#maglor x reader

elf bf who one day sees you cut down a tree, cut a log off or prepare firewood and finds that he was imagining the bulge of your muscles against himself. big arms caging him in a bear hug, legs to support him and strong back that he could sink his nails into as he moans under you— hold. since when has his thoughts of you turned… impure? since when has he become turned on? sitting there on one of the logs with a painful strain against his pants as he swallowed the saliva that gathered in his jaw down, tearing his gaze away. no no, he really shouldn’t think of you as such, you were still in courting phase after all and elves were a race that took their romances and courting extremely important

yet regardless of his kin’s customs and traditions, your pretty elf bf couldn’t help but continue to stare. his gaze constantly seeking your figure out, seeing you just go through the motions of every life peacefully while he gets pathetically turned on by your actions as if he was still but a fledgling who learned of a kiss. chopping down trees for firewood, maybe you would work in front of a fire or heat for too long and get sweaty, removing one of the overtunics. maybe you’re just simply dragging a bucket full of water from the well, cranking the pulley as the muscles on your arms and back strained

elf bf who finds himself extremely aroused as his mind wanders to the gutters as he just shamelessly stares at your working form. oh, to feel those calloused hands touch his colder skin, palms smoothening over his creamy skin, and down his chest, his stomach and over his bulge. maybe you would tease the poor thing, tease him of how quick he is to get aroused, the pre of his half-hard cock weeping through his underwear and pants like he was some sore pathetic loser. a little virgin. bully him about being unable to use his cock, make him whine at your mean words as his hips weakly buckle under your exploratory hands

elf bf who couldn’t help but imagine the usual sweetness of your attitude gone, replaced by one that was just a tad bit meaner as you pushes his face down into the pillows of your bed, force his hands to stretch open his puckering hole for you to fuck senselessly. imagining you whispering all sorts of filth into his twitching ears, promising to breed him full, to use him to your heart’s content all night long as he whines and squeals like a little lamb caught in the nest of a hungry wolf. who couldn’t swallow down the quiet whimper coming from his throat as he imagined your hand grasping at his long locks, fisting it tightly as you yank him back, forcing him to arch his back and push the tip of your cock to bruise his guts even more

elf bf who waves off your worry when you had managed to hear the embarrassing noise that slipped past his lips, saying that he was having a bit of a sore throat. gods, he would love to actually whimper from having a sore throat of getting his mouth plowed all day by your fat cock head forcing his jaws wiiideee open

elf bf who couldn’t help but get a little needy in his kisses since then. hands that touched your muscles with curiosity now running over your skin as if trying to feebly seduce you. dropping things to the ground a bit too many times, following you close behind even as you told him that some of the work you needed to do required space and for him to be away for his own safety. who straddles your lap all snug, pushing his chest flush against your own as your simply daily evening kisses after dinner becomes a bit too heated. he definitely had little to no experience with the way his tongue kept licking at your lips meagerly, long fingers curling over your shoulders tightly while his bucking hips on your lap as he starts to get hard again

elf bf who has finally had enough of just his meager imaginations, tugging on the strings of your white tunic with shaky hands as he rambles about touching you, you touching him, feeling him, using him — anything dammit! use those hands of yours on him!

elf bf who soon realizes that he had perhaps bitten off more than he could chew when your hands grip at his hips, dragging his clothed cock against your thigh that had him whining like a cat in heat. meagerly, he tries to replicate what you just made him do, dragging his hips back and forth on your thigh but he all but just looks like an inexperienced bunny. which he probably was judging by the things he spoke to you about himself

elf bf who finds so much pleasure in simply grinding against your thigh for now, the precum of his now hard cock weeping through his pants, staining it into a darker color. all cute and red in the face that spread to his pointy ears, cute high pitched whines falling from his chewed up pink lips. a cute, surprised “a-aahn♡︎??” echoing in the room as you pull his eager body against your own. your chest to his back, hands loosely draped over the hip bone of his

elf bf who lets out the most embarrassing high pitched squeals when your hands travel up his body under his clothes, traveling more and more until teasing at his nipples. rolling your fingertips against the soft areola, squeezing and fondling his pecks as if they were breasts. who jolts in place when you pinch at the hardened buds, tugging at them to test the waters as he arches his back off of your chest, a filthy mewl falling as if he was being fucked stupid already

elf bf who blubbers out uncharacteristic words of “s-shensiitiivgh♡︎ n-no, don’t pinch the-eeengk♡︎♡︎!“ his pleads of your rough hands not torturing his sensitive nipples being replaced with an open mouthed wail when you place a kiss to the pointy tip of his ear. his ears were so sensitive! you knew that and now you were just being downright mean to him as you whisper filth into his ears of acting like a cooped up virgin for merely getting his chest played with. he wasn’t! he was way older than you! slurring out “how c-could you be sooh m-meanngk…♡︎?” as you lick a slow stripe up the pointy helix

elf bf who bucks his hips on your thigh, trying to bounce, trying to move away but ending up whining as his clothed cock grazes against your hardened muscles again. his cute nipples being tortured and groped by your hands, the delicate helix of his ears being assaulted by your wet kisses and licks. any time your hot breath spoke into his ears of how he was such a precious little thing, just like a bunny in heat, he would try to wiggle away. shaking his head with a weak sniffle, his mind churning into a mush as all he could do was to pathetically fuck his cock into your thigh, letting out a soft mewl everytime you buck your leg up to meet his shy excuse of thrusts, jumping in place

elf bf whose minds and body starts to feel weird. the room feeling stifling and your touch making his own skin heat up too much. who tries to tell you that he was feeling ‘odd’ and concerned, yet only to harshly thrust his hips back into your own arousal. eyes widening, a shudder running down his spine at the feeling. still clothed and hidden like his own but good grief, it just felt… so huge since he was sure your human dick couldn’t possibly be much bigger than his own. but no, it got him gulping down the saliva in his mouth

