#And Elrond literally brought her back from the darkness and and | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marshmellin · 19 days ago

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Star and Stone Ch. 6 | Preparations

In one swift motion, he lowered his head and kissed her. It wasn’t tentative or uncertain. She had quite literally landed in his lap, and in doing so, erased his hesitation. The soft silk of her dress felt cool as his hand slid to her hip, but he could feel the heat of her skin as he pulled her closer.

They had kissed several times by now. Tender moments under the stars. A stolen embrace in his study.

That was not this.

Rating: Explicit for eventual smutty smut; canon-typical angst

Notes: Gil-galad lives. Fluff and happy ending. Sort of a slow burn, but we'll get there. Gil-galad deserves a little smooch. He's going to get a lot more than a smooch. Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. No beta, we die like Mirdania.

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥

NEW>> Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Easiest to read and follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60597052

Like this work? Check out the 🔥 practice smut 🔥 for upcoming chapters with Gil-ga-daddy here: "Simple Release."

"...and if the request from King Oropher had been handled with diplomacy instead of arrogance, perhaps we would not be questioning alliances at such a crucial hour!" Ristarion’s voice rang out, his hand slamming down on the polished table for emphasis.

Gil-galad paused just inside the door, eyes sweeping over the council. Elrond sat stone-faced, arms crossed, while Arminas leaned back casually in his chair, observing but remaining silent. The other lords and advisors around the table shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing between Ristarion and the High King.

“It seems we have already begun,” Gil-galad said as he took his place at the head of the table. “Lord Ristarion, was there a point you wished to raise?” He cocked an eyebrow.

If I have to hear about grain one more fucking time…

“The king of Greenwood feels ignored, his needs cast aside in favor of Lindon’s priorities. Your priorities,” Ristarion said, his voice tinged with implied blame.

Fantastic. We’re all going to die because I can not make crops grow in winter.

Gil-galad could feel, rather than see, the I told you so look that was blooming on Elrond’s face. But, Gil-galad had become quite accustomed to the expression, so he did not need the reminder.

“Do you suggest that the loyalty of the Sindarin realms is so fragile that a single rebuke threatens it?” he asked, his voice even, spreading his hands.

“I suggest,” Ristarion said, his tone hardening, “that you do not have their loyalty. To them, you are but another elven king among many – a high king, but not their high king.”

“And you, alone, can earn their loyalty?” Gil-galad asked, leaning back in his chair.

Ristarion snapped back, his voice rising slightly. “I can speak plainly without Noldorin pride clouding my meaning.”

Most of the lords here are Noldo, in whole or in part. His eyes flicked to Elrond, whose face all but glared his disapproval at this conversation taking place in his council hall.

So Ristarion isn’t interested in making friends here.

Ristarion pressed on. “Oropher and Amdír are hesitant. Their people whisper: when have the Noldor truly stopped the darkness? They brought this evil back.”

An angry murmur passed through the room.

Gil-galad’s gaze never wavered, but he cocked his head. “As you say, I do expect hesitation from the Sindarin realms to declare an alliance for open war.” His voice softened dangerously and steel entered his brown eyes. “The Sindar have always done well by hiding behind their walls. Until their walls fall.”

Ristarion did not miss the insult, but Gil-galad pressed on. “I recognize I ask much of them, though I am ‘but another elven king,’ but know that I do not ask it lightly.”

Ristarion’s jaw was set, his eyes ablaze. He met Gil-galad’s threat. “Is dry wit and paperwork the only blade you offer them?”

The silence that followed was heavy. Elrond scowled, his displeasure almost making his hair vibrate with anger. Arminas, his dark eyes fixed on Ristarion’s, moved his hand to rest on the hilt of the dagger at his belt—an unsubtle gesture declaring: No. Wit is not the only blade my high king offers.

Gil-galad felt a headache threatening to form behind his eyes. We are not all of us from the House of Fëanor. No bloodshed in this hall. At the very least.

Posture relaxed, his hands rested lightly on the table, his voice cold. “Your boldness is noted, Lord Ristarion. If you believe you can succeed with the Sindarian realms where others have failed, then by all means, make your overtures. But do not mistake my allowance for approval.”

Ristarion’s expression darkened, but he inclined his head. “As you command, High King. I will accomplish what must be done.”

Gil-galad’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, weighing his options. Elaniel’s suggestion to bring Aeglos to council meetings seemed more and more appealing.

Or I could let Arminas loose at the man and be done with it.

Instead of pulling out a blade, he chose a different weapon. He turned to Elrond, gesturing for the meeting to continue.

“My lords,” Elrond said, his face still flushed with anger but his tone diplomatic as he shuffled maps and stacks of reports on the polished stone surface. “Perhaps we can revisit the specifics of diplomatic efforts with Kings Oropher and Amdír in a future session.”

The rest of the meeting proceeded awkwardly, the undercurrent of tension distracting every advisor present. As the council adjourned, Ristarion lingered for a moment, his eyes cold as they met Gil-galad’s before he swept out of the room.

Gil-galad stood at the head of the long table, his broad fingers tracing the cool edge of the polished stone as he stared at the doorway where Rastarion had exited. Elrond moved around the table to stand next to him, his shoulders tense. Gil-galad acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. ”Do you think Oropher or Amdír had a hand in this? Or is Ristarion acting on his own?”

Elrond all but shrugged, expression thoughtful as he followed Gil-galad’s eyes to the door. “I do not know why he plays this game or what he gains from it, but I think he seeks to back you into a corner— whatever corner he can find. And the divisions of our kin run deep.”

Elven memories do not dim. And some wounds do not heal.

Gil-galad nodded. “And that is what troubles me most. If he undermines the fragile trust between our realms, it will not stop there. The Men who look to us will see our divisions and begin to doubt us as well.”

His eyes darkened at the thought.

Why will no one listen?

This is our only way forward.

In a place of honor in Gil-galad’s private study, near a large arched window that overlooked the palace gardens, stood a new addition: a drafting table, its smooth, wooden surface gleaming in the dying sunlight. It was new, the scent of freshly carved maple lingering in the room.

It was not a standard drafting table; it had been tailored for Elaniel. In her workshop, she had nailed a scrap piece of wood with some simple dividers as a makeshift way to keep items she used most close at hand. Now, the dividers were built into the top of the desk, each container hand-carved with patterns of stars — a much more ornate solution.

Elaniel stood before it now, her fingers lightly tracing the curved edge of the table, her eyes gleaming as she took in the drafting tools, filed in a neat row. “It is beautiful. You did not have to go to so much trouble, Ereinion,” she breathed, turning to face him.

The knot in his chest tugged again. He could not stop looking at her, at the open joy on her face as her fingers brushed lightly against the polished wood. The gratefulness in her tone, the way her cheeks burned cherry-red. The way she softly murmured his name.

He thought his heart would hammer through his chest.

“No, I did not,” Gil-galad replied, forcing his voice to stay steady. “But I found I wished to do so. For you. This is my” – our – “private study, which is” – secluded and secret – “guarded as part of my chambers. I thought I could offer” – a place for us to finally be alone together – “another space that is not so public. I decided to make this space” - good enough for you - “fitting for your craft.”

She turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “Are you suggesting my humble workshop is unfit?”

“Not unfit,” he teased, tilting his head as walked toward her, smile blooming across his face. “But perhaps…your tools have minds of their own, ilmarë. They do seem to travel...”

Elaniel laughed as he scooped up her hands in his, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. “I can not be held accountable for where they wander. Perhaps they seek creative inspiration. Who am I to stop them?”

He placed a chaste kiss against her knuckles, smiling broadly as she took her seat at the desk. He walked to his own as they settled in to their late afternoon routine.

“You’ve been busy,” she said after a moment, her tone casual. “I have not seen you in over a week.”

“As have you,” he countered gently. “Elrond tells me your review of the southern watchtower’s safety protocols was meticulous.”

“It’s necessary,” she murmured without looking up from her work. “I have no intention of letting small oversights lead to larger problems.”

He nodded, his expression growing thoughtful. “Alenya has spoken highly of you as well. She mentioned how often you visit the watchtowers to speak with the workers directly.”

Elaniel smiled. “Alenya has become a friend. She convinced me to join her for sparring practice —though I suspect she was simply curious how much of a fight I’d put up.”

Gil-galad’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. “And? How did you fare?”

“I held my own,” she said with a laugh. “Barely. I know she used a light hand.”

“It pleases me that you stayed standing,” he said, a note of pride in his tone. “Though I wish I had the chance to observe you. It would only have been fair, after the last session…”

She turned her head over her shoulder to peek at him, eyes bright. “Maybe next time. I do not have armor or experience – I can not put on the same type of show that you can, morconinya.” She paused, turning back to her desk. “Yet, there are other skills I think I would fare better at. Perhaps we can learn them together.”

He felt his face heat again and he started organizing a stack of correspondence on his desk, hiding his joy at the way she said the name she made for him. Only for him. And at her implication.

If we are deciding to learn new skills….

They fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire burning low in the hearth. Elaniel perched happily on a stool near the drafting table, pulling a blank sheet of parchment from a stack and smoothing it out with practiced hands. Gil-galad settled into his desk nearby, carefully picking up a quill to write a reply to a note from Anarion of Arnor.

The evening stretched on in the quiet sanctuary of the study. Surrounded by the warmth of firelight and the soft rustle of parchment, they found something rare and precious: a moment of peace.

“Do you realize what they say about you?” she asked, her tone mischievous as she spun her chair to face him.

Gil-galad paused, glancing at her with a confused expression. “Who?”

