Silmarillion X Reader - Tumblr Posts

The Soulless One (Part 1)

Request: Hi 🌷 How are you? Can I request the female human reader, who died in a battle fighting. Being reborn as an elf in Valinor and Maedhros falling in love with her again?

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Angst🤌 and drama🦐 and SOULMATES✨ (And they were soulmates)

Summary: Giving away your soul for a bloody battle? Pfft, you were fucking in for good.

AN: Heyyy sorry for being late but I just love your ask. This was in my brain cooking for months so here is my two-part apology for being late. (Is the reader pick me? Lmk)

Part 2 (Coming soon)

"Then you can have mine," and just like nothing, the Edain offered her soul. "Whatever parts of you they have stolen, you can lend from me. They aren't flawless like you elven folk, but they've lasted me decades." Your smile was easy and light, unlike your words.

Maglor almost wanted to jump out of the window but his brother's room was too high up to do that without losing a limb and as a matter of fact, the Feanorians are not fond of losing limbs until absolutely necessary.

"You speak of your soul like it matters not a bit," Maedhros huffed shuffling his blankets seemingly unbothered by you a great feat.

"We men may possess weak body but undermine not the strength of our souls." The glimmer of pride in your voice is the only indication of the position that you hold over the rest in the room.

"You..." Words feel awkward on Maedhros' tongue. "You can't just...offer your soul." A raised eyebrow and amused smirk is not the response that Maedhros honestly expected.

Much to everyone present's surprise you rest your feet on his bed leaning back in your chair, "Can't you like do some elven magic or shit," you shrug as if absorbing mannish souls were to be a polite elven practice.

Celegorm scoffed ready to snivel into the conversation before Maedhros delivered him a glare that very much declared to not fuck up the alliance with men.

Fingon, on the other hand, seemed to be possessed by untamable laughter. "Much to our sorrow, there isn't a way to lend souls general." Rolling your eyes, you look up into the sky with a frustrated frown on your forehead. "Let me share my fucking soul so we can fucking fight the damned bane of my people." You challenge the gods themselves.

And the weird assortment of the elven party gathered would have snickered at your antics if not for the miraculous thunder strike that the gods seem to have sent for you.

The next moment, Maedhros clutched his chest as the broken fragments of his soul were pulled together by a force that seemed to glue them together like a completed puzzle.

"Someone more refined perhaps," the damn elf smirks even as you glare at him. "Someone who restrains from cursing after every other word," he continues with his long list of demands.

"Enchanting eyes, long braided hair, a beauty mark or two placed by their lips, elegant nose, supple lips-"

"Well you might have to fuck yourself then my lord," you interrupt his merry list.

Maedhros chuckles, much to your growing annoyance. "You are right general. After all, I was once the well-formed one once, not much of it now but do not mind my requisites in a spouse."

None of his words sting more than the echoing past tense of his last sentence. "You still are well-formed lord." Your cheeks burn with heat and it is foolish to feel such fervor for mere words. Forcing your eyes to focus on the looming willow swaying in the afternoon heat you muster the courage to spew the words that seem to rush from the crevices of your heart to your lips. "I may not be the one from your long list of wants but you still are yourself. You, to me, are the most radiant one."

Your heart beats louder than it has ever done. Louder than the aftermath of a bloody battle. You contemplate fleeing the scene of this overtly emotional moment before Maedhros scoffs. "What would an unkempt one like you know of radiance." His words are sharp, even in his praise he spares no comfort to you.

It is better than the coying sweetness of his kindness that you have dreamt of. The harshness of his words makes it easier to let go of shame and hold on to him. "Indeed what would a woman blinded by eldest Feanorian know of my lord," had it been any other to mock you with such words, you would have toppled his head from his body but in front of the elf, who has conquered your soul, your words and actions have mellowed into mere longing. "As for all your extensive criteria," you step closer to him, and despite the subtlety of his sharp breath, you notice it, "I will make sure to satisfy you in the next lifetime."

If this was what sharing your soul meant, then you would have done it sooner. You would have given it to him at first glance.

