her skin.  

“Isn't this nice?” she mused, rippling the water with her fingertips, as her arm hung lazily over the edge. After a pause, she added casually, “You should remove your tunic too, mellon nîn, it's stifling,”  

Elrond, all too aware of just how little she was wearing, exhaled sharply. “I’m quite comfortable, thank you, Princess,”  

“Are you?” Isilmë hummed, resting her cheek against her palm as she watched him work. “Because you seem a little… tense.”  

“I wonder why…” Elrond grumbled under his breath, finishing his task with a sharp tug of the rope.  

Isilmë chuckled, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Elrond,”  

He turned. Hesitant. Expecting more teasing from her. But for a moment, she only looked at him, really looked at him. Her typical playful expression softened…slightly, blue eyes sparkling like the deepest depths of the bay.  

“Relax,” her voice was softer now, a touch of sincerity slipping through the mischief. “Enjoy this with me, if only for a little while.”  

Elrond held her gaze a moment longer before breaking away, exhaling a slow, measured breath. Then, much to her surprise, he slowly began to gather his tunic. Pulling it over his head, he folded it neatly and lowered himself onto the stern beside her. 

For an elf with such a lithe frame, his chest was well-defined. Isilmë watched as a bead of sweat traveled down his neck, along the firm planes of his chest, following the soft surface of his waist, until finally it disappeared beneath the hem of his trousers.

She swallowed hard. Then, after recovering some level of decorum, grinned impishly. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  

Elrond gave her a pointed look, then, without warning, shifted his weight to one hand and, with the other, gave her a solid shove. With a startled gasp, Isilmë tumbled over the edge of the boat and into the water with a loud splash. Elrond smirked, leaning over the edge as she resurfaced, sputtering and laughing all at once.  

“By the stars, Elrond!” she gasped with mock offense, slicking her hair back as she blinked seawater from her eyes.  

“Sow the wind - reap the whirlwind,” he replied with a subtle smirk, utterly unrepentant.  

Isilmë’s laughter turned wicked. “Oh, I see how it is,” Cupping her hands, she retaliated with a solid stream of seawater aimed at his face.  

Elrond barely had time to flinch before he was drenched. For a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, he turned back to her, water dripping from his dark limp curls.  Isilmë clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “You look like a very angry cat!”  

In a display of sheer recklessness, he immediately dove after her.  Isilmë shrieked, laughing as she tried to swim away, but he was more adept in the water. In moments, Elrond caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist.  

“If I remember correctly… you wanted me to enjoy this with you, did you not?” he murmured, lips pressed firmly against her ear, before promptly dunking her under.  

Isilmë came up spluttering, eyes wide with delight. “Oh, so you do have a mischievous side,”  

The corner of Elrond's mouth twitched. “It has been said,”  

With a bright smile, she sent another playful splash of water his way. “I could get used to this side of you Herald, does he plan to stay?”  

Elrond chuckled, treading water beside her. “I think I’ve indulged you quite enough for one day, Princess,”  

Isilmë merely smirked in response, floating lazily on her back as she watched him drift closer to the boat. In one fluid motion, Elrond hauled himself back onto the boat with ease. Water trickled down his body as he reached a steady hand to her. She took it, her fingers cool and slick with seawater. Bracing himself against the other end of the boat, he helped her climb aboard.  

Just as she set her foot on the edge of the boat, however, it rocked suddenly from an unexpected swell. With a startled gasp, Isilmë lost her footing, and slipped forward directly onto Elrond. They tumbled together in a tangle of limbs, the impact softened by a pile of loose canvas sails. Elrond let out a surprised oof as Isilmë landed on top of him, her palms pressed flat against the deck, arms caging him under her.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other.  Her silver hair, still dripping wet, glistened like starlight against the midday sun. But it was her wide, bright eyes that held him. How her gaze lingered, unabashed, only to flicker to his lips… then back again in an instant. Elrond could feel her heartbeat against him, rapid and light as a bird, mirroring his own. Her skin was still cool from the water, yet he was acutely aware of the warmth where her body pressed against him. Isilmë’s breath hitched, her lips began to part. 

"Sorry!" they blurted in unison.  

A beat of silence. Neither of them moved.