He could feel that quiet peace they had built shattering, but he found did not care. The correspondence could wait…

“Oh, everyone,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “I hear things around Lindon.” She pretended to assess him, setting her pencil down. “I confess, I do not know if all I hear is true.”

He laughed, the deep sound bouncing off the walls of the study. “And what things do you hear from everyone? That I have a tendency to chastise ambassadors? Because I assure you, that was necessary...”

Elaniel moved to the chair next to his desk, settling cross-legged on the velvet cushion, arranging her deep blue skirts on her lap. She tapped a finger to her chin in mock thought. “Mmm, nothing about that. I have heard that your hair shimmers in the darkest hours of night because the Valar granted you a gift – you can absorb the radiance of the stars. I am told this is how you received the name Gil-galad, but I confess the story does get murky from there.”

He sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair as if to shield it from scrutiny. “That is not how-- it is hair. Normal hair.”

Elaniel smiled again, her tone still teasing as she reached out to play with a few long stands that had fallen over his shoulder. “Ah-ah, I have not inspected it thoroughly and it is not yet the deep night, so I can neither confirm nor deny the claim. And anyway, why ruin the mystery? Alenya told me she overheard two soldiers debating whether your crown is enchanted to make you appear more graceful. And taller,” she added as an afterthought.

Gil-galad tilted his head, allowing her to brush her hands along his neck, sweeping the rest of his hair over his shoulder. Her fingers carded through the dark strands gently and he leaned toward her, chasing the feel of her hands without realizing it. “First starlit hair and now enchanted grace?”

“And height. According to some, yes, that is the report,” she said with mock seriousness, tucking a lock firmly behind his ear. He fought not to shudder at the touch as she traced her finger down his neck before returning to his hair. “I did not say that I endorsed these observations. I believe you come by your height honestly.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to let Círdan know I owe my ‘grace’ to him yelling at me for slouching when I was younger.” Her fingers brushed the tip of his ear again as she wound another strand around her finger and his eyes fluttered closed.

“After watching you spill a full inkpot in the workshop – all over my latest sketches and your own robes, may I add – I do not know that you should thank anyone for grace you do not have…”

“I find myself more prone to accidents around you than others, ilmarënín,” he said with an amused huff. “Though I can not imagine why I am so distracted—”

She moved fluidly, rising from her chair, and Gil-galad did not have time to register what she was doing before she was already sitting sideways in his lap. Elaniel gripped his forearms, steadying herself as her skirts cascaded across his legs, deep blue silk covering them both.

They both paused for a moment, grey eyes meeting brown. He could feel his heart pounding as he forced himself to breathe steadily, to ignore the heat starting to coil low in his stomach.

Elaniel grinned at him, her shoulders moving in a small shrug. Her cheeks were bright red, and that same lock of hair that always escaped her bun had fallen over her forehead.

And whatever thin thread of resolve he had snapped.

They had kissed several times by now. Tender moments under the stars. A stolen embrace in his study.

That was not this.

The fire cast flickering light around the room, making her eyes shine. He could feel her breath quicken as her arms wound around his shoulders, drawing herself up against him to kiss him again. Her hands tangled in his hair as she shifted her legs to bracket his thighs and now she was higher up than he was, craning down to grab his chin and tilt his head up for her. She moved like she was a wild thing finally released.

As she was, judging by the – quite pleasing – noises she made. Each time he touched her, hands roving over her back, her hips, her waist, up her sides, she moaned for him. Small, contented sounds from the back of her throat, humming into his skin. All he could focus on was learning how to make her moan again.

Elaniel had not stilled either, kissing down the column of his neck, fingers grazing his jaw. Breathing softly, she kissed his ear, nibbling gently on his earlobe before kissing her way to the tip of his ear. He rewarded her with a shuddering moan of his own, pulling her tighter against him. Her hips started to roll against him and he moaned again. He felt the tight heat in his core spread.

If I do not stop….I will not be able to stop.

To his own irritation, he pulled back first.

“It is late,” he whispered, craning back to look at her.

“I have time,” she whispered back playfully, her fingers still curled in his tunic. “And yet,” she sighed. “And yet you are right,” she whispered, planting a small kiss on his temple before untangling herself from him. He immediately missed the warm weight of her and he bit back a sigh. She let her fingers trail down his arm before calmly – how is she calm right now? – returning to her desk and picking up her pencil again.

He forced himself to pace his breathing as she tilted her head to look back at him. He was slouching in his chair with his tunic askew, hair tangled. He could tell he looked half-debauched.

Her eyes were still bright with mischief and something else. Something he had never seen in her before. “Do not become too accustomed to winning, morconinya.”

Gil-galad rode alone, the rhythmic clatter of hooves blending with the soft murmur of the river that ran alongside the path to the Grey Havens. Overhead, the cries of gulls echoed faintly. As he rounded a bend, his gaze drifted to one of the distant watchtower sites. The scaffolding looked delicate against the dense green of the forest, and he could see the builders at home with their craft. Pride swelled in him as he softly pulled his horse back to the trail. The watchtowers were beautiful, and they reminded him of her.

After following the trail up a small rise, Gil-galad entered the workshop, the familiar salt air surrounding him. The scent of cedar dust. A long table was spread with tools, curls of shaved wood littering the table.

One of the first places I found safety…

Círdan had always been a steady guide—a father in all but name. And while Gil-galad’s thoughts spun in circles, Círdan had always calmly pointed toward surefooted paths. He had a way to simplify the complex.

Círdan stood by the window, gazing out at the sea, his silver hair catching the light.

“You’re troubled, High King,” Círdan said without turning.

“I have been shattering the very alliances that I am tasked to create, unable to unify the elven realms, much less the kingdoms of Men. My political opponents are recklessly using the troubled history of Noldor and Sindar to drive division at the one time I need unity most. And because of it, we may all fall to darkness.” He paused. “Oh. And half of my days revolve around trade routes for grain.”

He heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, soft brown eyes vulnerable as he stared at the man who all but raised him. “Why would I be troubled, Círdan?”

Círdan turned, his eyes solemn but his voice light. “Anything else? Groundshakes? Invasion by the Dwarven kingdoms across the mountains? Have the Valar finally raised the sea?”

“If there is a checklist, all three are likely to be next.” Gil-galad sighed, stepping closer. He hesitated, running a hand through his dark hair. “The Sindarin elves. Or rather, Oropher and Amdír. They resist my efforts to unite us. And I…I would seek your counsel. Both as a mentor and as a leader of the Sindar. I cannot afford to lose their loyalty.”

Círdan gestured to two chairs by the window, where the sea breeze drifted through. Gil-galad obeyed, sitting heavily as his shoulders slumped, resignation in every line of his face.

Círdan studied him for a long moment. “You speak of loyalty? What does loyalty mean to you?”

The question gave Gil-galad pause. He frowned slightly. “Reliance. Confidence that they will stand with us and not abandon us when our need is greatest.”

“You speak as though you already know their choice, Erienion,” Círdan said, lowering himself into the other chair. “Have they given you cause to doubt them?”

“Not directly. But they do not hide their disdain for the Noldor. The wounds of the past run deep.”

Círdan’s expression softened. “What purpose does it serve to dwell on that past?”

“It serves to remind me why they refuse to offer me their loyalty now. They murmur that the Sindar realms will not trust a Noldo king.” Gil-galad frowned.

“Perhaps. But you can not stop being a Noldo, just as they can not stop being Sindar. Is your fight truly with them, I wonder? Who do you seek to defeat?”

Gil-galad blinked and his brow furrowed, surprised by the shift. “My fight is against Sauron.”

“Then do not make Oropher and Amdír your enemies,” Círdan said firmly, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Even if they doubt you, even if they disobey you. Your task is to stand against the Shadow. Do so, regardless of who stands with you.”

The words sank deep into Gil-galad’s chest, but he found a kernel of annoyance there. “I do not understand why they will not stand with me. I have offered them strength. Unity. Protection.”

“And still they hesitate,” Círdan said gently. “Because what you offer, they cannot yet see. The Noldor have made offers before...the Sindar remember.”

“I can not bear the sins of all the High Kings before me,” Gil-galad said quickly, irritation laced in his tone. “I have followed through on my promises. I have been true to my word in every way. What else must I do to show them I am not Fëanor?”

“You can listen,” Círdan replied simply, with a small shrug. “It is the one thing you have not yet done. Not just to Oropher or Amdír, but to those among their people who speak plainly. Elaniel, she is a Sindarin woman, yes? She seems to have a frankness about her, one shared by our kin.” Círdan’s eyes glittered.

And you know of her…..how do you know of her, old man?

I think he gossips with Ossë and Uinen through the waves.

Gil-galad smiled despite himself. “She does. Though I fear her temper and, ah, way with words can rival my own. She may not offer the most prudent political advice…and I will be tempted to take it anyway.”

“Temper can be tempered,” Círdan replied, his tone lightening. “And she seems to be learning that balance, from what Elrond has shared. Perhaps you could learn it too.”

Ah, so then nothing so poetic as Ossë and Uinen. Just gossiping with Elrond.

Of course it was Elrond…

Gil-galad’s own problematic (part) Maia.

“I think,” Círdan continued, “that she speaks to you with openness because she trusts you enough to do so. And because you have allowed her space to trust you. Perhaps it is time to offer the same space to the other elven kings.”

Gil-galad stilled, absorbing the advice. He found he often did not feel heard. Or certainly not heeded, despite carrying the burden and authority to lead.

Perhaps Oropher and Amdír felt the same.

The two sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the waves filling the space between them.

