Adorable

( credits to @sugurugetos for this incredible gifset ! )

❊ — THE PARTING GLASS ;

summ.  You fall at the Battle of Eregion. Lindon grieves their High Queen; Gil-Galad grieves his wife. or: You haunt the narrative. pairing.  gil-galad / queen!reader w.count. 1.3k a/n.  angst galore , Gil-galad is going through it , & so is Elrond too , Reader haunts the narrative so it’s more of an exploration of grief amongst trop!characters , & a dash of ‘duty versus morality’

YOU REFUSE TO DIE. Arrows have pierced you grave through heart and breast, and though you are mortally wounded, the armies can see yet: you’re unbowed. You’d taken every Orc down with you, left them strewn across the battlefield; destroyed the trebuchets and banners to burn in your wake.

The Queen of Lindon is a fell beast when it is demanded; But the hour for that call has come to pass now, and your grip on the hilt of your sword has finally yielded.

Elrond is first to catch you, and the last to hear your dying breath.

Elven and Dwarven soldiers alike bear witness to the fall of a great Queen, and the kneeling bow of a great King.

For this is Gil-Galad, High King of the Ñoldor; Of whom the Kingdoms have beheld him rend through wood and stone from sheer strength alone, who himself had pulled steeds and comrades out from mire and blood, who had borne the weight of carts laden with all his wounded;

The Eldar’s paragon of boundless, unyielding strength—

And yet, when came the hour after the Battle of Eregion to journey the dead home; High King Ereinion Gil-Galad could say naught but one thing as he drew you up into his arms:

“Help me carry her,” he cried. “Help me carry her.”

So goes the tale of your departure, and that of the High King’s might and heart. Alas, it had not always been that the forests of Lindon were dim with grief. 

In the beginning, when war and battle had been but a forgotten thought, and the sun of Gil-Galad’s life had not yet left him, you were but a General among the army, and earlier than that— the charge of Círdan the shipwright, and soon the heart of young Gil-Galad. 

You were fair and witty and mighty. A forge-fire of life that did not burn but instead tempered, whose hands were calloused from craft yet gentle in touch, whose heart had beat fiercely and still loved tenderly. You were a brilliance of light to Lindon, standing alongside the High King.

But if meeting you had brought out the best in Gil-Galad, then losing you brought out the worst.

He dismisses the late condolatory missives of the Silvan King, Oropher of the Great Greenwood, much to the wise Círdan’s dismay; and when Elrond brings tidings from the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm, that the doors of their mountain are welcome and its resources open for Elven-folk, Gil-Galad grows ever sharp-tongued and ill-tempered.

“Had they been swifter to arrive at the Battle of Eregion, the Queen of Lindon may yet still stand before you,” he says, and does not speak your name— because he cannot. Not anymore. (Many claim he never did again.)

Elrond, however, who is first and foremost a friend to all and especially to Durin, defends kindly, “We do not know this.”

Then, blindsided with anger, Gil-Galad spoke, but came to regret his words in an instant. That is:

“Perhaps, but know this. Your kindness is misplaced and unneeded, Elrond Peredhel.”

A solemn silence passes. Elrond looks as if he'd been dealt a deadly blow.

“I hope you can endure your anger long enough to discover its true name, High King.”

To this, Gil-Galad says, “Or you can save us the trouble, Herald, and tell me.”

Elrond lingers pensively for a moment. Then, gently:

“Grief.”

It shall be said; the High King is not so lost yet to sorrow that he would not see his folly in discrediting Elrond. For that in itself would have been a dishonor to your name— you had taken to Elrond as less a charge and more akin to that of a son you never bore, the day Galadriel had brought him from the seaside.

So when his head had calmed and Eärendil’s light cast the night from his heart, he sent his men for Khazad-dûm, and Elrond came from respite to the creaking sound of wheeling carts and the stomp of Dwarven marching, come noon pass over the new sanctuary protected by the Elven Rings.

“I was wrong,” Gil-Galad apologises, when they convened at the tents where the injured are tended. “This war has already darkened the lands and taken too heavy a toll of us. And if it is to jade even your heart from its ever-kindness, then we would have lost something truly irreplaceable.” 

But if he had not lost his kindness, he surely had gained grief, instead, to have watched the next closest thing to a mother die before him.

“I know in her final moments she spoke to you, Elrond. In my despair I could not ask then, but now I release your burden: What did she say in her last breath?”

Elrond smiles, and though it’s sincere, it’s the type given to dignitaries; Quiet, thin, exhausted. 

“...That she had but only one command left for me. That is to herald to you: Namarië, Ereinion Gil-Galad. I will await you at the shores.”

But Galadriel, from a distance, had seen through him. 

“You lied,” she says, when finally there was no one around to be privy to their conversation. “To protect him.”

And at once Elrond allowed himself to cave from the weight of his untold knowledge. 