Maedhros, a ten centuries old elder finds him in quite a predicament. The unruly general by his side was anything but of his preference.

You were brutish. Your hair was a tangled mess on a good day or a bunched-up botched hair bun on worse ones. Your face and body were full of scars. Your laughter was the most un-lady-like thing full of snorts.

He, the eldest Feanorian, was not made for anything less than perfect. Even in his fall, his existence and his fate were destined to be beyond you.

It had to be an effect of sharing your soul, perhaps. Maedhros read countless texts. He even scoured his father's works on fea and hroa all his research to retrieve Miriel's soul.

There had to be something wrong with him to find all wrong with you to be everything right.

You've been to countless battlefields. Stepped over broken bodies without much of a look back. It had been a challenge to the entire court of your father's kingdom. You were a soldier before a princess.

Yet, today, it feels different. You are aware of the brittle soul trapped in your body. You knew you were fucked the second you realized how little was left of it. The moment you poured your very essence into the elven lord.

Your mortal bones have never felt lighter. With the first steps on the battlefield, you know it is your last. The General from Rhun is destined to die on this very battlefield.

But you mask it well. You grip your sword tight in your hands and steal a last glance at the lord who holds the rest of your soul.

A fraction of the second that you manage to steal feels longer than decades of existence. You knew you would die for the eldest Feanorian. Looking back at your men, you speak words of courage and valor.

"We fight for the Earth that feeds us, for the rivers that water our crops, and the winds that soothe summers. We fight to one day free our land of its curse." Your men roar back at your words. Their eyes filled with brimming passion but also acceptance.

Every single soldier on that field was aware of their end. Ulfang had long shown his true colors. Easterlings, as others called your people, were now the enemy.

The entire alliance saw you as nothing more than a thorn in their grand plans. Meager rations, little to no water, rusted weapons, the worst had befallen whatever had left of the forces of the East.

Maedhros was too far gone to even allow an audience. This battlefield would be the end of the last host to Edain from the East. Your sacrifice wouldn't be enough to repair the loss of elven lives on the first few days of battle.

But it would perhaps be the ignition of valor for a generation far into the years of the world.

Maedhros despises you. More than Easterlings, more than Ulfang whom you once treated as a brother or even the botched form of orcs.

He hates you for your crude humor, your smug smiles, your nasty temper, your ceaseless shameless flirting, he hates the way you give away all of yourself without blinking an eye, how you smile maniacally surrounded by a towering group of enemies, they way your soul hold the fragments of his soul together. The worst is that you bear every unfair mistreatment thrown your way without an ounce of complaint.

The sunken look of circles under your eyes and the hollow of your cheeks was enough to know how poorly the entire camp had treated the remaining Haradrim. Moldy food, uneven sleeping grounds, even the spear in your hand were made out of brittle splintering wood that trembled at the smallest impact.

He knows of his cruelty to you. He also knows of your soft thanks to his guard, who informs you of another rejected audience.

And when you walk away from his tent, he can see the heavy burden on your shoulders that seem to slump under the burden you carry.

But on the battlefield, he sees another version of you. Through stolen glimpses at the farthest corner of the battlefield, he sees you.

Your armor is dented. A new wound bleeds heavily from your back. Your eyes are wide open untouched by the sweat that drips down from your brow to the tip of your nose. Your sweat mixes with the dark blood splattered on your face.

However, most eire is the wide grin on your lips. He feels a thrum of uncontained joy in the parts of your soul. No...it wasn't joy but eagerness. Excitement for what was to come. Death.

5 arrows, 2 sword wounds, and an array of petal-like bruises blooming all over your body. In the dark of night, he does not struggle to find you as a mortal would have.

Littered amongst the unclaimed bodies of your kin, the forces of Ulfang had left rotting lay you.

No smile greets Maedhros this time. None of your clever words or even an appreciative whistle that was your routine after checking him out. It is awfully quiet.