Finally, Círdan spoke again, his tone softer. “Ah, I did wish to tell you,” he smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “If you’re waiting for Ulmo himself to come out of the water and bid you to wed her, I must warn you, such sightings are extremely rare.”

Gil-galad blinked at the change in topic. "Wed her?" he repeated, as if the words themselves were in a different language. He quickly turned his gaze out toward the distant sea, as though it might offer him some escape from this conversation.

He knew it wouldn’t.

“I don’t…”

Círdan, ever calm, only raised an eyebrow. "It is written across your face, plain for all to see—though I imagine Elaniel sees more than the rest of us. Your next step is simple. So see it done.”

Still unable to meet his mentor’s eyes, Gil-galad sighed. "I care for her,” he finally admitted, his voice low. “Deeply. But the timing is…impossible. If I ask her to wed me, as I desperately wish to do, I’m unsure how to tell her to plan my funeral in the same breath. It is not simple.”

"And yet, it is simple," Círdan replied, tone unyielding. "Your heart is hers. Your choice is made. What action will you take?”

Gil-galad stared at his Círdan, his face lined with worry. “My fear is that no path I choose will…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I am unsure. What is best. For her.”

Círdan smiled, his eyes full of starlight as he clasped a hand to Gil-galad’s shoulder. “Ask her, Ereinion. Not what is best, but what she wishes. Do not choose for her. Choose with her.”

Gil-galad breathed in deeply, nodding his head. Círdan was right. Elrond was right. His heart told him it was right.

Why can I not simply allow it to happen?

With a deep inhale, Gil-galad stood. “Thank you, Círdan. As always, your words ring true. I will…consider it.”

All I ever do is consider it.

“There is one more thing…” Círdan rose swiftly, walking to his large desk in the corner. He grabbed a scrap of paper and began writing quickly. “Rúmil has some obscure collections of poetry focused quite intently on, ah, couples. I’ve written the names of some of the more tasteful volumes housed in your library. They may prove enlightening.”

Several thoughts bounced in Gil-galad’s head at once as he felt his eyebrows raise.

More tasteful volumes? There are less tasteful volumes?

Why does he know what books are in my library? Why do I not know what books are in my library?

…….are they illustrated?

“Ah.” Gil-galad kept his face impossibly still as he accepted the scrap of paper. Resisting the urge to glance at it, he tucked it into his robes as he turned to leave the workshop.

“Mae glenno, Ereinion,” Círdan called out as Gil-galad mounted his horse, his voice still tinged with amusement.

It was chaos.

Elaniel stood in the center of the village, roaring flames almost drowning out the relentless growls of approaching orcs. The air reeked of smoke and blood.

She moved through the wreckage of a crumbled wall, her face streaked with soot and resolve. A child cried out, cowering beneath a collapsed beam. Elaniel jerked around, glancing over her shoulder as the orcs closed in. Her eyes were steel as she dove toward the child, shielding their tiny form as a massive orc bore down on them both with a twisted, serrated blade.

“NO!” his voice carried, shrill and desperate against the crackling flames.

From a distance, Gil-galad reached out, but he could not reach her in time. She dissolved in front of him and he felt the world shift.

He was on a battlefield now, the ground beneath his feet littered with ash and mud and blood. He could hear the dying groans of Elves and Men around him, the grunts of orcs roving across the field to find and kill remaining survivors as dusk fell. A Man he did not recognize, but clearly a strong fighter with the bearing of a king, lay crumpled next to him. The blade of his sword was broken in pieces, the hilt falling from his hands.

A great shadow loomed over them — Sauron. His armor gleamed like blackened steel in the dying light. Something bright glowed in his hand.

Gil-galad spun Aeglos in an arc, sharp blades whirling as he aimed for a joint in the Shadow’s armor, but he was not fast enough. A gauntleted hand snatched out, gripping Gil-galad by the throat, lifting him in the air. He could not breathe as the metal seared into him, as the silver plates of his armor melted through his gambeson and into his flesh. He heard agonized screaming — the loudest death knell he had heard in over three thousand years of his existence — and wondered where it came from.

Then he realized the sound had been ripped from his own burning throat.

The world flickered, bathed in a white heat he could not escape.

—

Gil-galad woke with a sharp intake of breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. His rooms were quiet, the light of the moon barely breaking through the windows. He panted, bare chest heaving, as he sat up. Night air brushed over his fevered skin from the open window, but he barely felt it. His hand jumped instinctively to his throat, but his skin was cool and whole.

The pain of searing metal. The pain of watching Elaniel as she faced death

He could barely breathe.

Gil-galad stared at the empty space before him without seeing, his heart gripped in a fear he did not know how to name.

He did not fear pain. He did not fear death.

But he feared what he had just seen.

He rose abruptly, walking to the balcony. Through his life, he had found comfort in starlight. The stars simply were. They offered him no answers, but also asked him no questions. They gave him space to think. To examine how he felt.

Leaning against the railing, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. His hands sought the cool stone as though it might ground him.

The vows of Men said “until death,” and death or divorce released them from their oaths. But the Eldar did not make oaths lightly. They wed once, and their vows were unbreakable, even beyond death. Partners would be reunited in the Undying Lands, to live together until the remaking of the world.

If they said their vows now and he were slain, Elaniel would be left alone in Middle Earth until she came to him in Valinor. They would reunite, yes, but she might spend Ages alone, parted from him in a land stained by grief and a growing darkness. The darkness he fell trying to defeat.

I cannot make her my widow before I make her my wife. I cannot.

A question came, unbidden, from a frightened corner of his mind: Could I live with her death? The image of Elaniel falling beneath the blade of an orc haunted him.

The answer came quickly, pain lancing through him: No. I cannot.

He stared up at the stars, hoping that, just this once, they would give him an answer. As his thoughts deepened, a peculiar sensation brushed against his mind. Gil-galad froze, recognizing the faint touch of another’s thoughts. It was not deliberate — elves rarely opened their minds to another without the intent to share thoughts — but ósanwe could sometimes manifest without warning.

He caught a fleeting image: The edges of the vision shimmered with the golden warmth of dreams. Elaniel was carving a simple wooden horse, her expression soft. He could not see the child for whom she crafted the toy, but the knot in his chest tugged at the sight of her.

The image faded as quickly as it had come. His eyes fluttered as he came back to the present. She is dreaming, he thought gently as he smiled. He hoped her dreams were always so peaceful. Even in her sleep she can not stop creating.

And then – finally, under the silver light of the stars – the truth of it settled over him.

Our fëa are bound.

Vows or not, they were connected. The tugging in his chest would be unbroken by time or distance or death. It would gnaw at them both until Arda was remade.

If he fell, she would feel it. If she fell, he would follow. His early resolve to protect her seemed almost laughable now.

Ah, yes, my sound strategy to keep her safely separated from me by visiting her workshop and kissing her as often as she will allow.

He turned back into the study, his eyes falling on the scattered plans and documents that spoke of war and alliances, of a future that seemed ever more dangerous. He sank into the chair, his head falling into his hands.

I am a fool.

“So, I think we have reached the point where we should discuss it,” Gil-galad said suddenly one evening, looking across the study. ‘Or, more plainly, we are well past that point.”

“Mmm?” Her eyes were still firmly glued on her paperwork.

He had not fully captured her attention. She always murmured when she did not focus – or when she was too focused.

“Elaniel?”

“Hmmm?”

He arched an eyebrow, a glint in his eyes. She looked very distracted. Beautiful. Focused on applying her formidable talents to her work.

But very distracted.

“Elaniel, I suggest we outfit the barracks with platters of cake, replaced daily.” He kept his voice steady, despite the glint of mischief in his eyes — a glint she would not notice, because she did not look up at him, as he had predicted. “Raspberry is preferred by the Lindon archers, to my understanding, though the Silvans from Greenwood will accept plain if there are no other options. The Edain have no preference as long as it is far too sweet for elvish tastes. “

“Mmm,” she murmured in absent agreement, turning from the worktable to search through a small pile of scrolls on the bench next to her.

Does she think she agreed to the cake or the archers, I wonder.

Gil-galad could not stop himself from smiling as he leaned back, appraising her. He waited patiently, studying the column of her neck, that same lock of hair that always fell out of her bun, as though a few strands had been cut too short. The curves of her body, occasionally hidden behind the leather apron she wore on her worksites, were now highlighted in firelight. The soft glow illuminated her sky-blue dress from behind and he could see the silhouette of her body.

“Elaniel,” he kept his voice as flat and uninterested as he could. “My question is relatively urgent, I find.”

She didn’t look up but moved back to her worktable, her eyes narrowing. She was flipping between two pages, confusion on her brow.

Then, as if her brain had simply needed a few more moments to catch up, she looked up from the drawings in her hand. “Did you just ask me a question about cake?”

He laughed loudly, unable to contain the joy that she caused to well up inside him. He stood from his desk and moved around it, walking toward her.

“Yes, I did.”

Elaniel’s eyes flicked to the side, her brow furrowed. “I’ve missed something. Why are you asking about cake?”

“Because you were not paying attention, and I want you to hear me very clearly the first time I tell you I love you,” he said smoothly, as if discussing the weather, as he stood in front of her.

“I thought it best, rather than risk confusion.” He lazily waved a finger back and forth in the space between his chest and hers. “The kind of confusion that is happening right now,” he huffed slightly.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he felt the tugging in his chest pull harder. He would have fallen to his knees if he was not fighting the pull.

“So, I will state it plainly, Elaniel.” He scooped up her hands. “I love you, deeply, in a way I have never loved another being. I hope you feel the same. But if you do not, I accept your choice, and we would not need to speak of it again.”

Another moment.