Elrond swallowed, his hands resting lightly on her waist, unsure whether to steady her or push her away. “Are you all right?" His voice was lower than intended, edged with something he wasn’t quite ready to name.  

Isilmë nodded, though she made no move to rise. "Perfectly," she murmured.  

Another moment passed. The boat rocked gently beneath them, until the world beyond became nothing but the sound of waves lapping against the hull.  Then slowly, almost reluctantly, Isilmë pulled back, shifting off of him with a small unreadable smile. 

"Well," she began, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. "That's the second time since we met that you've kept me from falling on my face,”  

With a humored, if not exasperated, sigh, Elrond sat up and leaned an arm against the gunwale. “You certainly seem eager to make a habit of it,"  

Isilmë grinned, and though the tension of the moment had passed, something between them had shifted. “And you,” she replied coyly, “seem just as eager to catch me when I fall,”  

Elrond huffed a quiet laugh, “Someone has to be.”

“Varda’s stars, Elrond, enough…” Isilmë groaned, rolling her eyes as she watched him pace back and forth in front of her, hands clasped tight behind his back. 

“I cannot stress enough how important today is, Princess,” 

“On the contrary, I believe you have…repeatedly, extensively-”

“Then why do I have the nagging feeling that, after weeks of careful preparation, you are a breath away from telling me you plan to ‘wing it’...?”

“Because, after a month of these very thorough and entirely captivating lectures, you’ve come to know me exceedingly well,”  

“Isilmë,” Elrond sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your father has entrusted us, you in particular, with a very important - no - critical trade negotiation. A test of all you have, hopefully, learned during our time together. Yet here you sit, without a care in the world,”

“You should take note, mellon nîn, no one will ever trust your leadership if you look like you may fall to pieces at any given moment.” she replied with a lazy shrug.

Elrond stopped pacing, his mouth forming a light line, though no retort immediately came to mind. There was wisdom in her words as much as it pained him to admit it. 

This was going to be a very, very long day.

The great hall was filled with a rich assembly of voices, and the frequent clank of goblets, as Isilmë sat opposite the delegation from Khazad-dûm. Unlike the stiff formality common among the Elves, this meeting had an almost lively atmosphere. The Dwarves spoke plainly, laughed heartily, and drank deeply within the serene halls of Lindon. Isilmë matched their energy with a relaxed confidence that seemed to put almost everyone at ease.  

Everyone except for Elrond. 

To all in attendance he looked composed, dutiful, the picture of Elven repose as he sat beside his princess. But under the table… his leg bounced with nervous agitation. He watched carefully as Isilmë leaned forward, legs crossed, resting an elbow on the table with a cheek cupped in her palm. An unthinkably casual posture for a princess of the Eldar. 

Not that the Dwarves sitting across from her seemed to care.  

“So, Lord Dûnal,” Isilmë began, refilling his goblet with a generous pour of Greenwood wine, “we agree that the timber Lindon provides shall be of the finest quality, and in return, you will construct new roads to ensure the prosperity of trade and travel within our region. But I wonder, what say you to a little… extra incentive? An exchange of knowledge, perhaps?”

Elrond choked on his wine. Dwarves were exceedingly precious with their language, culture, and especially their crafts. It was rare - no - almost unheard of, that they would openly share such knowledge, especially with any of the Firstborn. Had he not stressed this many, many times - at nauseam - during his lessons on Dwarven relations?

Isilmë didn't acknowledge his obvious distress, as she continued her proposition, “Your best smiths could work alongside our master artificers for a time, and we yours. A proper mingling of craft and skill,”  

Dûnal, the broad-shouldered leader of the delegation, stroked his dark, intricately braided beard thoughtfully. “A bold offer, Princess,” he mused after a lengthy pause. “I’ve never known Elves to offer collaboration. More often than not, it teeters closer to… exploitation,”  

Isilmë nodded, then tilted her head with a subtle smirk. “A shame… and a testament to the hubris of my kin, wouldn't you agree?”  

A few of the Dwarves chuckled at that, nudging one another. Elrond, meanwhile, arched a brow, feeling his fëa nearly abandon him completely. This was not the approach he would have taken, suggested, or even considered. He had been prepared to help gently navigate the intricacies of this negotiation, ensuring both sides walked away satisfied but with neither yielding too much. Carefully maintaining the status quo between Elves and Dwarves. 

