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Adar knows how King and Court think of the Peredhel, like some bittersweet tale of fantasy, like the scion of some distant history told to sleepy little elflings by the fire - but do not fear, gwinig, for the beautiful prince was saved from his cruel captors to live in happiness forever after with us. They speak of him like he's something quaint. Doesn't he look so like Lúthien, so like his forefather Fingolfin? Isn’t he as dignified as the Princess Idril? Isn’t he wise like Elu Thingol? How sweet!
And so in the golden light of Lindon do they lie to themselves - for Elu Thingol was ruthless, unshakeable in his convictions even unto his death; yet the courtiers tut at Lord Elrond’s stubbornness. Idril Celebrindal was trapped, as hidden as her city as darkness crept up the walls and into her home; yet Lady Galadriel shrugs off her friend’s warnings. Fingolfin held Morgoth at bay for four hundred years, unfailing strength carved into his very bones; yet the King both censures his Herald for his forcefulness.
And Lúthien, ai! Tinúviel, wrathful, relentless, unearthly - when friends flinch from your gaze and Lords shift uneasily when you talk, when the wise cannot bring themselves to look on you for fear of what they will see, when Kings lie and placate and spin gossamer traps because they know you could unmake them - that is Lúthien.
- from the fic I’m writing about Elrond from Adar’s perspective. I'm on 100 words so far and idk how I'm going to make it to 5k... you're welcome to talk to me about it tho :)
With the braziers long gone cold, the night lies close and heavy, darkness impenetrable. It’s imôr - the deep night. Men call this time the bewitching hour and as Adar gazes on the apparition lying beside him, he can’t help feeling that they might have a point.
The Elvenking’s Herald looks unearthly in Adar’s bed, more like a mirage of grey starlight and hazy shadow than a creature of flesh. It seems there must be some trick of the light at play, one that makes an Uruk out of canvas tent walls and a Maia out of tangled sheets. But despite the guiles of dappled starlight, Elrond’s breath is warm and steady and undeniably real against Adar’s hand as he raises a finger to those sweet lips -
Lips parted and eyes closed in true sleep. Is it his mortal blood that makes him sleep so deeply? Or, like an Elf, has he collapsed into oblivion as his strength runs dry?
What is he - Elf or Man of Maia, all at once or something else entirely? Elrond Peredhel, half Elf, half other, descendent of Lúthien whose shadowy hair and radiant face have ever drawn the eyes of monsters. Kinslayers, Úmaiar… and Adar. Wonderous thing, he thinks. Wonderous, beautiful, hunted thing.
- from the fic I’m writing about Elrond from Adar’s perspective. I promised 5k of fangirling and I intend to deliver. Hang in there!
“The face of Elrond was ageless, neither old nor young, though in it was written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of stars. Venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters, and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fullness of his strength. He was Lord of Rivendell and mighty among both Elves and Men.” - The Fellowship of the Ring.
“He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer.” - The Hobbit.
“So like was she in form of womanhood to Elrond [...] Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night; yet queenly she looked, and thought and knowledge were in her glance, as of one who has known many things that the years bring [...] Arwen, daughter of Elrond, in whom it was said that the likeness of Lúthien had come on earth again; and she was called Undómiel, for she was the Evenstar of her people.” - The Fellowship of the Ring
“I believed you to be indeed Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness.” - The Return of the King, Appendix A, ‘The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen’.
“Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world; and the song of Lúthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet had passed [...] the woods echoed the name.” - Silmarillion
Lay of Leithian:
“Light of stars was in her hair, and in her raiment glimmering” - note that the physical forms of Valar and Maiar are compared to raiments, so it could be her very form that glimmers in the dappled starlight.
“Her hair like shadow following” as she moves.
When Beren saw her, “enchantment healed his weary feet”
“Feet as light as linden-leaves”
“At her feet was strewn a mist of silver quivering” as she dances under the moon.
“Her song released the sudden spring, like rising lark, and falling rain, and melting water bubbling. He saw the elven-flowers spring about her feet, and healed again.”
“In his arms lay glistening. As Beren looked into her eyes within the shadows of her hair, the trembling starlight of the skies he saw there mirrored shimmering. About him cast her shadowy hair and arms like silver glimmering.”
“grey as evening were her eyes [...] dark as shadow was her hair.”
So, Arwen is apparently both the spitting image of Lúthien and a perfectly genderbent Elrond, so we can assume that most of how they are described also applies to Elrond. Therefore:
Elrond’s hair is dark like shadows and twilight, probably braided, somehow contains starlight, floats behind him when he moves and surrounds him very romantically when he lies down.
His eyes are grey, compared to clear evenings and cloudless nights, and bright and sparkling with starlight.
His face is noble and fair, his skin is flawlessly smooth white or silver; he seems to glisten or glimmer, and moves lightly, and flowers sprout at his feet, and mist swirls around him when under the moon.
He seems both young and old, ageless and filled with memories both happy and sad.
His singing is so heart-breakingly lovely, it draws to mind larks, rainfall and bubbling water, bings hope at the edge of the Void and rises amongst doomed stars; it turns winter to spring, calls bodies of water to respond, and heals all weariness.
He’s a noble lord, venerable as a king, thoughtful, experienced and wise. He’s a mighty warrior in the height of his strength, and most importantly, as kind as summer.
Note that Arwen and Lúthien aren’t described as kind - oh Arwen is queenly and Lúthien turns winter to spring, but Elrond alone is kind as summer.