And then…

he waited

through

the longest pause

he had ever

experienced

in the entirety

of his already

long life.

Until Elaniel burst out laughing, tugging her hands from his to throw her arms around his shoulders. Her body melted into his as his hands settled on her hips. “You hope I feel the same? Hope?” Bright gray eyes peered up at him, her voice light. “Do you think I often let strange men lurk in my workshop claiming to seek solitude? Or to watch the stars? Or your study…” She blushed furiously.

Gil-galad had the good sense to dip his head in a bashful apology as he felt his cheeks redden at his own insecurity and hesitation. He pulled her closer, hands settling in the small of her back, pressing her against him.

“It is upsetting that you do not realize we are already in a committed relationship, Ereinion.” She narrowed her eyes in an imitation of anger as she swatted playfully at his shoulder. “And then — then! — to say you wanted to avoid confusion! By talking about archers and cake? You are the most infuriating man…”

He smiled patiently, brown eyes crinkling as he let her finish her tirade. He knew her well, and he knew how this conversation would end.

The joy was in getting there.

Elaniel ended her mock outrage in a huff. “Of course I love you,” she whispered softly, fingers playing with a long strand of his hair, smoothing it over his shoulder. “I’m saddened you had any room to question it, when I feel it so strongly,” she said, pressing her hand against his chest.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” he murmured. “If you felt it too…”

He had held himself back for so long. He had held back so much. And she…

“Oh,” she said quietly, a small smile on her lips. “I thought we might…it was clear we...Our people don’t wed in times of war…I thought we would continue as we have until we decided the time was right,” she ended awkwardly as she blushed, her cheeks turning bright red.

He blinked.

She smiled at him.

He blinked again.

Too many ideas bounced in his mind at once. He wanted to scream, to kiss her, to marry her immediately, to mutter against her lips and ask why this had taken them so long – why did this take so long? – to mourn the time he had wasted, to laugh until he cried, to throw something (most likely at himself or in a sparring ring), to pick her up and take her to his bedroom.

I am a fu–

She craned up on her toes, pulling him down by the nape of his neck, capturing his lips in a kiss, her hands fisting in his hair again.

He found he no longer cared, because they were together now.

And that was all that mattered.

--- Author's Notes:

A few notes, since I feel I threw in some context and insults between characters that don't quite hit right:

The Noldor are notorious for being Kinslayers. They killed other elves - in multiple incidents - and famous Noldo Fëanor's life could be subtitled "Elves behaving badly," or even "Fëanor, NO!"

While not all Noldo are related to Fëanor's line, if there's one thing a Noldo can and WILL do, it's fight you.

The Sindar are notorious for not liking the Noldor because of the aforementioned "they slaughtered us to steal our boats and also killed us multiple other times" situation. But they have also needed the Noldor to support them and provide protection. Which the Noldor did.

Gil-galad's quip about walls is referring to Doriath, a Sindarin realm that was protected by a magical barrier put up by a part-Maia (Elrond's momma) using a Silmaril. From Gil-galad's point of view, the Sindar used the Girdle of Melian to hide from the Shadow in safety while the Noldor and other realms fought battles and died without their support or protection.

Gil-ga-daddy is noting their tendency to hide until they are forced to fight, while firmly arguing the time to fight has come.

Círdan is a Sindar man, and had his own Sindarin realm before it was destroyed. He is one of the oldest elves, and he took in Gil-galad and his mother while their city fell. While we do not get much of his relationship with Gil-galad in the books, it would be easy to suggest their relationship is similar to Elrond and Aragorn's -- a mentor figure who took in a young man to keep him safe.

Laws and Customs of the Eldar is an in-universe document that states that two elves can marry immediately if they have "bodily union." So basically, if they had sex in this scene, they would have been married by the end of it -- and they both know this. I am working to keep this novella relatively canon-compliant, so they aren't going to have sex until they are ready to be married. (They're gonna have sexy smutty times before then, tho, don't fear).

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥

NEW>> Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Easiest to read and follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60597052

Like this work? Check out the 🔥 practice smut 🔥 for upcoming chapters with Gil-ga-daddy here: "Simple Release."

#gil-galad #the rings of power #gil galad #gil galad x oc #trop fanfiction #lotr rop #gilgadaddy #star and stone #high king gil galad #Erienion Gil-galad #trop spoilers #the silmarillion #sindarin vs noldor FIGHT #laws and customs of the eldar #melian #doriath #elrond peredhel #cirdan

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hirazuki · 1 year ago

Note

📓give me yer plots

Plots? Plural?? Okay, you get three ♡

I only included ideas that I am not currently/actively working on.

Maedhros + Mairon team up AU: After Luthien and Beren nab the silmaril and scram, Melkor actually does give chase and follows them south towards Doriath, and he cuts through Nan Dungortheb where he is ambushed by Ungoliant's spawn (I think if he was alone, given how physically weak he is at this point in time + just having woken up from Luthien's spell, he'd be easy prey) who take him and his crown with the remaining two silmarils and bear him to the south of the continent where Ungoliant has been waiting to exact revenge and claim/consume the jewels. Mairon comes home after having lost Tol-in-Gaurhoth to find Angband in panic, not being able to find Melkor anywhere. He decides to infiltrate Himring, it being the closest center of elven activity and information that is also open enough to travelers, etc. for a new face to pass unnoticed, to see if he can find out if the enemy has Melkor. Maedhros, having had him as a visitor for 30+ years while hanging off a cliff, recognizes him pretty quickly despite the disguise. They team up and go on a life-changing fieldtrip to the south of Beleriand to retrieve one dark lord (for Mairon) and two silmarils (for Maedhros).

Maeglin in Rivendell AU: Maeglin either is brought back by the Powers to help in the War of the Ring (yes, it's inspired by that one poll a while back XD) or actually somehow survived (I haven't decided which I prefer) and ends up in Rivendell. Not really a cohesive linear plot kind of fic, as much as a series of character interactions/exploration of themes: Maeglin and Elrond, Maeglin and Glorfindel, Maeglin and Eowyn, Maeglin and Frodo, to list a few of my top ones.

Eol makes a stone that outshines the silmarils AU: @melkors-defense-attorney and @mirkwood-hr-department take equal share of the blame credit for this completely wild idea yes it still lives rent free in my head, I have not forgotten about it XD. Basically, Eol is much closer to the dwarves than he is to his own kin, and would probably be more comfortable going to them for courtship advice re: Aredhel. Hence, presenting her with the shiniest rock as a gift early on in her stay at Nan Elmoth. Problem is, she has seen the silmarils, so it would have to be an extra shiny rock. He accidentally makes a stone that outdoes the silmarils; cascading world-wide consequences follow XD (These include: angry Feanorians; angry Melkor, at not having the Shiniest Thing™ and seeking Eol out in his forest a la Evil Queen style, to trade his two silmarils for this one; Eol (in this timeline, never having been to Angband) being so isolated he literally doesn't recognize Melkor and slamming the door in Melkor's face ("no solicitors!!"); angrier Melkor (that's two door-slamming elves now); angrier Feanorians (that Melkor would seek to trade the silmarils with Eol of all people); one very swoony Aredhel at the balls of this elf throwing the Dark Lord out on his ass.)

#thanks for asking!!#as you can see #all of these would require multi-chapter installations #which is why they're relegated to daydream/discord chat status #instead of an actual word processor XD #i might tackle them one day in little bits #maybe have a go at the maeglin one at least once i'm done with my remaining writing prompts #and my 10k+ dissertation on nan elmoth lmao #i think i could probably successfully write them if i wrote snippets; like a couple hundred words at most per chapter #more like snapshots in the timeline rather than a detailed delineation of it #problem is that my brain likes to think that anything below 4k words isn't a 'real' chapter for a multi-chapter fic #which is absolutely not true and not something i apply to other people's writing; just mine 🙃#basically i just need to get over myself and my issues lmao #one day. i can dream.#silm musings

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years ago

Text

more thoughts about the homecoming au, the au where maedhros and maglor get brought back to tirion after the war of wrath to be prettied-up trinkets on finarfin’s shelf, with painted-over scars and muffled screams. it is dark, it’s full of all kinds of emotional and caretaker abuse, and the brothers weren’t exactly in a good state of mind before any of this happened. @sunflowersupremes wrote the initial au that wasn’t even meant as horror, @outofangband - this au is as much theirs as mine, several of the concepts here were originally theirs, and a lot of this originally came out in dms with them. part 1 is here. this part contains gaslighting, loss of autonomy right at the end, more suicide mentions (thanks mae) and just general abuse from people who care more about their own comfort than the people they’re supposed to be caring for. it’s worse than the first part, honestly

most of the stuff the fëanorians had on them when they surrendered got taken away pretty fast. which is honestly understandable; some of it was cursed, a lot of it was weaponry, all of it stank to the high vault of the stars

but they both managed to hold onto some personal effects, or get them back before they went in the incinerator. a broken locket, a torn-up book, nothing fancy, nothing large, but things that still mean a lot to them

the valinoreans aren’t entirely comfortable with this. they find a lot of the brothers’ comfort items mildly disturbing, stained with darkness and (occasionally literal) blood as they are. maedhros had this dessicated finger he refuses to explain anything about that got disposed of very quickly

maglor has a few strands of brightly coloured thread, spun around each other somewhat inexpertly. he tends to pull it out when he’s feeling depressed, working it between his fingers until he feels like he can face the world again

one day, one of his minders who gets along better with him asks where he got it. from the twins, maglor admits. it’s part of some embroidery elrond abandoned when they left -

and it’s snatched out of his hands. his minder looks down at him compassionately. ‘i know you miss them, but you caused those boys a lot of pain, you know? you shouldn’t romanticise your relationship with them’

which - maglor’s relationship with the twins was complicated, and while it wasn’t nearly as hellish as elwing fears, it wasn’t entirely healthy. maglor was dependent emotionally on the kids a lot more than any adult should be to children, and vice versa

because the twins were the last people he had left. when maedhros executed celegorm’s servants with no warning at all, this rift began to grow between the sons of fëanor and their followers. they’d always been terrifying, but they’d also been comradely and inspiring, the white-hot stars around which their people orbited. but when they turned their fangs on their own host, all that started to fall away, leaving only the fear behind

it got worse after sirion. by the time vingilot rose in the sky, maglor’s only real remaining relationships were with maedhros, who he hated as much as he loved, and the twins. watching over them, talking to them, not hurting them - it kept him grounded in reality, kept him sane

he knows, he knows, he knows, they’re better off without him. but his time with them is the only happiness in his memories that still feels real

but the valinoreans can’t accept that. the exile was an awful time with nothing in it worth keeping, and the sooner he can recognise that the faster he’ll be back to his old self

besides. their caretakers don’t like being reminded of their more... unpleasant deeds