"I had expected you to betray me. To leave the alliance that promised you nothing," his arms wrap around your cold body, pulling your head into his lap. "Even till the end of it, I could not trust you. Only in your absence have I come to yearn you," he snaps the arrows sticking out of your torso.

His thumbs wipe off his own tears as they fall and slide off your face. "I miss you dearly. I have missed you dearly for all the time we have been apart." He pulls you closer to his heart, where your soul and his rests.

"Your soul that joins mine together like glue seems to be searching for its half. Even without my will, I end up looking for you. The thrumming anticipation in your blood today... I felt it. And for a moment, I had wanted to fall next to you."

Maedhros imagines your snarky remarks to his emotional words, but none of them feel right. How would you have reacted to his confession? He chuckles, imagining an overbearing look of ill-concealed pride. "I wasn't kind to you. I took your soul. Never once treated you the way my heart desired to. I never once told you how much your very presence fills me with love." All the moments of your time with him play before his eyes. Staring into the stars, he continues.

"I another lifetime...you must find me." He whispers into the tight embrace. "Find me in the form you have promised me. And then I will allow myself to love you...please," he begged.

"I will await you, with your soul and mine."

The Glorious One

Request: Hi. I was wondering if you could write a fic, where Maedhros comes back from Angband and finds the female elf reader with a child and assumes she had given up on him and moved on. He decides to stay away from her life. The reader comes to him with their son, but he keeps his distance and still believes he ( son ) is someone else's son. Their son decides to participate in the war. Only for him to find out that the boy is his, after his death in the war. The reader and Maedhros had a heartfelt moment in the end.I hope you can understand this and it doesn't sound too confusing and complicated.

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Angst (caution- 100% concentrated angst)

Word Count: 3k

AN: Thanks for the request I loved writing it. Also, Baldur has been a long-time OC of mine so lmk if you would like to know more about it.

Part 2

The peaceful shores of Nevrast offer little comfort to your heart. The unease that hasn’t left you for the past months has followed you there.Yet, you wander these shores looking for the last hope. Your only hope.

Turgon had become your last resort. It was nearly a year since Maedhros’ capture and you were close to exhausting your options. The only remaining option now seemed to be Turgon. 

Related to you by your aunt Anaire, your mother’s sister, you believed Turgon to be the only one who could help you find Maedhros. You had begged Maglor and pleaded to an unrelenting Celegorm. You tried everyone but none answered.

But now that you find yourself closer to Turgon’s averting eyes, where lingers no love for his once half-cousin, you wonder if it were to be you. You would have left long ago, had there not been kicking signs of life in your belly. Yours and Maedhros’ child. 

You found it no later than when you first received the news of your beloved’s ambush. And now it became the only tether that kept you away from Maedhros. Maybe you had expected him to be back, for someone to care for him, for anyone of his extensive kin to go look for him. 

You desired for him to be here for the news. You wanted him to witness your growing belly or be there for the mornings of your sickness. You never talked about having children of your own but you knew how much it would have pleased Maedhros. How much he would love his child. 

So, by the quiet shores of the Nevrast, you wait for a time when you will be able to go look for your Nelyo. When you would be able to reunite the father of your child with them. 

The pains of your labor pass in the halls of Turgon. The day that you wished to spend by Maedhros is spent alone in pain. It seems unending and there is no one to hold your hand as your body tears itself. But that too passes away when you hear his first cries. 

Baldur, your son enters the world with shrill cries that drown yours. And just like this hope springs back into your life. He has come and Maedhros would as well. 

It is that day you start counting the time that you would be allowed to go look for Maedhros. One day when your son would be old enough to be by himself and you could bring Maedhros back. 

You spend years raising Baldur, who inherits your hair but glimpses of Maedhros reflect from his face. Cherishing every moment of his little life. Writing every passing moment down for when you will meet Maedhros.

So, it comes as a surprise when you hear the news of Maedhros’s return. Fingon rescued him from the cliffs of the Thangodrim. Holding your son Baldur’s little hand you make your way to Hirming. And on your way, you tell your son all of his father’s tales, his valor, his speech, his kindness, everything you remember your Maedhros as.