elf bf who bounces himself experimentally onto your own hardened, covered dick, feeling his balls brush against where he guesses is the tip of your strap. his earlier cute whines growing in volume as your torture of his sensitive spots grow worse, groping, squeezing, calling him too eager to get fucked, making him dumb and airheaded. the constant tugs to his chest, the words you spat into his mind so lovingly and the small actions of your hips thrusting up to meet his own weaker excuse of grinding

elf bf who’s voice grow more and more breathier, who finally loses it as he throws himself back against your chest, his head on your shoulder as he let out a wail of “h-hoowt!! t-too ahgg♡︎ haah anhg t-too hoounwt...♥︎!” as he cums into his pants, dirtying the material as a single glob or two of his sweet transparent arousal oozes out through the linen. the dark patch growing into a considerable size, his body racked with twitches and jolts as he cums untouched on your lap. precious little thing getting drunk on the feeling of sex and physical pleasure so much till the point he disregards all of his traditions, bending himself over onto the bed, his hand reaching back to tug you forward by the belt with a desperate whine and a cute blown wide pupils and twitching ears♡︎

He sensed it, the minute you tossed your head into the pillows and released the most ear-aching groan you attempted to have sound believable, he stopped. There was no shouting, no groaning or fuming like he usually did—he simply pulled out with a loud slick, the look of pure dissatisfaction on his face, and climbed off the bed to stand at the foot. There was a sharp gleam in his eyes the longer he looked at you, contemplating what punishment to dish out—so many options, a lot of time to execute them all, which one came first. He chose to say nothing, instead grabbing you by your calves and dragging you to the foot of the bed.

Before you could properly react, he snatched you by the arm and spun you around, planting your face into the mattress with a hand gripping the back of your neck to firmly keep you rooted. A high-pitched squeal left your throat, but it wasn’t from the sudden roughness of his actions, it was from the loud crack of a hand across your ass, followed by the immediate dragging of his fingers through your folds to harshly rub your clit. “Feels good doesn’t it? So good you could cum all over my fingers right now,” he muttered in your ear, pressing more weight against your sweet spot once he found it, causing a string of gibberish to leave your lips. “Then why don’t you cum right now. Fake another one if you dare.”

“F-Fea…nor—shit—was just a—ngh—joke,” you cried out as you wiggled your hips against the thrusting of his thick and calloused fingers.

“A joke,” he gasped lightly with humour in his tone before continuing, “then I too should give you one as well.” Then, he withdrew his fingers an inch away, listening to you crying out from the loss of pleasure. “Let me give you the best joke in the history of the Noldor—so good, that you’ll remember it forever and even learn a lesson from it.”

Maedhros — what can I say. Best rough fuck of your life? This man had his own sense of humour, and he was about to display how funny he could be during a crucial act since you wanted to play games.

The moment your lips parted to gasp, fingers digging into his biceps and legs tightening around his waist, he smirked. The hands on your waist slid downwards to grip your thighs and curl them into your chest, flush against your breasts while pressing his weight upon you, essentially pinning you beneath him. The new position had his heavy cock pressed deeper within your walls; you were scrambling to find purchase along his sweaty back. “Nggh, fuck—too deep, Mae,” you whined with a pout, brows furrowing and lip biting as he doubled the pace, making the bedframe shake.

“Hmm, I’m as deep as I should be,” he purred against your lips while one hand from your thigh reached up to grip your chin, forcing you to keep eye contact. He chose to roll his hips, his flared tip rubbing against your sweet post, prompting your eyes and walls to flutter as you genuinely came around his cock, a warm gush of your juices coating his length. “That’s more like it. That’s how you should look when you’re about to cum all over my cock,” he grinned and pecked your lips swiftly. “All fucked out, not that phoney performance.”

“M-Mae…please, ’s too much.”

“Uh-Uh.” He was having fun with this, giving your face a small shake while his grip on your jaw tightened. You could feel him deep in your stomach—getting deeper—and the loud squelching sounds of your cunt gushing around his length telling you that he didn’t plan on stopping. “I’m having just as much fun as you faking your orgasm, melda. Why should I stop when all you have to do is lie there and take my cock?” he whispered cynically with a wicked grin. “Or do you want to fake another orgasm again?”

You shook your head, struggling to keep up as another orgasm was approaching after he fucked you through the recent one.

“Good,” he hummed and lifted his body slightly off you, releasing your chin. “Now be a good girl and cum for me again.”

Maglor — the gentle poet isn’t always as gentle as everyone considers him to be, you know? Kano has his tricks up his sleeves, and one of them is ensuring that you’re not leaving this bed unsatisfied, no matter what it takes.

He didn’t even wait for you to finish before he came to a complete halt, staring at you with all the restraint and disbelief. And then, ever so slowly, he broke into a smile—a cunning, wicked smile. “My, my, my, princess. You didn’t tell me that we were performing. Had I known—” he growled and suddenly pulled out to flip you onto your knees, pushing your face into the pillows and sinking your back into a beautiful arch. “—I would have put on an equally, captivating performance as well.”

Whimpering, your excuses falling short when you felt his fingers trail down your spine to dip between your folds, spreading your wetness around to rub lazily circles around your clit. “I hope you know how great of an improviser I am—one of the best. So, I hope you can keep up. It would be a shame—a real shame if you were unable to…” That was all Maglor needed to do to have you falling apart under his touch. Those skilled fingers, working you to the brink and bringing you back down, edging you as if he was playing his harp and plucking strings of cries with each pinch or flick.

His other hand rested at the centre of your back, applying just enough pressure to warn you of his warrior’s strength underneath while his fingers ran through your fold, circling your clit and then down to your entrance, doing everything but sinking inside. The needy whines you released only fuelled him to continue his ministrations as you begged him.

“Kano, quit playing—please, put it in,” you groaned, voice muffled as you pushed your face into the pillow to swallow your needy cries which he revelled in.