(elwing sidebar: elwing and eärendil are having an easier time, because the teleri have experience dealing with trauma and are also just more accepting of the right to have your own take on your own experiences. still, though, elwing occasionally hears that a proper telerin mother would have stayed with her children, even if she had to give up the treasure her people died for to the monsters of her childhood nightmares)

(elwing was a young adult in a horrendous situation with no obvious way out, elwing is dealing with her own damage as best she can, elwing is valid, we stan elwing. she’s also one of the few direct-ish sources the noldor have for beleriand and what the fëanorians did there, and her (perfectly reasonable!) perspective colours a lot of their treatment)

in general the valinorean noldor are quite sure they know what beleriand was like and how it felt to be there, and aren’t particularly interested in being proven wrong

it was miserable, it was harrowing, it was nothing anyone should want to think about. it was a long nightmare maedhros and maglor are so fortunate to have finally woken up from

and you can kind of see why they think like that? the ones who have seen the hither shores saw them when ash rained from a void-black sky and almost everything was dead, and the survivors told stories of a long hopeless defeat and cruelties beyond imagining

but that deep black image blots out the genuine joy they felt in those five hundred years, the chance to prove their own greatness, the knowledge they were doing something good, nights when music echoed across the gap, warm hands in a cold fortress. there were things in beleriand worth remembering, aspects of the people they became there legitimately worth keeping

and even if there wasn’t - five hundred years. the scars on their bodies make it plain to see, every little piece of who they are was shaped by beleriand, for worse and for better. they just can’t leave it behind

their valinorean caretakers find this horrifying

maedhros likes to exercise. it keeps him calm, gives him something to do. it’s not something nelyafinwë was super into - he was more the peripatetic type - but it’s a feasible hobby for a noldorin prince to have, so he’s allowed to do it

sometimes, though, he’ll unconsciously shift into the old combat forms, precisely timed drills ingrained into his bodies. the first few times he does this, his minders are bemused more than anything, but then one day he happens to have a stick in hand to use as a mock-sword

then every time he starts to slip away into that meditative trance, hands reach out to stop him and hold him in place. ‘there’s no need to fight here, maitimo,’ an elf he knew before the unchaining tells him ever so gently. ‘you’re safe now’

... they say that, but maedhros’ nightmares keep getting worse

it’s like that with everything that makes the valinoreans uncomfortable. whenever they try to speak of their time in beleriand, no matter what they say, they’re told that oh, they know it was hard, but it’s all over now and they don’t have to dwell on it

but even after they’ve spent years in paradise, maedhros and maglor still won’t let go and allow themselves to heal

they just can’t come to terms with the truth of their ordeal

the narrative the valinoreans have constructed erases all of the bright spots, but it also bleaches out the true darkness

certainly they did horrible things, but did they really have a choice? in such a harsh world, they always had to be on guard, lest they themselves be killed. these poor boys never meant to harm anyone, but their father’s cruel madness and the painful chains of their oath and the vileness of beleriand forced them into atrocities they never wanted to commit

(surely the monsters the sindar spoke of wouldn’t cry. they wouldn’t lose themselves in waking nightmares or curl up shivering in well-hidden closets, they wouldn’t jump away from a casual touch or watch every new person like they might be a threat. they wouldn’t convince themselves the children they stole were happy, or talk to the shade of a dead kinsman they abandoned. surely they wouldn’t. surely)

(because if they are, and they’ve let a couple of orcs loose into the royal palace...)

(maglor and maedhros’ movements are pretty restricted. this is mostly for their own protection, but it’s partially - well, just in case. just in case)

this rankles at maedhros, though he tries not to show it. terrible they might have been, but his choices were his own

he was a warlord, he was a king. he expected to be hated for the things he had done. he didn’t expect to be pitied. he didn’t expect to be dismissed

sometimes, when he’s surrounded by people earnestly telling him that he’s not a bad person, he never was, it was all pressure from his father and the oath, he wants to scream that he chose to attack sirion because he was so, so tired of diplomatically dancing around problems he knew he could solve with his blade

but he stops himself, always. he knows how much what little freedom they do have is based on them not being a threat

and he will not wash this peaceful, innocent land in blood. he’ll kill himself first

maglor has lost all such scruples

it’s not often, but when they’re behaving themselves and no one who’s likely to take offense is in town, the brothers get taken out to court events

they paint makeup over their scars (which still won’t heal, everyone is concerned by the implications of this) dress them up in finery, string them with jewels, and show off how well they’re doing

(even if maedhros rarely says anything, and they never leave each other’s side)

tonight, it’s a feast. a minor celebration, nothing too crowded, nothing too loud. there’s revels and merrymaking and all kinds of fun

and after the food has been cleared away, there’s music

would his nephew like to play something, finarfin asks. it’s hard to tell if it’s a request or a politely phrased order

maglor decides he doesn’t have the patience to be taken aside and tell how much everyone wanted to hear his music, and accepts

finarfin smiles kindly. he’s thinking about how maglor’s minders have been talking about how he’s finally stopped trying to sing depressing or horrifying songs and how his voice grows more melodious by the day

maglor is thinking about how they won’t even let him sing about his wife. he wrote no odes to her beauty or her skill in the forge, but he sang ballads about the swiftness of her spear and her laughter after a battle

none of which the valinoreans want to hear. they want to pretend that love never existed, that there could be any joy found in darkness, that she’s at all worth remembering -

he gets up to play, and launches into the most vicious, most hopeless, most painful part of the noldolantë

they try to stop him, but he’s the greatest warsinger the world has ever seen, he’s sung with blood in his lungs over the roaring of dragons, there’s little they can do to block out everything they’re trying to ignore. he wails defeat and death and grief and death and despair and death

when they finally manage to knock him out, their whole petty festival in tatters, shock on their faces, tears streaming from their eyes, all he can think is that if they understand now, even a little, it’ll have been worth it

for the first time, but not the last, he wakes up in a cell

finarfin comes to visit, and starts giving a very disappointed lecture maglor is in no mood to hear. instead he just snarls that nothing they’ve been doing is helping him at all, and he’s so sick of false sympathy and no one listening to what his actual problems are

finarfin shuts his eyes, says ‘i’m sorry to hear you feel that way’ and leaves

a few days later he wakes up with a collar around his neck

it’s demeaning, but he gets released that morning, so he rolls with it. he gets told to never do that ever again, first by his minders and then by maedhros

his minders he nods at until they leave him alone. maedhros he snarks back at that it’s not like he’s doing anything to improve their condition

only he can’t

the words don’t just freeze in his throat, they can’t even form in his mind. what’s happening, he can’t say. what did you do to me, he can’t say. he can’t even scream

as maglor is clutching at his neck (he can’t get it off he can’t get it off) and all the colour is draining out of maedhros’ face, the minder in the room smiles

‘see? this way you’ll stop making yourself and everyone around you miserable. you can still talk about happy things -’

‘they did this in angband!’ maedhros roars, a statement that provokes his first actual fight with their minders. he’s harder to pin down than maglor. bigger

but their caretakers are becoming annoyed with the brothers’ obstinate refusal to let themselves get better. they may be content to wallow in the misery of their past, but inflicting it on others is a step too far

they clearly aren’t going to move any further down the road to recovery on their own volition, so it’s become clear they need a gentle push. is it a little distasteful? yes, but such things are sometimes necessary in medicine

the bright cheerful princes they will be again will thank them for it

oh god how did this end up so long. the last one should be shorter, it’s mostly clearing up some loose ends. why did i write this

#maedhros #maglor #homecoming au #my terrible fic #finarfin #noldor #late stage feanorians #abuse //#mental health issues ///#suicide mention //#gaslighting //#eeeeeeeeesh #i am not sure what i was trying to get across actually comes across in this #i ran out of unova pokedex before i ran out of fic #(the long one from b2w2. no i'm not explaining that)#it is three am!#and i'm not trying to start anything with that section about how the noldor minimise the feanorians' deeds #other people have their headcanons and that's cool. i have mine #i don't see them as 'entirely evil' (whatever that means) but i have felt like my own imperfections mean i don't deserve help before #... can you tell this is a vent fic yet #mags gets more focus because mags is the character i project onto #i've thought about him more; i have a more solid grasp of what i think his character is #'s why i got nelyo in on this. they're the creme de la creme at bad shit happening to maedhros and i wanted someone to cover his corner #this au is awful why am i writing it

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years ago

Text

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 6

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in Middle-Earth, Thranduil summoned a council of powerful Elves and wizards to see what should be done with you, expressing his wishes of wanting you out of his kingdom. The council decides to send you with Legolas on an orc-hunting mission, and if the Elves of the company that he deems trustworthy-- one of them being his own wife-- say that you've proven yourself worthy of staying among the Mirkwood Elves, then you can stay. The problem is actually managing to succeed...

