Mostly I Write Reader Inserts

Originally posted by jeonwonwoo

Summary: Today you say goodbye to almost everything you’ve ever loved.

Rating/Tags: All (Pregnant!Reader; inaccurate depiction of Lord of the Rings elves; pre-Last Alliance of Elves and Men; not canon compliant)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Notes: Hey, didn’t I say that I haven’t been able to get through all the supplementary lore books for The Lord of the Rings? So what’s with writing for this character that’s barely a blip in the trilogy? Well, to be honest, this was written as a replacement for the original character requested, Tyrion from A Song of Ice and Fire. I’ve got some guardian anon that always pops up whenever I tentatively agree to write anything for that series and reminds me that I don’t want to get sued. I agreed to write for Gil-galad solely because I felt bad for leaving the requester in the lurch.

Also: I haven’t seen Rings of Power and probably won’t. I don’t know if Gil-galad is a character in that (this gif seems to indicate he is), but 100% this is not canon compliant with this series. This was written sometime in 2015/2016 after reading a bunch of wiki articles about the character, so it’s probably not canon compliant at all. I mean, I know it’s not. Just don’t expect it to be consistent with the apparently not-particularly-accurate lore from the new series either.

Blanket

Through your elf eyes, war appeared to come slowly and from a great distance. Gil-galad, High King for many ages, at first kept it at bay with his wisdom. Unfortunately, war did not tire, and soon it was at your gate. Once Gil-galad and his allies struck it down. The second time, they were not as prepared.

They would ride out soon nonetheless, this last alliance of Men and Elves. A constant bustle kept everything in your kingdom moving, even as you at last fell quiet to observe. Above the sounds of stamping horses and shouted orders rose the final desperate clangs of the blacksmiths. The smells of hot metal and mud threatened to smother you. For once, the thought of leaving Arda did not seem so awful, not if this was all you had to look forward to from then on.

The mare underneath you let out a great snort. Without really thinking about it, you reached out one hand and patted her neck. That did not appear to settle your mount, and you could not really blame her. This environment did not foster patience or life. As an elf, however, your natural serenity kept the worst of your anxiety at bay to all but those who knew you best. 

Just then, a clatter of hooves against the moist earth interrupted your musings. Riding toward you–with his usual contingent of guardsmen far behind–was one such person who knew you best: your husband. All it took was your meeting his eyes, and you knew that it was time. You remained still until he came to an easy stop in front of you, then bowed your head.

“My Lord.”

“[Name],” he answered, inclining his own. “Ride with me a distance.”

His horse paced quickly ahead of yours. You paused only long enough to gaze a final time at the fields of Noldor. Already they seemed torn: the earth beneath hooves, the women and children beneath fear, the men beneath battle. Some sort of emotion tingled through your breast, but what sort, you could not tell. Already you were distancing yourself from these places and these people. Only one painful parting remained.

Gil-galad did not remark upon your countenance when at last you caught up with him. Behind you rode and stopped a half-dozen armed Elves. Half, you knew, would leave after this meeting to follow your husband back and to Mordor. The other half–those that could be spared forever–would join you on your way to the Grey Lands.

For several minutes, no one spoke. Even the sounds of those readying for war seemed muffled. Gil-galad’s keen eyes settled somewhere far away, somewhere even you could not see yet. It would take a boat and several weeks travel to get there, and he would not be joining you. 

When he blinked, Gil-galad returned his attention to you. “This is goodbye, [Name].”

The required words of farewell were in your throat before you swallowed them away. Now was the time to make your feelings known, if ever a time for that was there. “You know I do not wish this.”

His eyes widened momentarily before his gaze softened. Gil-galad had known you for hundreds of years; there were none left alive in Arda that knew you as well. Perhaps in the lands you had left so long ago there remained a few, but that was little comfort in the here and now. Your husband knew that you harbored no delusions of grandeur, no desire of finding glory in war. A battlefield was no place for a woman, least of all a woman in your situation.

Gil-galad’s familiar lips twisted up into a well-worn, gentle smile. Without taking his eyes off of you, he bent slightly to draw something from one of the bundles carried by his horse. At first, it appeared nothing more than a folded bit of fabric, for that was what it was. He unrolled it to reveal a blanket, common in appearance but clearly uncommon in make.

“I had it made months ago,” he explained before you could ask what he was doing, commissioning such things in the midst of all the chaos. “You ought to have it now. It may be cold on your journey, and our child may yet have need of it.”

It was a gentle reminder: Gil-galad desired to protect not only you but his unborn baby as well. Frowning, you took the blanket and spread it gracefully over your lap. Suddenly you could not bear to look at him. You placed one hand on the curve of your stomach and kept your gaze on a nearby tree. 

“You realize that there is a chance you are sending away your only heir,” you said.

Again you heard hooves, then he was close enough to take your chin and carefully pull your face toward his. “You realize that if I did not, there is a chance great harm could befall him.”

Tears did not come easily to you, so you did not cry. Still you were certain that Gil-galad saw in your features the bone-deep sadness you felt over your parting. Arda was the most beautiful place you had ever lived; he was the most perfect being you had ever loved.

“And when you return, how will you provide another king?” you asked quietly.

“If this alliance succeeds,” his emphasis did not escape you, “and I survive along with it, I will not return to Noldor. I will come to you.”

“And if it and you do not?”

“Then I will see you again when all has passed, even the lands to which you are returning.” 

Gil-galad allowed no time for protesting, though you no longer felt the need to do so. He was as determined in seeing you off as he had been in courting you. Another less-stifling quiet fell, and he released your chin so that he could press his forehead to yours. Ten seconds may have passed, or perhaps ten ages. Then he flicked his reigns and started up the way he had come. 

As the path turned, he did as well to the remnant of warriors staying with you. “See [Name] and the child safely across the sea, and you will prove yourself every bit as brave and reliable as those that go with me.”

They bowed. Gil-galad caught your eye for a split second and was gone. You stared after him as your guards’ horses headed further down the path. Only when the last remained waiting for you to move did you set your mare on the course set before you. When the others began to sing their goodbyes, as was custom, you did not join. Just as your child would never again know the voice of its father, your lips would never again know the feel of a song.