“Kano quit playing,” he mocked, laughing at the end as he pulled his fingers away to give your ass a solid smack, jolting you forward. “How demanding? What are you, a star actress who can’t play her part correctly?” In an instant, just as the response was at the tip of your tongue, his cock plunged into your cunt and immediately started moving without an inch of reprieve. “Why don’t you leave the improvising to me, sweetheart, and just do what you’re supposed to. Cum for me when I fuck you.”

Celegorm — gosh, you’re giving his man a game. A thrill. A chase. He’s a hunter—this is the type of game he’s into. Make him work for his prize, and you, my dear, were so kind to delectably present him with the best challenge ever. One neither of you would ever forget.

Coming down from your so-called orgasm, had you trembling in Tyelko’s hold. Ankles locked around his neck, nails curling into his meaty biceps and jaw slackened as you mimicked the expression of ecstasy, but that was never enough to fool the hunter. For in an instant, he leaned into you further, pressing more of his weight against you, squeezing your thighs against your chest, caging you in like some prey with those gleaming, green eyes. “Little bunny wants to make me work to earn an orgasm from her, huh? Acting as though I wouldn’t know what this pussy feels like around my cock,” he taunted with a sickeningly, sinful laugh.

“T-Tyelko, don’t—” Your attempted words were immediately cut off by an abrupt tumble as he rolled over to place you on top, adjusting your legs to straddle his hips, yet pulling you down, chest to chest.

“Shh, kitten. You don’t need to speak—you’ve told me enough.” His cock still buried deep within, started moving sluggishly at first—just for a few strokes to get you relaxed—while he gingerly took both your wrist and bound them with one hand behind your back. As slowly as he moved, it was enough to make your stomach flip. And like the predator he was, his feet planted into the mattress and instantly thrust upwards with much more force jerking you forward, save for the strong arms around your waist.

A loud crack of his hand followed against your ass, groping the flesh before sending another, matching the intensity of his thrust. “Just like that—feels so good doesn’t it? Nice and deep enough to fake another?” he growled, increasing his tempo for the sound of sweaty skin clapping against each other to ripple around the room.

“T-Tyel–…ko—fuck! ’m s-sorry…slow down—ah!” Sputtering his favourite chorus of gibberish, he merely grinned and sunk himself deeper into your cunt, purposefully rubbing his cock head against your sweet spot which had your nails digging into your palms and more juices dripping down his cock.

“Not at all kitten. I’m right where I need to be,” he purred and cracked another hand across your ass. “Chasing as many orgasms I can get all night long.”

Caranthir — he doesn’t do anything half-assed, so why would you make him feel like he wasn’t performing up to standards, huh? Don’t you think that you’re about to be reminded to never test his skills?

A hand pinning the back of your neck to the polished desk while the other torturously dragged its fingers through your dripping cunt—if you thought Moryo was about to let it slide with a fickle excuse of ‘I was just tired,’ you were fooling yourself. He didn’t appreciate the gesture and was fixated on ensuring that you never thought about attempting your foolish jest ever again. And judging from how his fingers glided so smoothly through your cunt, your juices coating his palm and wrists, and the obscenely loud echoes of your thirsty walls sucking him back in, he was making a point. All of this when it was your umpteenth orgasm for the night, and he wasn’t letting up. No amount of, ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘Please don’t tease me,’ or ‘It was just a joke,’ could reduce the number of times you’ve cum all over him.

“Have you learnt your lesson yet, melda?” he questioned with such authority, yet a distinctive quietness in his tone. His question was followed up by a sudden contracting off your walls, spasming around his fingers as they remained still and pressing against your sweet spot. Within seconds, another gush of your arousal oozed out, making his rings and bracelets glisten under the lamps. “Hm, not yet it would appear.”

“Moryo—”

“Silence. You had your chance to answer and missed the opportunity. It is clear to me that you still crave more, so I shall give you more. Enough that you will not attempt such foolishness again.” There was a faint smirk in his tone as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the centre of your back, the same time his fingers regained their pace and continued to fuck you through your orgasm, into the next one. The tremble of your legs as shivered with oversensitivity made him laugh airily, not slowly or increasing his pace, keeping you right there, and giving you want you clearly desired from the start. “You’re doing so well, darling.”

Curufin — nothing misses his eyes. Nothing misses his focus, and you thought it would be a brilliant idea to test the man who was cunning, perspective and undoubtedly harsh when it came to dishing out punishment? Good luck.

“Open—wider.” Just as swiftly as the command came, your mouth was filled with the sliding of his thick cock between your lips to rest heavily against your tongue. He wanted to silence those nasally cries you emitted earlier, calling it the regular sounds you made when you orgasmed, and listen to you gurgling on his cock, rethinking your options. “Just like that. You sound much better.”

All you could do was look up at him through your teary lashes while he tossed his head back, hands tightening in your hair as he held you still. He didn’t move too slow or too quickly, just at the right pace to satisfy him and leave you clenching around nothing in anticipation. A soft, muffled whine escaped your throat when he pulled back, leaving his tip to rest against your lips, causing him to finally open his eyes and look down at you—with disappointment. “What’s wrong? Finally ready to apologise so I can make you cum for your ridiculous stunt?”

You nodded, pouting up at him with your teary eyes, knowing the effect it always had on him. “I’m sorry…won’t do it again.”

Instead, he scoffed. You were so shameless. Fake your orgasm and then had the audacity to be wet while he fucked your throat, wanting his cock to quench your heat. If anything, it made him more irritable. “I’m not so sure that you are sorry,” he corrected, biting his lower lip. “You just want me to stuff you with my cock like the needy little thing you are.”

“You can do whatever you want,” you pleaded. “I just want to cum.”

Rolling his eyes as he tapped his cock head against your lips, signalling you to open up, he pushed into the warmth of your mouth again, exhaling deeply at the welcoming of your heat and wetness. “I am doing whatever I want, darling. And that’s making sure you don’t cum like you wanted from the start.”