Chapter No.: Chapter 6

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color [lad/lass/y-o]= lad/laddie, lass/lassie, young one

Notes: So, I have finished the Silmarillion, and may I just say, wow. I have a whole new understanding of Middle-Earth. It's amazing and inspiring. I do miss Maedhros and Maglor already though... Now, I've finished Beren and Luthien and started The Children of Hurin next in my quest to read every book on Middle-Earth that there is, written, of course, by the Tolkiens.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused, Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir LIVES, au to where some of the Feanorians lived, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Maedhros x Fingon, Maglor x OC, Thorin x OC maybe Bilbo you won't know for awhile, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

Instead of Blue-Eyes meeting you by Starlight, it was Erestor, instead. Aside from the one time you'd spoken to him with Haldir, asking him about other continents (Which, it turned out, you'd misunderstood. Beleriand had sunk, and so had Numenor and Tol Eressea, and no one but the Eldar could reach Aman anymore.), you hadn't spoken to him.

He was an older Elf, kind of intimidating, with a bird-like demeanor and an expression that said Don't fuck with me.

So yeah, you were kinda surprised.

Still, you bowed in the Elvish fashion. "Len Suilon, Erestor. Ci maer?"

"Suilad. Ni maer, [Y/N]," He assured nonchalantly. "A gin?"

"Ni maer eithro." You looked around nervously, hoping Blue-Eyes would pop out of nowhere and save you from a further conversation in what would probably be your poor Sindarin with an age-old Elf. "So, her majesty chose me for this scouting mission, eh?"

"Indeed," Erestor inclined his head. "Your Elvish improves, if slowly. You do not hesitate in your greetings anymore."

"Thank you, sir."

"Come, and lead Starlight along," Said Erestor unfairly regally, and sailed majestically away. "Have you been practicing your swordplay diligently? You may need it."

You nodded as you followed him. "Yes sir. Legolas, Elros, and Lindir have made sure that they split my day into learning Sindarin, weaponry, and even the general Elvish way of being Elvish." You tried not to sound irritated about that. They literally never gave you any free time. Not that you'd brought any books to read, and not that you could read any Elvish, but that wasn't the point.

"Good," Erestor nodded. "What are your strong suits?"

Ah, shit. "Uhm... I can throw a dagger pretty hard? I can probably shoot somebody dead if I'm point blank, but other than that, my aim sucks. I'm somewhat okay with a sword, though, and I prefer two. Why?"

"Curious," Erestor replied all mysteriously, and that was all he said on the matter.

The Elves chosen for the scouting mission-- the Elvenqueen herself, with Blue-Eyes, Haldir, and Elros-- were gathered and speaking amongst themselves, while Thorin and Dwalin next to their very dignified ponies glowered at them. Balin was feeding his own pony an apple, muttering to it kindly. Compared to the Elves, who were naturally tall and lithe, the short and stocky dwarves looked outrageously tiny.

"Ah," The Elvenqueen's attention was on you faster than a supersonic jet's. "You have arrived."

You bowed deeply. "Your majesty." To Haldir, and even to Legolas just to be safe from potential Elvenqueen-wrath-2.0, you added, "My Lords." You turned to Erestor. "I'm sorry I didn't greet you with the title, I forgot what ‘my lord’ is in Elvish."

To your surprise, the Elves chuckled. Except for the Elvenqueen, of course. "You need not worry yourself, mellonenin," Elros assured you. "You are still learning."

The Elvenqueen inclined her head. "We leave at once, if all are ready."

There were positive responses throughout, and everyone present mounted up. You caught sight of Lindir coming out of his tent for the morning, and waved; he looked confused, but awkwardly repeated your gesture. "What on Arda are you doing?" Blue-Eyes asked under his breath, like you were embarrassing him.

You snickered. "It's like a 'hi' and 'bye' gesture for when you're out of earshot of someone you know. It's called ‘waving’. Everyone does it where I come from."

"This is not your world, [Y/N]," The Elvenqueen reprimanded firmly. You fought the urge to shrink in on yourself. "If you are going to be a part of it and learn our ways, then you must do so faithfully, leaving everything you know of your world behind you. Your land is nothing but a poison, and I do not want it infecting Middle-Earth. Am I understood?"

"Y-yes ma'am-- your majesty, yes your majesty."

"Good," Said the Elvenqueen, and then she continued giving orders in Elvish, while Thorin purposefully repeated them in dwarvish for Balin and Dwalin, though everyone present spoke fluent English-- Common. For you, Blue-Eyes translated what he could before he was called up to ride beside his mother, so then Elros and Haldir took turns explaining. The whole event left you feeling like a fish out of water.

***

It was around noon when the company halted, which Thorin and Dwalin had been leading on foot, while Balin kept their ponies tied to his own. At first, you assumed, lunch, finally, I'm starving, but instead, you'd stopped because Thorin had found a trail. "Orcs," He said.

Duh, you felt like saying, what else would it be? Bigfoot?

But after the Elvenqueen's earlier lecture, you kept that to yourself.

"Which way do they lead, master dwarf?" The Elvenqueen demanded.

Thorin huffed as he stood. "They go north, but they are heavy from travel. Wherever they came from, it is not from anywhere near the northern borders of Mirkwood or Erebor."

"Where else would they come from?" You blurted out before you could stop yourself. "Are there like orcish towns in the north or something? Maybe we could--”

"There is no such thing," The Elvenqueen snapped.

"The wargs that I had tracked were from Gundabad," Blue-Eyes said calmly, as if that hadn't ever been important information before. "The ones that attacked us on the river, however, were from Mordor."

You leaned over to Haldir as Blue-Eyes continued to speculate. "I'm confused. What's the difference?"

"Gundabad wargs are darker, lithe, and more agile," Haldir told you quietly. "They are more viscous, as well. A Mordor warg is more... Stout, I suppose you could say, and slightly lighter in color."

There was a flash of color before your eyes. Suddenly, you felt as if you were in a clearing of trees, surrounded by people in dark colors, while the sound of howls filled the air, unlike the ones you'd heard before.

These are Gundabad wargs! They will outrun you!

These are Rusteveld rabbits! I'd like to see them try.

You shook your head as you resituated yourself in the saddle. Well, that was sudden... It had been quite a few days since any of the strangely-familiar visions had come to you. You came back to your senses as Dwalin laughed uproarously. "Well, that settles it, then! To Gundabad!"

"Wait just a moment," The Elvenqueen said. "We are not all brash, Master Dwalin. We will go back and retrieve more forces before even thinking of going near Gundabad." With that, she turned her silver mare around and began trotting back, Haldir and Erestor on either side of her. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin hung back, taking their time getting on their ponies and following after.

"Where's Gundabad?" You asked Legolas quietly; not that it did any good. Elves could hear grass growing on the other side of the continent if they wanted to. "And what is it?"

"It is northwest of here, in a cleft between the mountains," He answered. "It is an old fortress, from the time when the Dunedain first came to Middle-Earth from Numenor, if you remember." You nodded; he'd told you the entire story of the Silmarils and anything that went with it or after. "It was the gate that lead to the Witch-Kingdom of Angmar."

"Lead by the Witch-King..." You finished for him automatically. An eerie echo of a voice filled your mind: No man can kill me. At his impressed look, you scrunched up your face. "And what are you, French? How'd you make that 'h' sound in the middle of the damn word?!" You realized what you said only after you'd said it, and quickly looked to the Elvenqueen to see if she'd heard. If she had, she made no sign of it. "Sorry."

Blue-Eyes patted your back. "It is fine, Sairen, you can speak to me of your world, don't worry." With a cocky smile, he looked down at you smugly. "As for the pronunciation... You will learn to do it soon."

Back at camp, a group of Elves was already up and waiting to move out, and at the Elvenqueen's ringing voice, they followed after, and you all retraced your steps back to where Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin had found the orc tracks. You considered it pointless-- they could've just taken the host of a couple dozen Elves with them that way they didn't have to retrace their steps.

Partway there, you decided that goddamn song that'd been going through your head needed a damn good explanation. Unfortunately, Blue-Eyes was now up by his mother, leaving you between two totally random Elves. You'd never been good at starting up a conversation, but you decided to give it a try anyway. "...Hey, do either of you speak Common?"

Both Elves busted out laughing as if you'd made a hilarious joke about dwarves.

"Most Eldar can speak Common," The one on the right said, removing his helmet to look at you more clearly. Whoa. You practically fell off Starlight. He was beautiful. He had long, purely golden hair that fell down his back in unfairly glorious waves. He had soft blue eyes (Not as gorgeous as Blue-Eyes', but still.) and a fair face. "It would be considered quite odd, in our long lives, if one did not learn the tongues of others."

You just stared at him. "Dude. Are you like, made of gold?"

He laughed, which sounded a lot like something naturelike and unfairly beautiful. You'd never heard any of the Elves outright laugh, so this was a weird, new experience for you. "I have been asked many things, but that is new. No, I am just as flesh and bone as you are."

"Yeah, but yours are like, plated in gold, so, you're... Wow."

He laughed again. "What is your name, mellon?"

"[Y/N.]," You replied, in a daze, then leaned over quick to the Elf on your left, who tensed and tried to lead his horse away. "Do you even see this guy?!"

You turned back to Goldie. "A gin?"