What greets you in Hirming is not a warm welcome…you did not expect that but a sense of hostility fills the air. Something that you did not expect to encounter. Not on the occasion of Maedhros’s return.

In your arms, Baldur excitedly whispers the name of each of his uncles. At least he tries to from whatever he can remember. Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curfin, Amrod, Amras, you have told him of all his uncles. Every single one of the big family he belongs to, even the ones separated by the sea.

“I must meet Maedhros,” you ask of Maglor who stops you outside of Maedhros’ door. Despite burying his head in your shoulder you can feel Baldur’s curiosity towards his uncles. The merry swing of his legs betray his excitement but your son has promised for Maedhros, his father to be the first one to be the one who he looks at. So, your darling waits with the patience of the most obedient elfling. 

You, however, unlike Baldur face the disdain on Maglor’s face who does not budge from the door. “Brother is unwell,” your heart drops at his words but Maglor continues, “Please leave.” Curt words grate on your nerves. There lingers a dangerous edge of Feanorian rage hidden in your brother-in-law’s voice. 

A dreadful sorrow fills your entire being as you re-adjust Baldur in your arms. 

“You don’t unde-”

“I understand well enough and so does Maitimo. We have all honored your wish to choose another so leave. Do not burden my brother with any more grief. Do not make him witness your child with another,” words that leave Maglor’s mouth leave you numb. 

“I would not…you know that Laure,” you try to explain to the ellon who does not believe anything that leaves your mouth. 

“My brother has honored you enough to offer you a home in Hirming but nothing more. So honor him in return and stay away.” Yet your mind focuses only on the slight wetness on your shoulder. Your son’s tears dampen your gown. Little hands that clutch your fabric close in a fist. How could he, who you shielded from every hurt, how could he be bared to such cruelty?

Your truth and your son’s truth go unheard. And you let it be for the prince you once knew to be your husband. The one who escapes your every sight. 

Maybe it is your last favor to him. A mercy of sparing him of the bond he seems to deny so vehemently. You do not burden him, who has suffered enough. 

 Concealed behind the thick curtains of his room, Maedhros observes you leave. His heart drowning in what seems the most painful of hurts. Moments ago, what had been his unconcealed joy now turns into despair.

He had felt the familiar flutter of his heartbeat your voice albeit strained but it had been your voice. The one he had craved for years of his capture. The voice of love from Valinor, the voice who stood by even in the hour of their dreadful doom. Your voice.

But the reality of the present comes crashing down. His brothers had told him of your choice. Your binding to another who lived in Nevrast. And despite all that happened, despite your betrayal, Maedhros could not blame you. It was for better that you remained away from the Maedhros of middle earth. It was better that for you he will always be the Nelyafinwe of Aman. Unscared ellon you loved. Not the broken husk he had become. And maybe just the act of your care of coming to visit him was enough. It was enough for Maedhros. He could not ask more of you.

He watches you leave his tower, it is then that he notices the mass on your shoulder, and his heart skips a beat. Resting on your shoulder is a mop of hair similar to yours. A tiny squished face and dazed slightly reddened eyes of an elfling. Your son. Yours and someone else’s, who wasn’t him, who he could never be.

Years later as Maedhros walks the paths of his celebrating soldiers, he for the first time feels the thrum of joy run through his veins. Dagor Aglareb, the glorious battle had been glorious indeed. A win against the dark lord.

The air feels fresher and the walls of Hirming more welcoming than they ever did. Maybe there was hope for them. With a thousand future plans forming in the eldest Feanorian’s brain, the victorious battalion made their way to the fortress. 

Yet, despite the joy that fills the party, the first night of the return is mellow. It is spent to honor the ones lost for the cause. There is a small number of them but that makes it even more important to honor those who took the fall for the cause of this world.

Heroes in their own right. It is members of a small segment led following an onslaught of a chunk of the orc army. Numbers smaller than the ones surviving. It is what most would call not a heavy loss. 