Celebrimbor — okay, why would you even try this stunt on this pookie wookie? He’s trying his best to bring you the best pleasure you ever had in your life with passionate precision and you of all things to do…fake your orgasm. Go stand outside in the rain, for making him feel like his performance wasn’t good enough,

His hips stuttered the minute you started vibrating and clinging to him, giving him a world-altering performance of you orgasming. There was a look of sadness washing over you as he continued to observe your shaking figure under him—you were so caught up in acting to notice that he had stopped and slackened his hold on your hips, slightly sitting on his hunches. The way his brain was calculating what to do in the face of such an event he never thought would occur to him. Then, he recalled—a conversation between two of his Lords he overheard speaking about their wives pulling this same stunt.

So, it was a thing. Just you attempting to trick him. He was still saddened deep down, but with a fervour.

Gingerly, he pulled his cock out and shuffled off the bed, noticing how you watched him with curious eyes. “Where are going? You haven’t finished?” you worried, sitting upright and frowning as he slipped back into his trousers, keeping it loose around his waist.

He said nothing as he reached into the drawers for a pair of handcuffs, designed just for you. A little something he was working on for a while to surprise you with, and what a joyous occasion it was for him to introduce them to you because, in mere minutes, your hands were cuffed to the headboard and left sobbing—begging for release, overstimulated. Tyelpë’s mouth worked so fervently against your pussy, giving you all the orgasms in the world so you would never test his abilities again.

A languid drag of his tongue against your clit, followed but a sharp suck had your toes curling, yet, unable to move from the iron grip that held them apart. You were beyond sensitive, unsure if he could milk another orgasm from your thoroughly wracked body.

“Hmm, do you think you can give me one more?” he peered up at you through those gorgeous emerald eyes. How could you say ‘no’ even when this was punishment? And yet you found yourself nodding slowly. “Lovely, let us see if this would be the one to remind you to never try that trick again.”

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Maglor 

All night Magor watched as you danced along to the music flowing from his harp. Your moves were fluid and enchanting, causing the usually perfect elf to stumble over his notes. You didn’t take notice of his mistakes, or any of the potential suitors hovering around. You were too focused on the feeling of the music flowing through you, unlike any playing you’d heard before. 

He hid behind the harp all night, unsure of how to approach you. Even though you turned to him after each song, clapping and smiling like he was playing music just for you. Thankfully, you weren’t as shy as he was. 

“If someone wanted to learn to play like you, who would they seek to teach them?” You asked him at the end of the party, as he was packing up his harp to leave. He considered your question carefully, taking time to build his confidence with his answer.

“I’m not quite sure. I taught myself to play, and I’ve never given a lesson before. Though I could be persuaded,” he replied, smiling down at his instrument. 

You laughed, a musical, tinkling sound erupting from your chest. It filled Maglor with light. The sound to him was better than his compositions, and he wondered if you would consider singing with him instead. 

Celegorm

“And who is this fair lady who dares to be more beautiful than Varda herself while she sits in her gardens?” Celegorm says, leaving his brother in the dust as he saunters to where you rest. He walks with confidence, like a prince who has never been told “no” before. You are familiar with this type and aren’t impressed by his flowery words.

“Who is this insufferable charmer?” you reply, barely giving him a glance as he stands in front of you. That look is enough to tell you he is handsome, devastatingly so, and you are determined not to fall under his spell.

“You mean to wound me, my lady, but any words from those lips are music to my ears,” he flirts. You scoff, shocked that he thinks these tacky one liners will work on you. You’re even more shocked that maybe they are working, if even just a little.

“If you think I’m going to fall at your feet with fictions like these, you are mistaken. Come back when you’re ready to speak with me honestly,” you say, looking to drive him away before you get yourself into more trouble than you can handle.

“I most certainly will,” He throws you a wink before walking away to rejoin his brother. They venture out of the garden, but not without Celegorm looking over his shoulder at you, smiling like he wasn’t just harshly rejected.  

Caranthir

The elf in front of you reaches out a hand, waving it in front of your face as you sit on the ground. You’re dazed from bumping into him, and then bumping into the ground. The hand moves impatiently, waiting for you to grab it so he can pull you up. 

He tires of waiting, and instead he uses both hands to grab your shoulders and pull you up to your feet. You blush at the contact, not used to skin to skin contact. He notices your blush and turns a little red himself. You giggle to yourself, nervous, and a scowl instantly breaks out onto his face. He turns to go without a word. 

You move to follow him in order to apologize, but when you take a step you feel a twinge in your ankle. You gasp when your foot meets the ground and Caranthir hears this, turning to you with concern. He sees your pained expression and walks back to offer you his arm, which you gladly accept as he walks you back to your house. 

“I want to thank the elf who helped save me from my own clumsiness, but I’m not sure who to address my thanks to,” you say as you reach your door. He tells you his name and you turn it over in your mouth, loving the way it sounds. 

“Please allow me to know your name, so when I come tomorrow to check on you I know who to ask for,” he replies, blushing hard as he does. You love the color of his cheeks, and can’t wait to see just how red they can get. 

Curufin

You’d never been to the forge this late before, but it was nearing dinner time and your brother had yet to arrive home. Instead of finding him, you found an elf with raven black hair and a look of concentration you dared not to break. 

It was broken, however, when he heard you call your brother’s name over the sound of him pounding away at his anvil. There were only a handful of people left in the forge, surely you wouldn’t have any trouble finding the one you were seeking. 

Though five minutes later you were still wandering around, distracting him from his work with your glowing skin and shining eyes. He wanted to hear you call his name instead.  

“Can I help you?” He asked finally when you passed close by his work station. You told him your brother's name, and he suggested taking a break to help you find him. You apologized for pulling him from his work, but he assured you it was no trouble.

He uses this time to study you, to notice the shade of your hair and the multitude of colors in your eyes. He knows exactly what he will be making in the forge next, a set of silver earrings with gems to beautifully highlight your complexion. He will get started as soon as you exit the forge, not wanting to waste a minute of inspiration. 