As best as he could in the saddle, the Elf placed his right arm over his chest and bowed at the waist. "I am called Glorfindel. Gellon len covad!"

"Mae l'ovannen!" You said in response.

Glorfindel smiled at you. "What was your question, mellonenin?"

"Well thanks to you and your blinding gold-ness, I forgot. Give me a minute." You thought for a second, trying to ignore the literally glowing Elf beside you. "Ah! That's it. I asked if you could speak Common so you'd understand my question. You guys have songs, right?"

Glorfindel gave you a look like you'd just told him his hair looked like an orc's. "Of course we have songs! Many, many songs! They are as timeless as we are, and we, all of us, are taught these songs from a very young age. Did you wish to learn them?"

You shook your head. "Nah. I've never been good at singing." If I sang all you Elves would shatter like a glass in an opera-room. "When I got puffed here, a song started going through my head. I can never remember all of it. Just bits and pieces here and there. But it's really bugging me. So if I told you all I could remember, think you could remember one from your Elvish past?"

Glorfindel inclined his head. "I shall answer to the best of my ability."

"Okay," You wracked your brain for the lyrics. "Okay, uh... Something about leaving home, and fading... Lots of fading. The one sentence I can always clearly remember is 'all shall fade.'" You looked at him curiously. "That ringin’ any bells?"

Glorfindel thought hard. "If by that you mean if I can remember anything similar, I cannot. If it is a song of Arda, it is not one I know, and I can remember most Eldar songs."

That caused a lightbulb to appear above your head. You gasped, wide-eyed.

"Wait! You're Glorfindel?! As in, the Glorfindel?! The guy in Gondolin who tried to protect Turgon by fighting the Balrog?!"

"Ah, Turgon... He was a good friend."

"And when it fell it grabbed your hair?!"

Glorfindel flinched. "Can we not mention that...?"

"And then you came back to life to fight Sauron?!"

"Yes--"

"The guy who was in love with Ecthelion of the Fountain?!"

Glorfindel flushed, his face going a deep shade of un-Elvish red-- on him, though, it was more of a rose-gold... "Yes, I am that Glorfindel, and I would advise you hush before you draw the attention of the Elvenqueen."

Nervously, you glanced ahead, to where the Elvenqueen sat regally upon her horse. If she or Leggy had heard you, neither of them made any indication of it. With a giddy smile, you looked back to Glory. "This is so cool. Where I'm from, you rarely ever meet anybody so important. Now I've met some of the most important people of Middle-Earth! Ooh, am I also gonna get to meet the king of Gondor?!"

Glorfindel looked confused, but amused. "Gondor has no king, and has not for many, many years. Not since the death of Isildur. Now, the stewards of Gondor keep watch over the city and uphold its laws, and await for the heir to the Gondorian royalty to show himself."

"Or herself," You specified, fighting a wince as you heard a voice echo, Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Hardly ever is a mortal woman given any sort of royal duties alone. She would have to marry someone of high standing to be considered queen."

You scoffed. "Great. So the humans of Middle-Earth are assholes, too. Figured I'd escape from that."

"The race of Man is a fickle one," Glorfindel agreed. "More often than not, they are the cause of most grief in the world." He smiled. "But worry not! You are of the Eldar now, and are not subject to their torments."

You shrugged. "Good point..." You beamed excitedly at him. "Tell me about your adventures!"

He did, until the Elvenqueen gave the signal to dismount and to keep silent. You'd been so into Glorfindel's stories that you hadn't noticed that the trees had thinned out, giving way to loose, rusty-brown soil and rocky slopes. All of the Elves sailed silently over the rocks, while the dwarves trampled noisily.

For days (Which passed like extremely-long hours, and you weren't even hungry or thirsty or tired.), the procession trekked through the hills without any audible communication, until the huge hills rose up to your left and in the north into jagged mountains. You kept going, and going, and really wondered how any of the Elves that'd been left could possibly reach any of you for backup if needed in time.

On what was about noon of the week and a half mark, you came to an overlook that spread down beneath you into a huge, rocky valley, dry and desolate. There was no sign of life, and further still, about a couple days away by foot, was another tall, jagged outcropping overlooking a massive structure of bronze. Small black dots which you were going to assume were birds flitted about the top of it, and it stretched what looked like hundreds of feet into the air. You were astonished.

"We came all this way for rocky dirt and an old tower. I don't see any signs of life there." You kept your voice at a whisper, like some of the other Elves who'd began talking amongst themselves.

Blue-Eyes eyed the tower warily. "You're not supposed to."

You turned to watch him walk away. "Then what?" Blue-Eyes gave the Elves some order in Elvish, and you continued. "So we came all this way to see that it really doesn't look like there's orcs there but really, there are, so, what do we do? They've obviously got a shit ton of more orcs behind there. We're probably way outnumbered. So what do we do?"

"We," He replied, "Are going to do just what we came here to do. We're going to scout, by getting as close as we can and seeing what we can. Then we leave. It's as simple as that. If, however, we're ambushed, the rest of the procession has been following us slowly. They're only a couple of hours behind."

You frowned. You must not've gotten that memo because everybody felt the need to speak highly advanced Elvish when you only knew a couple ways to say "hi." "So what do we do if we see something we don't like? Attack?"

"If we can," Blue-Eyes told you, "But it most likely will not come to that. We simply came to see if they have larger numbers than those few who attacked us at the river."

You gave him an incredulous look with an eyebrow raised nearly to your hairline. "...Few?"

He scoffed, and walked off, giving orders in Sindarin that you only caught a word or two of. You were watching him with a glower, when you noticed Lindir sidling up on your right smugly. "...Do you not wish that you know what he is saying?"

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Ugh, Lindy, geez, can you read my goddamn mind?" You turned to mock-glare at him; he was preening. "Well? What was he saying?"

Lindir laughed and wagged a finger at you-- so Elvish. "No no no no no, mellon, I will not make it that easy for you. If you wish to know exactly what he said, then you will have to continue learning from your current point."

Your shoulders slumped. "Really? Damn. Fine, I guess, since it looks like we're camping here." And it did. Practically everyone was going around setting up bedrolls, but you seen no sign of a fire. "Glad it's warm-ish. What, we just supposed to freeze?"

Lindir gestured to Gundabad. "If we light a fire, they will see us, and our stealth will be for naught."

You gave him an odd look. "...What?"

Lindir blinked. "If they see us, our stealth will be for naught."

You stared at him blankly. "...Naught?"

Lindir suddenly looked panicked. "Do they not have that word on your world? It means the same as nothing, in this context."

You scoffed with a cocky smirk. "I know what it means. You Elves are just so damn fancy." You reached over and ruffled his strangely-perfect brown hair, to which he yelped and yanked away from you as if you'd tried to stab him. You left your hand in the air where his head had been, wide-eyed, as Lindir stared at you in shock. "Uhh... Got a sensitive spot on your head there?"

Lindir narrowed his eyes at you. "I should teach you Eldar custom as well. No Elf touches another's hair, for whatever reason, unless it is necessary, which is more than likely never to happen. Braiding and touching another's hair is considered something only for the wedded to do."

You yanked your hand away from where his head had been. "Sorry. I didn't know. Where I come from, that whole hair-ruffle thing is used between siblings or friends."

Lindir smiled softly, straightening his hair. "It is fine, [Y/N.]. You had no way of knowing. But, now I realize I must teach you language and customs-- or perhaps Elros can do that..."

You snickered to yourself, earning an odd look from the Elf. You shrugged. "Nothin', just, I've got specific Elvish teachers now. You're my language teacher, Elros is now customs, Legolas is history, and Glorfindel is music. I'm gonna be a true Elf before I know it."

"Maybe never a true Elf," Lindir laughed, "But close enough!"

You laughed with him, but on the inside, winced. You doubted if he meant it as an insult, but it hit you like one. No, you'd never been considered good enough to be a true anything, especially an Elf of all creatures, who were naturally shiny and glowy and perfect and shit. But still, for someone to confirm it, even in a joking manner, that you'd never be good enough to be a true Elf...

It really hurt.

You acted all casual on the outside throughout the rest of the evening, laughing and joking when needed, but internally, you were fighting a dull ache in your chest. You'd gotten it a few times before-- rarely, but still-- and you knew exactly what it was. The desire to fit in. You'd never had a chance on Earth. But here, you'd hoped to at least be considered a part of their realm.

Dammit, why am I so sensitive?! He didn't mean anything by it!

But what were you really doing here? Struggling to prove yourself to a race that would never accept you. To all Elves, you'd be considered an imposter, like Thorin had said. You knew for a fact you'd never be good around "the race of Man," as they put it, and even in this world, you knew you'd never fit in with them, either. At best, the Men would see you only as a rebel Elf trying to fit into the society of Man. Dwarves? Hell no. What about the Hobbit-folk? Maybe you'd at least be considered a friend to them? No, you were an Elf here. They'd be wary of you, maybe even fearful.

Maybe you should just settle for traveling like a vagabond, like Gandalf does. When everyone else was resting, you stayed by Starlight. You scratched underneath of his chin, and he rested his snout on your inner elbow, allowing you to rest your head on his, staring into his eyes and putting off a feeling of calm. "You accept me for who I am, right?"

Starlight's ears were pricked toward you, so at least he was listening. His only response was a blink. You sighed, closing your eyes. You didn't even have the security of him. One day, he'd grow old and pass away, while you lived on for eons. Carefully, so as not to spook him, you reached up and scratched behind his ears.

"Mellonenin?" Said a voice behind you. You turned to see Legolas, looking concerned. He glanced back over his shoulder, to where the rest of the Elves talked amongst themselves, even conversating a little with the dwarves. "What are you doing out here?"