And yet…  

Lord Dûnal let out a deep, rumbling laugh and banged a fist on the table. “I like you, Elf. You don’t speak in circles like most of your kin. Very well. We’ll send one of our finest smiths to Lindon for a season, so long as we receive the same in return,”  

“Of course,” Isilmë replied smoothly. “Imagine the wonders yet to be forged from such a partnership: Menegroth and Nargothrond were well known for their beauty and prosperity. Let us take the first steps in building something even more impressive, together, during this new age of peace.”  

 Dûnal grunted, nodding. “Aye, Fandûna, I’ll drink to that,”  

“Ayadurzu!” Isilmë toasted, clinking her goblet heartily against his own. Her pronunciation was awkward, neglecting the gruff tonic accent of Khuzdul completely. But the honest attempt was appreciated, and all in attendance raised their cups in solidarity.

Elrond joined the toast and drank deeply. He had anticipated a much harder road to securing this trade deal. Having spent many a long night in preparation, anticipating the negotiations to last multiple days, and planning for all manner of contingencies. But Isilmë had bypassed all of his carefully laid strategies entirely. Accomplishing even more, not by force, nor by trickery, but by something far more rare among the Elves: genuine respect for the Dwarves.  

The hall was alive now with laughter and the deep, resonant voices of the Dwarves. Goblets clanked loudly as Isilmë threw back another gulp of strong dwarven ale. The drinking contest had begun as a simple jest, a friendly challenge from Lord Dûnal’s second-in-command, a burly dwarf named Nár. She had surprised them all by holding her own, even outdrinking one among the delegation, who was now slumped over the table in defeat. But Nár, with many, many years of experience behind him, and a renowned Dwarven constitution, had bested her in the end. Leaving Isilmë swaying slightly, blinking up at Elrond with glassy amusement.  

Elrond, who had refrained from indulging, at least to the same degree, let out a long-suffering sigh. “Princess, you appear to be… indisposed,”  

Isilmë grinned lazily. “I’m perfectly fine, Elrond. Just-” She hiccupped, waving a hand vaguely in front of his face. “-resting my eyes.”  

Elrond glanced at Dûnal, who chuckled and clapped Isilmë on the back. “Aye, she did well! Better than most of you featherlight Elves,”  

“An honor, truly,” Elrond responded dryly, before crouching beside Isilmë. “Come, let us end the evening on a high note, shall we?”  

She pouted but didn’t resist as Elrond wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her up, steadying her against him. “You’re warm,” she murmured as he guided her towards the royal quarters. “And tall. Very tall.”  

“Mmhm, or perhaps you are just very short,” Elrond replied, amused despite himself.  

The walk to her chambers was slow, Isilmë stumbling slightly now and then, but Elrond kept his grip firm, guiding her through the dimly lit halls until they reached her door. With one hand, he pushed it open, then carefully lowered her onto the bed.  

Isilmë sighed as she sank into the mattress, stretching with a contented groan. She then slowly turned her head towards Elrond, silver hair spilling over the pillow, and peered at him with a lopsided smile. “You’re very attractive, you know,”  

Elrond exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And you, Princess, are very inebriated.”  

“Yes,” she agreed with a giggle. “But that doesn’t make it less true.” She lifted a hand, poking his chest with each syllable. “Even when you’re scolding me… no, especially when you’re scolding me.”  

Elrond stared at her, feeling the warmth of a blush bloom across his cheeks. He should have expected such a confession. Isilmë sober was nothing if not bold. And intoxicated? Even bolder. Nevertheless, his chest tightened.  

“You should sleep,” he replied softly.  

She gave an exasperated sigh, then yawned with defeat. “Mmm… Fiiiine.” 

But just as he moved to step away, her fingers brushed the sleeve of his tunic. “Elrond, will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”  

He hesitated. But seeing her gaze linger with anticipation, a soft smile forming on her lips, fingers slipping away as exhaustion took hold… he couldn’t refuse her.  Elrond let out a quiet breath and, against his better judgment, pulled a chair beside the bed. Just for a little while, he told himself.  

And as he watched over her, he realized, despite the absurdity of the evening, he was happy to stay.