Amrod

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Amrod apologizes as he finds you lost in a book, hidden away in the deep parts of the forest. You startle, unaware of his presence until his voice rings in the quiet. It echoes across the trees, bouncing from branch to leaf before reaching you.

“I didn’t know anyone else knew these woods,” you confess, smiling up at him from your perch on the ground. He smiles back, timidly, unsure of how to continue the conversation. He can tell you are feeling just as shy, and is determined to put you at ease. 

“It will be our secret,” he finally settles on saying. You agree and share your intentions of coming back tomorrow. He takes the hint and mentions his plans to do the same, though they didn’t exist before this moment. 

He can hear the sound of his brother getting closer. Though they share everything, he has the urge to keep this place, and you, to himself. You notice this agitation and give him a quiet goodbye.

“Until tomorrow,” Amrod says, lingering in your presence as long as he can before he leaves you alone in the small clearing. He rejoins his brother, but his thoughts stay with you. 

Amras 

Amras notices strange footprints in the dirt as he and his twin track rabbits in the forest. They appear to be that of an elf, and while Amrod takes off after the animal tracks he follows the ones that look close to his own. 

The tracks end abruptly at the base of a tree, and Amras decides he must go up and follow the trail to the end. His hunting instincts won’t let him leave it alone. The mystery is too intriguing for him, pulling him up the bark of the tree.

He finds you perched on a branch, sketching a bird’s nest high up in the leaves. Your hand moves confidently across the page, eyes moving between the nest and the drawing with ease. He is content to watch you silently, not wanting to disturb your process. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not polite to stare?” You ask, eyes never tearing away from your work. He feels embarrassed until he sees your playful smile.

maedhros

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maglor

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sauron

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glorfindel

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fingon

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celegorm

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finrod

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morgoth

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celebrimbor

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x character/OC

The absence of those sounds grieved her deeply, along with the memories of the darkening and the events that followed, leading to that absence. 

“You seem different today,” a voice snapped out of her thoughts. 

“Hm?” Nerdanel turned toward Anairë, her husband’s half-brother’s spouse, who also visited her from time to time. Today, they decided to have some tea in the garden. 

“The sadness that usually follows you does not seem to be present today. Has something changed?” Anairë asked. 

“No,” Nerdanel replied with a shake of her head. “I still do feel the sadness. It is not something I can let go of easily.”

“Every day, I still mourn my sons. I mourn the sons they used to be and how they were led to a path they could never return from,” she spoke, her gaze falling distant. “And I mourn that they might never return to the Blessed Realm — to forever stay where their father’s quest had led them.” 

“Still… something has changed. Something that has lifted little of the sadness in your heart.” Anairë stated. 

Nerdanel thought about it. “You’re right. Something has changed,” she murmured. 

Anairë’s eyes glimmered with curiosity. “What is it? If I may ask.” 

Nerdanel looked at her. “Are you aware that mothers sometimes can gain foresight on their children’s fate?” she asked. 

“I am, “Anairë nodded, then looked mournful. “I’ve seen how each of my children will meet their end.”

“I saw my youngest shredded to pieces in a battle upon the ice. I saw my daughter’s heart pierced by a poisoned javelin. Findekáno I saw crushed beneath axes of fire and shadow,” Anairë revealed.

“And my Turukáno…” She paused. “…him I saw falling within a tower in a city of flames.”

“Terrible ends,” Nerdanel said sympathetically. 

Anairë sighed. “Three of them have already come true. I dread the day I hear Turukáno had arrived in the Halls of Mandos,” she said. 

Nerdanel took a sip from her tea, remembering the darkening and what followed.

“One of my twin sons’ fates came true the moment Fëanaro took the boats and all our sons to the other side of the sea,” she began. “It was upon their birth I saw how one of them would meet an end in fire.”

She released a sigh.

“Even today, I wish I begged Fëanaro harder to leave one of my twins behind, or perhaps go against my nature and take one of them in secret, “ she continued.

“I barely held myself together when I heard my poor young son had burned alive under his own father’s orders,” she uttered, recalling that moment of grief when the maia shared the news. 

Anairë hummed sympethically before meeting her gaze. “Did you receive any visions of how the rest of your sons would meet their end?” she asked.

Nerdanel slowly nodded. “Yes.” 

“I saw Carnistir, Tyelkormo, and my Atarinkë die under the caves beneath the great green woods,” she shared. “The last of my twins fell upon the shores of a haven.”  

“Maitimo, I saw end his life within the flames of the earth, and my Makalaurë… “ she nearly hesitated to continue. “He… became lost to the endless fogs of the sea.”

“Oh, how terrible…” Anairë said with sympathy in her eyes. 

“But what is it that had changed?” she asked.  

Nerdanel met Anairë’s gaze. “Today. When I was gazing at the statues I had made of them, I touched Makalaurë’s statue, and gained a new vision of his fate,” she revealed. 

Anairë’s eyes widened. “What did you see?” 

Nerdanel recalled the moment. “I saw… snow.” 

Within the darkened halls of her home, Nerdanel stood among the statues she had created of her sons. Stone fragments and rubble lay scattered beneath her feet, renmants of statues she had struck down in anger long ago. Most of them had been statues of her husband, as she couldn't control the anger she felt after learning what he had done. The hammer she had used still lay where it had fallen that day, untouched.

Lines of dried tears dressed her face as she had wept once more, the yearning for her sons' presence and a husband she once loved having overwhelmed her again. 

The statues stood like ghosts. Their lifelike resemblance felt almost mocking, a constant reminder of what she had lost. She had long since stopped counting how many times she had mistaken them for the living. At times, it made her wish she were not such an excellent sculptor.

Nerdanel turned her gaze toward her eldest son’s statue and placed her palm over his stone-cold cheek. Visions of fire entered her mind, causing her to pull back and inhale as tears threatened to fall again. Despite her attempts, her heart was stricken with further grief. 