Carrying the list of departed, Maedhros spends the night comforting the families. He sits next to grieving wives and lamenting daughters. He does that earnestly. Their tears become his and their burden his. But he does not stop.

So, the world falls silent when his steps land him in front of your door. The one he has ignored for so long. And Maedhros’ heart thunders and an ominous feeling haunts him, leaving goosebumps lining his arms.

Baldur, Captain of the guard. Died following a party of orcs. The words written on his list haunt him. The handle to your door is cold. There is a solitary chill that creeps through the wooden door. 

Pushing open the door, Maedhros pauses as he takes in the scene in front of him. The entire room lies in disarray and in the middle of the broken glass pieces, a sea of cloaks, coats, pieces of paper, are seated you. 

With your hair undone, your hands bleeding onto the floor as pieces of glass dig deep into your skin. Maedhros finds you. Your face is full of blood, for a fleeting moment it alarms Maedhros only for you to smear it further as you wipe your tears.

“Baldur,” your voice is a whisper as your hug a cloak close to you. “Baldur,” you repeat and Maedhros notices how hoarse your voice is. He steps closer but you do not notice him.

“I am sorry for your loss,” formal words feel awkward on his tongue. “He was a great soldier. A captain worthy of his title,” Maedhros strings sentiments that do not come easy to him. He tries to imagine the captain he cannot remember. A distant face, he had not known to be your son. “Your son’s body is retrieved. You may ask his father-”

“His father will not come,” you interrupt him. Your voice so distant. Maedhros aches to hold you. Even through this, a sense of rage fills him. The unfairness of the ellon who left you to bear this alone. “Why not?” Maedhros questions back. 

“He does not know of his son. His father never knew how much his son cherished him. How much that child wished to be with him.” a cold seeping fear fills Maedhros. But he does not stop his next question. He cannot stop himself from asking you, “Who is it?” In some sense, he knows the answer.

You do not answer him. But Maedhros does not need words to know. He gingerly picks up one of the papers littered around you. It is written in a handwriting he has never seen but it feels hauntingly familiar nonetheless. 

Silence hangs heavy between you, the unspoken truths and the untold years of longing stretching out in the space. The ache in his chest grows unbearable as he takes in the sight of you, battered by grief and loss. His voice trembles as he finally speaks the words that have been lodged in his throat for far too long.

"I am sorry," he whispers, his voice laced with regret and a pang of profound sadness. “I am sorry,” he repeats as his soul seems to be ripping itself.

Dearest Father,

The day I meet you, I shall immediately demand my Ataresse. You must name with pride. Every day I work hard for that day. For that fated day when you will recognize me as your son. I know it will come and how proud you will be of me. I will work hard for it.

I wonder about you a lot. All of you. I have heard your tales from Mother, from your soldiers who seem to admire and respect you more than the Valar themselves. Father, your strength, your kindness, your valor, I admire them all. I hope that I too can become likes of you one day.

Your empathy for trying to save the boats, your humility in passing the crown to grand uncle Nolofinwe, your strength in remaining unyielding to the enemy. I love them all. Mother tells me that I am as tall as you and that I speak just like you. You must tell me if that is true when we meet.

My mother loves you intensely. She speaks of you with such fondness that even I cannot help but be endeared to you, who I have never met. I too wish to find to love like that once in my lifetime. But I shall only do that once I unite you and Mother.

And when that happens I will meet all my uncles and ask them more about you and them. I am writing this letter as I wait for the Hirming guard to respond back to my recruitment. I hope this step brings me closer to you. 

Until then father, I will pray that you will love me. 

With all my love,

Baldur

Dearest Father,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. It has been some time since I last wrote to you, and there are many things I wish to share with you.

I have recently been appointed as a squire to one of the knights of Hirming. It is a great honor, and I am learning a great deal from him. He speaks highly of your prowess in battle and your strategic brilliance. I strive to emulate your skills and make you proud.

Mother often tells me stories of your adventures and the battles you fought. She speaks of your unwavering courage and unwavering loyalty to your kin. I am in awe of your bravery, and I long to be a warrior like you.

