This is a thoroughly enjoyable read, a charming mix of humour and thoughtfulness, with engaging dialogue and characterisations!

It's a novel idea for me, of Elrond wandering in search of M&M and thus unknown to Gil-Galad and the others.

I really enjoy the way you bring in little canon details, and blend in different versions of canon too, and also weaving these tidbits into the conversations.

A few highlights for me:

Over the years, I pleaded with Eärendil your father as well, but he would not overrule his cherished wife.

I like the way this reflects his later deferment to her choice to be Elven.

Círdan clasped a rope-calloused hand behind the Half-elf’s neck. “May they find the same peace that their parting made possible for those left behind,” he said. “Come to me one night when you are ready, we shall build water-lamps and set them adrift to carry their symbols beyond.”

So beautiful!!

You cannot miss [Galadriel & Celeborn] they are as tall as Círdan, and very shiny

Bwahaha! Love that!

Common elves would guess they heard a discordance of mannish nature in his voice, and they would be wrong: the unfamiliar tone is the sound of a force of nature filtered through the clothing of flesh, which the Half-elven inherited from the Maiar.

Lovely!

You Half-elven seem to have an innate ability to quash certain unspeakable horrors from your recollection – truly, it is a blessing that I envy.

Indeed, and I like the way you incorporated this whole comparison and concept.

The bells tolled, making her jump. “Mercy, those are obnoxious. Is dinner prepared, or is it invading?”

Lol!

What part would they have had to sever from you, before waking one night to find a knife at their own necks?”  Undeterred, Elrond looked upon her with the same mercy she railed against. “My humanity.”

Marvellous!

Celebrimbor had returned to his plate, more experienced than most at carrying on after unseemly eruptions of temper at the dinner table.

Ooh! Evoking explosive dinners going all the way back to his grandfather's table!

The ghost of an all-too familiar song came to him on the briny wind, one of remorse and of pain – one he had pursued for a futile lifetime, and finally left behind where it may haunt Arda’s shores for the rest of time counted.

Such a lovely image... Maglor, or his spirit, haunting the shores for ever...

whatever you earn here may be lost to you in the end, though Middle-earth shall reap the reward of your long toils.

Ouch. Bitter firesight indeed, yet true...

Thank you for this!

Interesting takes on the portrayal of these characters and their early encounters in Lindon!