Maitimo’s fate hadn’t changed. None of their fates had changed. 

Years have already passed, yet the visions remained the same, and every day she dreaded the moment they would come true. She did not even know why she still tried to look and see if something had changed. Perhaps it was out of a small hope that Illuvatar might grant her mercy and change one of her sons’ fates. 

But no. All their fates have remained the same. 

Nerdanel turned toward Makalaurë’s statue, the stone face looking back at her with an unchanging expression. Despite already knowing what she might see, she placed her palm on the statue's cheek.

A familiar vision of the sea and fog entered her mind. She silently released more tears as the familiar sounds of the waves and the regretful song of her son reached her ears. 

 Something then caught her eye. 

She looked up when she saw something glimmering fall slowly from the sky. A single white snowflake appeared before her, landing on her hand. Confusion replaced her grief as she stared at the snowflake. This wasn’t in her vision before. 

Then, suddenly, she heard a distant cry of what she could only describe as an elk echoing through the fog. 

A strong wind suddenly brushed against her, making her raise her hands in cover as snow pelted against her. When the wind died down, she looked up in shock as the landscape around her had changed from the foggy seashore to a forest in wintertime.

When music reached her ears, she turned around and held her breath when she saw Makalaurë beneath a tree. Despite the years, he hadn't changed much in appearance.

Nerdanel looked at him with a soft expression as he played his harp, then she noticed a figure beside him. Her heart began to pound in alarm when she saw the figure's appearance.

Sitting beside her son was a stranger, dressed in shadow-like cloak and upon their head rested a mask that resembled a skull of an animal. 

Nerdanel felt unnerved by the sight, but when she looked at her son, she saw no fright on his face. He was softly looking at the skull-masked stranger as they listened to him play. 

The world shifted around her again. 

Now she stood within the garden of an unfamiliar fortress, its walls pale beneath a clear sky. There, she watched Makalaurë walk beside the masked figure, who held fast to his forearm. Affection shone plainly in her son’s eyes, and something in Nerdanel’s chest tightened as she understood.

The vision changed once more.

Nerdanel stood within an autumn forest. Children’s laughter filled the air as two identical boys ran past her, their joy bright and unburdened. Makalaurë followed soon after, accompanied by the masked stranger. Nerdanel stood frozen, her thoughts racing as she watched them regard the children with shared tenderness.

Seasons blurred and shifted.

Winter gave way to spring, spring to summer, and through it all she saw her son and the masked stranger stay together. At last, it was summer. The twin boys were grown, and the land that was once ruled by Morgoth lay drowned beneath the sea. Standing on the shore, Nerdanel watched Makalaurë and his skull-masked companion walking eastward, headed toward the lands in the east.

The fear she had once felt toward the masked stranger slowly ebbed away. In every moment she had witnessed, her son had been happy. That truth warmed her heart, easing an ache she had carried for ages. She knew that whoever lay beneath the mask was dear to him. And that through them, his fate had changed.

The vision ended, leaving Nerdanel gasping. Tears streamed down her eyes but not out of grief, but relief and joy. Her son. Her Makalaurë. He was no longer bound to wander the endless shores beneath unbroken fog.

“And then… I saw him depart the lands to the east, accompanied by the skull-masked stranger. ” Nerdanel finished. 

Anairë looked in awe. “Who could this skull-masked companion be?” 

“I do not know.” Nernadel shook her head. “Its presence was cold yet warm. Dangerous yet safe. Like two beings in one.” 

Nerdanel released a sigh. “I might never know. But they have saved Makalaurë from his determined fate,” she smiled softly, then looked toward the ocean. 

Bilbo was in complete awe at the sight of the Rivendell, never before had he seen such beauty, and the tales he had heard did not do its splendour justice.

It was an early afternoon, and it seemed to him The Company had planned to stay a while longer, even with Thorin’s deep brooding and discontentment regarding the elves, and so after breakfast he took it upon himself to explore as much as he could. The Dwarves would not mind, he thought, they would not find this place as magnificent as he did, for they had lived in their own halls of great grandeur, and had no liking for the elves nor their wonderous crafts. He thought it a shame, but he would much rather spend time on his own.

The buildings and many houses were carved with the upmost intricacy, nothing was plain, even down to feet upon the chairs, everything showed care and ions of skill. The halls were lined with pillars and archways of light stone, and delicate fabrics donned the walls, floors, and even the elves themselves.

Bilbo walked upon a thin stone bridge over a babbling stream that rolled beneath him, and within it small luminous fish fought the current to travel back up stream. The far distant sound of roaring waters filled the air, and the birds whistled by with songs he had not heard before, and owning striking feathers unlike any he had seen in the shire. It was a tranquil atmosphere, one could almost feel the magic within the very air around them.

He breathed in deep as he walked, it was the most relaxed he had ever felt, even on his own walking trips, and it dawned upon him just how grand Rivendell was, and the halls and rooms were vast and bright, rich with history of ages past. Throughout his meanderings, he heard a distant but distinct hum of a solemn, yet rich tune, and no matter which direction he went, and no matter which doorway he entered, it was an ever present song. One he had a mind to discover.

Even though the hobbit was welcome anywhere he pleased - within reason - he still padded about lightly, dipping behind walls and pillars as the Elves passed. Of course they knew he was there, chuckling at his cautious nature. He found it was like a maze, ever peaceful as he let his feet guide him, his gaze lingering upon artefacts of old, and paintings of impressive beauty, even the plants held his upmost attention. He never wanted to leave.

His wanderings and search for the song lead him up to a building with a long, tall corridor that snaked back into the rock face of the valley. The pillars of the archways leading within were carven as intricate branches, albeit they differed somehow from the rest of the pillars within Rivendell. The sound of the waterfalls were but whispers now, and looking back the way he came, it was the perfect view to see them and all of Imladris itself. Trailing nepeta tumbled down from the rooftop above, concealing the corridor within. They trailed so low that Bilbo himself had to part them to enter, their aromatic scent - herby yet faintly of mint - filled his nose.