Father, I have been practicing my archery skills diligently. I can now hit the target from greater distances, and I am improving my accuracy. I hope that one day, I will be as skilled as you were with a bow and arrow. I know you would be pleased to see my progress.

Sometimes, I sit beneath the stars and imagine what it would be like to have you by my side. To learn directly from you, to hear your words of wisdom, and to feel the strength of your embrace. I yearn for that day, Father, when we can be together as father and son.

I often wonder if you think of me, if you know of my existence. I hope that one day, you will hear of my achievements and be proud of the son you have. I dream of the moment when we will finally meet, when I can look into your eyes and see the love that only a father can give.

Until that day comes, Father, I will continue to train and strive to be the best version of myself. I will carry your name and your legacy with honor. I will make sure that the world knows of the great Maedhros and the love he has for his son.

With all my love and longing,

Baldur

Dearest Father,

Guess what?! Something amazing has happened! I can hardly contain my excitement as I write this letter to you!

I am thrilled to share with you that I have been chosen as the Captain of the Guard in Hirming! Can you believe it? I get to lead a whole group of brave warriors and protect our people. It's like a dream come true! I'm walking on air, Father!

Every day, I put on my shiny armor and hold my head high, just like you would. I feel so important and strong, just like the great Tulkas himself! Everyone looks up to me, and I make sure to lead with courage and honor, just like you taught me through Mother's stories.

Oh, Father, I can't help but imagine the day when I will finally meet you face to face. I'll run up to you, all covered in armor, and say, "Father, it's me, Baldur, your son!" And we'll hug and laugh and talk about all the adventures we'll have together.

I'm training harder than ever, Father. I want to be strong and skilled, just like you. Every swing of the sword, every strategic move, brings me closer to you. I can almost feel your presence guiding me, cheering me on. I'll make you proud, Father, I promise!

I have so many questions to ask you when we finally meet. I want to hear about all your epic battles, your wise words, and the lessons you've learned. And I can't wait to share my own stories with you too! We'll have the grandest adventures together, just you and me.

Until that magical day arrives, Father, know that I carry you in my heart always. Your spirit fuels my determination and gives me the courage to face any challenge. I'm counting down the days until we can be together, to laugh, to fight, and to create memories that will last a lifetime.

With overflowing excitement and love,

Your enthusiastic son, Baldur

Cheers of victory fill the empty field where Baldur lies. A smile creeps on his face. They made it. They had won. His father won. 

The sword that impales him seems to pin him to the ground but Baldur cannot care. Even as shreds of his soul are ripped from his body, the ellon is full of pride. 

The world blurs as his breaths come uneven and maybe he is indeed lost in a trance when he sees a blurry outline come walking towards him. He squints his eyes but it is hard to distinguish the battered armor that seems to be heading his way.

“Father,” he calls but no one replies.

Alcarinque, Maedhros names his son. The glorious one, who died in the glorious battle. 

I can DEFINITELY see that happening.

Have you ever wondered if elves comprehend human jokes or sarcasm?, like for example when we are so pissed off we say things out of rage and don't truely mean it..

*plan not going well*.

Human:*pissed* I'm gonna k!ll myself.

Elf:*visibly concerned* why would you do that?!.

Helping Their S/O De-stress

Headcanons: Maedhros, Fingon, Finrod, Thingol, Elrond

A/N: This was inspired by an ask I got last year with Mae, Fingon, Finrod and Elrond assisting their s/o de-stress. Thingol is the newest addition to the group.

Maedhros

As someone who was partially in charge of the Noldor, he understands what it means to be under heavy levels of stress.

Hate to see you in a state of confusion and lacking inspiration till you become stressed out.

Quick to do whatever he can to assist so you can get your brain up and running so that you can focus on your workload.

He’ll urge you to stop thinking so hard for a moment so he could pull you into his arms and rub your back.

“Mae, what are you doing?” Your brows furrowed as his arms reached out to pull you into his chest. The deep sounds of his humming vibrated through his chest as he gave you his short reply.