“Yes,” he confesses, and Galadriel had to steady him, for a great deal of grief overcame him. “She had called out for the High King, only once, then nothing more. I could see in her eyes she was frightened. I did not have the will in me to tell him such a truth. Have I forsaken the Queen? Was I mistaken to spare his heart?”

Galadriel could not answer.

When Eärendil’s light had shone again come nightfall, in the distance, a wave of cheer and whimsy erupted from the Dwarves across a shared tablespread among startled Elves.

Gil-Galad listens.

It’s a slow-rising crescendo; A lament to the fallen, yet sung in lively tune and bright cadence, and alongside it: the ring of pipes, the beat of cups, and the stamping of feet. 

“I understand you honor your people’s death differently,” comes the sudden voice of Durin IV, “But for us, we sing as an expression of defiance against Death. And we honor the lives of our fallen and their memories through joy and celebration over sorrow and grief. I can order them to sto—”

“No,” he overrides, cut to the quick. The Dwarves may have been slow to arrive at the Battle of Eregion— but they had arrived nonetheless, and have lost their own folk to turn the tides when at its most crucial. 

He would not silence them. It would have been cruel.

“Let them sing,” he says, and marvels at how the Elves had gone to pick up their harps and trill their flutes to join in song. “I’ve not seen my people with light in their eyes since the battle; For Elven memory do not dim.”

“I imagine,” begins Durin, “Oftentimes, it must be a terrible gift.”

And Gil-Galad could not answer at once, because for a moment he saw— as if it had happened only yestereve— the light of your smile in his mind’s eye, and in the next, the shadow of the day you fell on the battlefield.

“Yes,” he says solemnly, blindsided. “It is.”

Then, to the Dwarf’s utmost surprise:

“How will you do it?” Gil-Galad asks. “How can you begin anew tomorrow with all of the grief of your yesterdays?”

How can I? he doesn’t say. How will I?

But he had no need to, because Durin IV could discern him; he had lost his wife and his Queen, as Durin had lost his father and his King.

So counsels wisely the newly-crowned King of Khazad-dûm:

“My friend, we carve through stone not because it yields, but because we must.”

Footnotes:

The Dwarves are singing “ The Parting Glass ”, a folk song about saying farewell to loved ones, often sung in funerals. It is the inspiration for this entire fic and its title; I greatly recommend a listen, especially for its lyrics!

True but I suppose a lot of people were just shocked at that moment when they saw it

The fact that everyone is talking about the kiss just shows how effective it truly is as a distraction.

It means nothing, romantically speaking. It's a means to an end, nothing more, and yet it manages to raise such an outcry that a lot of people overlook that fact completely even though there are so many clues that it is merely for show. There is Elrond reaching for his brooch and removing it's pin. There is his, "Forgive me," said in such a peculiar way that it simply cannot be about his promise to Galadriel in 2x04. There is the chaste nature of the kiss - a mere press of lips against lips, almost like a child kissing their parent goodbye (though, admittedly, more drawn out). And there is the subtle moment when he presses the pin into Galadriel's hand, and the surprise on her face that follows it.

Nothing about that kiss is romantic. It is a strategic move meant to distract, and boy does it do it well. If half the fandom is talking about it online, then it's not surprise the Uruks didn't catch on either. And that's why Elrond does it. Because it catches everyone off-guard, and as long as everyone is focused on the kiss, no one will notice what is really going on. It's brilliant on so many levels and Robert Aramayo and Morfydd Clark acted the hell out of that moment.

Tolkien Masterlist

Hey everyone! Here, I'll be putting links to all my writing and art so you can go see them. Also, for convenience.

I just want to say, to all of you who have been so supportive here on Tumblr, hantanyel ("thank you" in Quenya) from the bottom of my heart.

Also, requests are OPEN! For those who've sent in requests, I'm working on them, please give me some time.

Multi-chapter series

High Queen of the Noldor

Characters: Gil-galad, Elrond, Itarille (OC, High Queen of the Noldor and sister of Elrond)

masterlist (tba)

Rude Awakening (art)

Noldoriel of Eregion

Characters: Annatar (Sauron), Celebrimbor, Mirdania, (eventual) Glorfindel

masterlist

Characters

Ereinion Gil-galad

Across the Seas Stressful Night My Heart in your Hands (tba)

Elrond Peredhel (Rings of Power and Lord of the Rings)

I've Got You Overzealous Herald

Celebrimbor of Eregion

Not Strength, But Light (drawing)

Glorfindel

Work of Art

pure as starlight

maedhros' cloak

The way this creep just slides into frame 😂

Him and the Eregion soldier lady both

Best believe this guy is going to take season 3 personally 😂

Poor Elrond

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.

All Fanfic Writers are invited! Especially those in a creative rut!

Comfort Fic Writing Challenge: A Triple Prompt Roulette!

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Wedding

A new piece for Maglor and his wifey😇

This time I tried a new paper textures