The humming was still prevalent in the air, becoming louder as he walked on. A few fallen leaves from autumn past still tumbled about in whorls upon the floor, clattering with each other and scraping along the stone floor as they cavorted and chased one another.

Displayed along the wall was a long stretching mural, one he only noticed after his attention left the dancing leaves. He stopped with his hands clasped behind his back, and began studying the depictions. Light streamed through between the leaves, casting dappled sunspots about the painting as if they were revealing key features. He followed their lead.

It differed to the other murals he saw in Elrond’s home and main halls, the bright colours at the start became muted and mellow the painting went on.

Rich blue of the raiment upon an elf maiden caught his eye, golden flowers about her feet as she danced with a tall, mortal man observing from a distance. The story seemed followed the journey they undertook, standing before elven kings, darkened thrones, fighting fierce wolves, strange glittering gems, and the lady astride a giant hound before a large, gleaming tower. The corridor curled ever onwards, and the mural continued, showing great souring eagles, Bilbo’s feet lead him on as he accompanied the two in their tale, pondering the elaborate brushwork.

“How old must this be?” He murmured to himself, gazing upon gilded elven lettering, a gold such like he had never seen before.

As the corridor deepened, the colours became darker and the sunspots no longer reached them. It depicted the man laid upon the floor, his hand placed upon the great hounds head, and behind them was a massive gutted wolf, its eyes and maw ablaze with fire. It must have been a fearsome sight to behold, thought Bilbo. As he studied the pictures before him, he felt he could hear the scenes playing out, the roars of the two hounds as they fought and the clang of metal upon metal. Knelt before them was the elven king, and his captain and chief marchwarden, their heads lowered mourning.

Yet the next painting depicted the man leant up, and within his palm was the large, innately bright jewel that through the deep set colours of the painting. He saw it previously within an Iron crown. The sunlight had just managed to reach it, emphasising it in such a way that it lent it an iridescent likeness, if a painting could be so. Even a depiction of such an object captivated him. To raise the man, if only briefly, it must have been severely powerful. What was it? He could not read the elven script below. The rhythmic humming felt louder within his head as he stared, it felt like a song for the jewel itself, yet it was a sorrowful song that it did not seem to match the air that the jewel possessed.

Bilbo shook himself free, he found himself leaning inches from the mural, and he frowned lightly. He walked on, the man was then laid upon a bier of branches with the hound at his side, and thereafter the fair lady was laid upon the shore beside the sea. Then the colours changed once more. She was knelt in broad halls of gold, light streaming about her with large tapestries hung upon the far walls. A dark cloaked figure stood before her, then he was shown before a larger figure upon a throne, and soon, it seemed the man and the lady-elf had been reunited within deep green woodlands, back amongst the golden flowers.

He hummed to himself in intrigue, rolling back into the heels of his feet as he made mental notes to inquire with Elrond, or perhaps Gandalf. The tale intrigued him. Looking back at the rest of the mural, confusion dawned upon him in the form of furrowed brows, had they been granted a reincarnation of sorts? and what was the strange jewel? It hung in his mind ever still, the humming was ever present, yet fainter now.

At the end of the corridor was a sheer linen curtain, the fabric wavered lightly and the sound of flowing water accompanied the scent of geraniums and dog roses, calling him from within. Curiosity gnawed within his chest, looking out down the hall behind him once more and wiggling his nose, he decided to dip behind the curtain.

Down five steps he went, counting them as he descended cautiously, watching his feet with his hand upon the smooth wall. The stairs lead to a small natural cave, bore from the rock itself. It was lit with sunlight from far above, and far above water streamed down the rock and into a stone-tiled pool below. At the side, a juniper bush had grown over the corner of the water, and a stone bench laid underneath it. It was warm, and the water enticed him in. The humming felt like a far away memory as he watched the water undulate.

He noticed it sparkled with ripples, and bubbles floated atop it in gentle reams. It was then that Bilbo realised that the pool was already occupied.

Heat rose up his neck and flushed his face, the tips of his ears a violent crimson as the elf came into view. The water was up to her shoulders, her hair splayed in the water about her akin to molten metal, it too shimmered from the light above.

He looked anywhere but her, his hands at his hips as he tapped his foot upon the floor lightly, trying to figure out what to do.

“The mural depicts the tale of Beren and Lúthien,” she spoke, her voice fair and light. The halfling yelped in surprise, and burst into strings of apologies, stuttering over his words as he looked up to the rock above, refusing to look at her. She giggled at him, she always enjoyed teasing him during their travels with The Company, and even though this was his own doing, she felt it was a little too much for the poor hobbit's heart to take. Rising from the water, she watched as he span around to face the wall, before clearing his throat at the sound of dripping water upon the stone floor. His ears were as red as the setting sun upon the smooth clouds above. She slicked water off her skin and hair, before donning a pale silken robe, fastened with dainty buttons at the front and a knot at the back, pulling the garb taut.

“I was merely exploring, I had no idea what this place was, I am so sorry, please forgi-“

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, saying, “There is nothing to forgive, my dear Bilbo,” she fastened the last of the buttons as she spoke in ease, “Worry not, you have caused no offence,”

Bilbo finally turned and looked to her, laughing off his nerves as his hand came to rub the back of his neck, “Be careful you don’t slip,” he muttered, pointing to a puddle upon floor as she walked towards him, a smile graced her face. Bilbo looked to the water again, it had calmed now, and he racked his mind for anything to change the subject with.

Finally his mind cleared and he recalled what she had spoke, “Sorry, you mentioned the painting depicts a tale?” he asked, “Beren and who?”

“Lúthien,” she said, gesturing towards the stairs, and Bilbo lept upon them without a second thought, wishing to be rid of this place and it’s accompanying embarrassment, “It tells the story of love between the elf-maiden Lúthien, and the mortal man Beren, and their journey to be together.”