“I’m helping you.”

Still confused but pleased with his attempts at soothing your stress, you lifted your arms to wrap around his waist and pull yourself close to him, nuzzling into his chest. “Thank you, but I’m not really stressed. I just can’t come up with a plot for a book I’m writing. I’ve written over five drafts and nothing…I’m pooped.”

Humming at your response, he said nothing as he was thinking of the right response and continued his rubbing. You were still standing in his embrace in the middle of the room, swaying from side to side. “Yes, you are. Maybe this would help you to create a plot, or would you like me to help you write?”

“I didn’t know you write?” You teased him with a light pinch to his arms and giggled.

“I write speeches for debates, remember?”

Eyes lighting up, you lifted your head upwards and released a sound of realisation with a tired look in your eyes. Maedhros couldn’t help but chuckle, having seen his brother with the same look before he started crying. “How about we get something to eat first, and I’ll assist you with your book?”

“Food does sound great.”

Fingon

This baby hates the idea of you appearing stressed, even if it’s for something that deserves to be stressed out about.

He tries so hard to get you to remain constantly happy and smiling, so seeing you stressed sends him into a panic.

Fingon immediately assigns himself with the responsibility of reducing your stress as though his life depended on it.

He’ll stop you from whatever it was you were doing and drag you away so it would just be the both of you.

“Fingon, what are you doing? Where are you taking me?” his only response was a boyish smile he threw as he tossed his head around to face you. His grin almost split his face and yet you were able to notice the troublesome look cracking through.

Ushering you into his room, he would be quick to shut the door and walk you over to his bed. Plopping down and pulling you into his lap, his arms were quick to wind around your waist and tug you closer into his embrace. You were left confused and worried as he held you securely in his lap, rubbing his hands up and down your back, and occasionally stroking your hair.

“Is…is everything alright with you love?” Lifting his head to meet your concerned eyes, he grinned before nudging his against your forehead and planting a kiss on your nose.

“You looked stressed, so I’m helping you relax.”

“I’m not entirely stressed; I just can’t create a plot for a book I’m writing…I have ideas but they’re not making sense when I write them…”

Humming as he allowed your words to sink in, his next response caught you off guard and caused you to laugh. “Why not write about me being your knight in shining armour rescuing you? I think that’s a great plot, and easy to write. A happily ever after…”

“Sure, I’ll  also include you tripping over your two left feet as you rushed to save me.” Replying to him with a smirk, you soon felt a pinch being delivered to your arm at his slip-up.

“Now that’s mean; I’m trying to assist.” He grumbles as he scoots his body up the bed until he rested against the pile of pillows. Shuffling around to make himself comfortable for you to lie on, tugs you onto his chest and wraps his legs around you. “First, take a nap have some good dreams and then I’ll help you write.”

“I hope you can understand my thoughts when I give them to you.”

Finrod

One of the perfect people to relieve your stress and assist with your writing.

Finrod has supposedly written tales of romance and adventure in his spare time along with poems and songs, thus, assisting you has never been a problem.

Though, he will realise that amongst the guidance, you were stressed and unable to focus which leads him to carry you away from your work desk and onto the sofa to lounge.

Somewhere a suitable distance from your writing so you can relax your mind and be at ease.

Arms and legs were wrapped around the eager King as he traversed his corridor with you on his back. With the crown upon his head and still garmented in his finest wear, Finrod has no shame or problem in carrying his loved one around if it meant reducing their stress. The smile on the King’s face was enough for anyone to know not to bother or chastise him for his mannerless and informal behaviour.

“Where are you taking me might I ask dear?” poking the side of his face while you were resting upon his shoulder and staring at him affectionately.

Humming in response, Finrod tossed his head to face yours and gave you an enthusiastic grin before bounding down the corridor with more vigour in his step. Soon, you came to the grand white, and gold crested door that revealed the King’s indoor private pool, “Ready to loosen up and have some fun?”