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully, holding the curtain open for her at the top of the stairs. She thanked him with a smile and a nod of her head, before he went and stood before the mural. Running his eyes along it, his little head a flurry of questions as his mouth opened and closed, starting and ending a question before it even left his throat. Sensing this, she sat upon a bench hewn of stone opposite and began braiding her hair as she started the story. The background of Beren and his father, Barahir, and their betrayal, Sauron, the Ring of Felagund, and how Beren found Lúthien dancing within a glade and they were both enchanted with each other. Bilbo listened quietly, enraptured by the tale.

When she paused, Bilbo frowned and asked, “Why could they not be together?” To him love was love, the thought of someone withholding that from anyone, or even putting a price on such a thing, sent his face even more into a furrow. Hobbits were very different from men and elves, it seemed.

Deft fingers worked her hair as she watched his contorted face, “They believed a love between Edain and Eldar was never to be born, Thingol thought Beren was not worthy of his daughter, she was said to be the most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar to ever live,”

Bilbo’s frown deepened, yet he nodded, he supposed he could understand in a way, a father's love. He pondered that mortal and immortal companionship could cause problems in the long run, indeed. Yet even though he wished for her continue, a question still gnawed upon his mind.

“And, what is this jewel?” he moved to point to the iridescent white jewel in the palm of Beren’s hand. The setting sun had moved, and whilst no sunlight was upon it, it still gleamed from within.

The she nodded to the jewel herself, and spoke lightly, rising to stand beside Bilbo, her braid complete, “That is a Silmaril, one of three forged by Fëanor from the light of The Two Trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurelin,” they were known by every elf, but it seemed not by every mortal, “Beren was tasked with retrieving one by King Thingol, only then could he take Lúthien’s hand, it was meant to be an impossible task, yet he acquired it through great expense.”

He nodded again lightly, taking everything in as his fingertip traced the outline of the jewel, “What happened to them? The other two Silmarils?”

The elf’s mouth opened to speak, but in that moment Bilbo realised the faint humming he had heard had faltered, and had become a voice, a fair and light voice in which an enchanting tune was strung.

“I heard humming before, it is now a song, what is it?” he muttered, almost to himself as he turned away from her. He felt mesmerised as curiosity swelled inside of him. Back down the corridor he went, under the Nepeta and upon the balcony, searching for the source. He stood about the tip of his toes, looking upon the balcony’s and window ledges of the surrounding buildings. She followed close behind, her brow furrowed before she realised what he was after. Her raiment fluttered as she walked down the corridor.

Placing a hand to Bilbos shoulder blade, she pointed upwards towards the balcony of the last house. There stood a tall, willowy elf with hair as dark as the fur of a great bear. The air about him was regal as he looked out to the waterfalls below, it seemed he was charmed by them, his voice almost glistening in time with their trails as he sang.

“Who is that?” The hobbit whispered, knowing the keen senses of the elves. His eyes were wide and wonderful. She smiled sadly as she listened, enraptured herself. It was not the first time she had heard such a song. He was clad in deep red raiment, its trumpet sleeves long and billowing as they wavered slightly in the breeze, the gold lining almost opalescent in the suns light. Upon one hand was a thin silken glove, resting upon the rail with a delicate placement.

“That is Maglor,” she said finally, her heart feeling full within her chest as she straightened, “One of the Nõldorin elves that came from Valinor in the First Age.” Bilbo made no move to respond ever watching, ever listening to the somber tune the ancient elf sung. A small white bird landed on the rail beside Maglor, and he held his palm out to it as he sang.

“The greatest minstrel and poet alive,” she continued, to this Bilbo nodded, “He is one of, if not the eldest elf that resides in this homely house, the last of the Son’s of Fëanor,”

Bilbo’s ears perked at this, inclining his head back towards her, his gaze never leaving Maglor. It was a name he recognised from her story before, the elf who made the Silmarils, those beautiful, beautiful Jewels. The Son’s of Fëanor sounded familiar to him from tales in his younger days, yet the rest of the stories he could not find in his minds eye. His eyes widened as he looked back to her.

“The last?” He asked, “Where are his brothers?”

Maglor’s song had faded, and Bilbo looked back up towards him. The elf's eyes had shifted from the rushing falls below to the Halfling, his gaze stern but gentle, the bird still perched upon his hand.

Bilbo gasped, grey eyes bore into him and they felt hypnotic, the humming tune of the Silmaril rang within his head. He backed up into his companion instinctively, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. She lowered her head to the Nõldorian prince, a flush coming upon her face offering a warm but earnest smile. Malgor’s gaze softened and he bowed his head lowly in return, before turning and walking back into his home. The bird fluttered out moments later, singing a long trill as he went, and soon light strumming of a harp sounded which soothed away the tension in the air.

The hobbit exhaled hard, leaning back upon balcony for support as the She-Elf chuckled lightly at him, “Come, little one, we can speak of it another time,” She walked ahead and waited, her arm outstretched for him.

Bilbo still stood looking at the balcony above, transfixed almost, before turning and following the lady, her palm resting between his shoulder blades as they walked.

“What happened to Beren and Lúthien?” he questioned, and she giggled back at him, she enjoyed the inquisitive nature of hobbits, and began recounting the story from where they left off.

Maglor heard their voices fade, and he too let his shoulders drop as he sat back within his chair, looking out over the valley as the sun began to set. His abode was the furthest away within Imladris, and he rarely spoke to any, save a few if he could help it. This was the home of healing, and so many let the towering elf pass undisturbed through the halls. Few knew his identity, and the rest knew not to ask questions. When he did speak, his temperament stayed gentle, saying very little, his tongue sounded archaic to those who listened, and his songs more often than not filled the air, reaching far within Rivendell. He preferred the company of his harp, which he’d strum gently with his glove-glad hand, and the delicate white birds that oft came to listen.