“Fun? Finrod, I can’t afford to take a dip, I have my work to return—what are you doing?” shaky and squeaky your voice grew as you observed him removing his crown and boot, leaving him in his full wear before he walked around and headed for the steps. Still clinging to his back, Finrod gripped your legs before taking the most unexpected dive into the pool, drenching you both.

Flailing about the place, you could hear echoes of Finrod’s laughter as you fought with your clothes and the water, “De-stressed now meleth-nîn?”

“…I’m soaked…you got me wet…my clothes…” you could only stare at your King while he waddled through the water to tower above you with his hands cupping your cheeks and a wet kiss being placed on your lips.

“There, better now,” he pulled back with a grin as you went quiet, eyes darting around attempting to hide your jubilation.

“…one more please…”

Thingol

The Elven King frowned as he observed your frantic and frustrated demeanour. Hands clawing at your hair and ink splattered across your face.

You were at it for hours attempting to work on a new piece, but you hadn’t revealed that it was a painting for him.

Thingol would stand in the doorway for minutes before he grew frustrated and made himself present, scaring you in the process and watching as your hopped around to hide the canvas.

Despite the paint on your hands and face, he’d gently guide you into his garden to relax.

Thingol’s hands wove their way through your loose and unbounded hair, catching any strands that had paint and removing them with his handkerchief. He could hear the soft breathing you were emitting as his fingers massaged your scalp and chuckled as your head lulled from side to side as he rocked you into a slumber. He refused to cease his handiwork and reached for some flowers nearby, braiding them into your hair.

The air was quiet in his garden. The small streams of water pooling into the miniature ponds, the hummingbirds zooming about and the fragrant air waffling into his sanctuary.

You sat between his legs, head resting against his chest and arms and legs sprawled out haphazardly, looking like the most divine creature the world had ever seen, but to Thingol, he couldn’t help but laugh at your sleeping face. All the lines of stress were removed, but your half-opened mouth was the highlight of your sleeping beauty appearance; too many times he had seen it and too many times he found it hilarious. He couldn’t help but struggle to stifle his laughter the longer he looked at you.

Unfortunately, his rumbling shook you awake. “Hmm, w-what’s happening and…why are you vibrating?” looking around with sleep on your face, you whipped your neck around to gaze at your wheezing lover.

Still chuffing silently, he shook his head while patting yours, guiding you back to sleep, “It’s…it’s alright nîn lóth, everything is alright. Return to your slumber; you are beyond stressed and tired, rest.”

A sweet kiss was pressed to the crown of your head before he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his robes around your smaller figure, and lulling you back to sleep.

Elrond

He knows and understands the stress behind writing any piece of literature; he’s basically swamped by dozens of reports or documents on a daily basis.

Seeing tug at your hair or knock your head against the table multiple times begging for ideas to flow properly would make him wince.

 Elrond would quietly enter your room with a knock on your door carrying a tray of chamomile or hibiscus tea with a few treats to snack on because he knows that you haven’t consumed any food.

Despite your protests, he would pry you away from your desk and guide you over to a table near a window and feed you.

“Ah, ah, ah, no complaining my dear. You were showing signs of stress and as your healer and husband, it is my job to care for you,” there was an unmistakable playful smile behind his stern expression while he held the cup of chamomile tea to your lips.

There weren’t any chances of escaping his self-care moment and you had no choice but to follow through. Soon you were drinking tea and munching on strawberry biscuits while lounging in Elrond’s arms on the balcony. “It’s really difficult to write my thoughts out on paper because it sounds amazing in my head but as soon as I write it, it makes no sense.”

“Maybe you should practice writing your thoughts out more often.”

“Elrond, I’ve been writing all my thoughts, why do you think my books exist. I just wish I can just magically get my thoughts onto the paper without writing, you know?”

Unable to answer because he had never experienced writer’s block, Elrond just hummed and lifted his hand to stroke your hair in hopes of calming you. He bent his head down and planted a kiss on your forehead and immediately felt you melt. “Maybe you simply need to rest a bit and inspiration will flow darling.”

“Hmm…I better dream all my thoughts appearing on that paper.”

Masterlist

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