You gave him a smug look. "What's this I hear, Blue-Eyes? Showing concern for me?"

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Hardly. Just curious."

You shrugged, going back to loving on Starlight. "Everybody seemed to be doing good without me. Lindir and Elros said my lessons on custom and language were done for the day, so I figured I'd spend some time with Star."

Blue-Eyes shook his head in exasperation. "I will never understand your shortening of names..." He fixed you with an expression that you couldn't quite read. "...Are you nervous about a potential battle, Sairen?"

You shrugged. "Hack'n'slash. Can't be that hard. I have played video games, y'know, and I did get here through a LARP event." You shot him a cocky grin. "I think I can handle myself. Always have."

Blue-Eyes smiled softly. "Well... I am certain you will surpass my father's standards. I have no doubt of it."

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest. Your cheeks flushed. "Thanks. That really... That really means a lot, for you to be sure of me."

Blue-Eyes hummed thoughtfully, smoothing down Starlight's pitch mane. "Your world did not appreciate you as it should have. You are a kind person, Sairen, and while at times you are eccentric, that only adds to your persona. I know that I can put my full trust in you anytime, and not be disappointed." He smiled at you. "I am glad to know you, mellon. I feel as if you were meant to be here."

For a minute, you both just stared at each other with smiles on your faces, while you felt all warm and fuzzy inside. Any upset feelings from earlier completely burned away. His pale gold hair looked white in the moonlight. Fuck, I will not cry. I will not. Not at all. Definitely not even having to try... You finally blushed and looked away, busying yourself with straightening Starlight's forelock, though the smile remained on your face.

"Damn, Blue-Eyes. You're making me blush." He laughed, and you added, "But... I'm really glad I know you too, Leggy. You've been nice to me, and actually believe in me..." You smirked at him. "That's rare for me. Thank you."

He looked almost appalled. "You do not need to thank me for taking a liking to you, Sairen. It is not as if it is a chore." Suddenly making up his mind about something, he drew his shoulders back. "Would you like to go for a ride together?"

You beamed at him. "Duh! It's a horse, of course I wanna go for a ride!"

Blue-Eyes laughed. "Come on, then, let's go. Stay close to me; we will be going in the opposite direction of Gundabad, but orcs could still roam these wilds."

You nodded as you mounted Starlight, grinning stupidly down at the stupidly perfect Elf who smiled at you. "Got it. Let's go!"

Your heart was pounding dangerously as the two of you trotted off away from camp, talking about the history of Middle-Earth, as you tried to keep from staring outright at Legolas. As your heart faltered, looking at him smiling at you as the moonlight hit his hair, you realized something...

Shit.

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meteor752 · 4 years ago

Text

Tilda in the fellowship AU

After finishing my Tilda Deep Dive I started thinking about how it would have gone if she did follow her brother to the council of Elrond, and if it would have affected anything. Enjoy

***

So the beginning is simple, when she is offered to go to Rivendell she agrees because yay adventure.

But she goes all princessy, like with a circlet on her head, make-up, some long elven robe all that jazz.

And before the actual council she mostly wanders around trying to make it look like she fits in, before she sees Aragorn where she just squeals and hugs him tight because she’s a hugger.

So at the actual council, the moment the ring is brought forth, she’s just immediately going hell yes I’m doing this, while Legolas is viciously glaring at her because you’re not doing this.

She tries to argue back at him when everyone is arguing with each other, because one, the ring needs to be destroyed and she’s willing to do it and two, it’s a chance to get out of her family shadow.

But alas, a fucking Hobbit offers to do it, and she’s just making the most annoyed face in existence.

Until Aragorn offers to come along, and then Legolas, and Gimli, and she’s just over here like “Yeah I don’t have a unique weapon but if Princess here is going then I am as well.”

And then there’s also three more hobbits, two of which she grows fond of immediately.

When she went to get prepared and to get out of the elven robe, she was basically bouncing with excitement. Legolas tried his best to talk her out of it, but Tilda could be more stubborn than a dwarf if she desired to.

He told her to send a message to their da and ada to ask for permission to do this, She agreed, while in her head she was just saying fuck that, and did not do it.

Tilda had a spring to her step when the journey started, chatting happily with two of the hobbits, watching her brother talk quietly with Aragorn, grinning widely cause she knows what’s up.

It took her about a day, a day and a half, before she stopped walking and started climbing stuff, much to almost everyone’s confusion.

She said that it was to challenge herself and to get a better look at the surrounding terrain, but in reality she just wanted to feel tall as she was the shortest out of the “Tall Folk” as Merry and Pippin so nicely put it.

And it took maybe a week for her to make the connection that the Baggins she was traveling with and protecting was related to the Baggins that changed her and her people’s lives, so that was something.

But Tilda took quite the delight in the fact that both The Hobbits and Gimli had heard many stories of the reclaiming of Erebor, but she had actually been there unlike them.

(Well, if going by film canon then Legolas was there as well, which we are going to do mostly because then the Legolas Tilda first met was the dramatic edgy one with eyeliner, which she would just love to tell the others about).

When it came to Moria, Tilda was a little less smiling and bouncy, and more jumpy and uncomfortable. She’d after all known some of the dwarves whose corpses were scattered across the mine, and she’d never been one for darkness.

It was even worse when they came to Balin’s grave with Ori’s corpse just beside it, as she’d definitely known those two.

Now, before we continue, I just need y’all to know this; Tilda does not like Gandalf. She thinks he’s a bad person, she does not understand the obsession that so many elves have with him, and she thinks he should mind his own damn business. So she was just ready kick his ass when he started yelling at Pippin, like this bitch was ready. But she never got the chance, because they have a cave troll!

Tilda was out of her environment, she was in a too small of a space, and she had to make sure that the pretty incompetent hobbits were alright during the whole thing, so everything that was going through her mind in that fight was just a string of panicked curse words.

Glorofindel had told Tilda about Balrogs once in her youth during a visit to Rivendell, so she kinda knew what was up when a fire demon came out of nowhere, and she was a tiny bit excited.

Mostly because again, she likes fire.

But that does NOT MEAN, that she liked that Gandalf fucking died, because despite the fact that she dislikes him a lot he was honestly one of the few things holding the Fellowship together.

They still managed to keep going for a while, and Tilda managed to befriend Boromir out of all people during that period, and they bonded over their willingness to protect their people, and Tilda loved hearing Boromir talk proudly of his brother (While she talked shit about her own siblings).

At the arrival of Lothlórien, Tilda was just ready to lay down on something soft and take a fucking nap because she earned it god damnit. She did have time to say hi to her Gram Gram Galadriel though, who’s been her favorite babysitter as a child (And adult time some extent) and basically her grandma.

When it came to the little gift giving thingy, she was just happy with a new quiver of arrows, because she’d started to run out. They tried to offer her a new bow, but she’s very attached to her own and ain’t giving it up anytime soon.

While riding the boats, she was dramatically posing at the front the entire time, except for when it got too hot and she just jumped into the water and swam for a while, because when you spend your first years in a place called lake town you basically learn how to swim before you learn how to walk.

If you would ask Tilda what happened next, she would just shrug because she literally has no idea.

All she knew was that Boromir went to collect fire wood and that Frodo wandered off (Which he does like all the time, like Tilda wouldn’t be able to count on her fingers the amount of times someone had to go find him),and then suddenly Orcs attacked, Merry and Pippin were taken and Boromir was bleeding out in front of the remaining four.

And as the sister of the best healer in Middle Earth, Tilda did not hesitate to push Aragorn aside and start screaming out instructions, because this man is not dying on her watch.

It took her a few hours to stabilize the wound, and she had Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn running back and forth, giving her stuff like water and herbs, while she made Boromir talk the entire time just to make sure he wouldn’t pass out and possibly die.

But as soon as Boromir could stand on his feet without falling again, they took off to find Merry and Pippin, while Tilda was praying that Boromir’s wounds wouldn’t open before they got to a real healer.

Tilda was more than okay about running for three days straight, but she did made sure they took a few breaks for the sake of Boromir, and she hated it every time because it made her feel a lot like Sigrid.

Tilda got an uneasy feeling the moment they entered Rohan, especially when they ran into fucking Éomer, who she was just glaring daggers at, and it only got worse when he informed them that he’d fucking slaughtered the hobbits, like both Tilda and Boromir had to be held back.

But the news of their possible survival made Tilda go yay, especially when they got to enter Fangor forest, which was just a delight, and she basically prayed to herself that she would got to meet an Ent.

Instead, she met Gandalf, who’s back now.

She doesn’t really know how to feel about that, because on one hand it’s Gandalf who’s really powerful and is a great deal of help, and on the other hand it’s Gandalf who’s just the fucking worst.

And then he takes them to meet King Théoden, and Tilda just keeps thinking that that day really can’t get any worse.

While Tilda only dislikes Gandalf, she fucking hates Théoden. She met him earlier in her life when he was still young, and he immediately gave her a bad vibe. So Tilda was salty towards him, and he was rude back, and this gal is petty so she still hates him, and his whole family.

Actually scratch that, his niece is both pretty and powerful, she respects her.

As soon as Sauroman is banished from the king’s mind, Tilda drags Bormir to a healer before anything else so his wounds could be properly cared for, just to get that off her mind.

She sent a whistle to Aloe, mostly because she missed him and they weren’t moving around all the time anymore, before joining Legolas and the rest in the throne room with Théoden.

Until the escape to Helm’s deep, Tilda is just kinda vibing. She avoids Théoden the best that she can, she chills with her brother and Gimli, Aloe arrived just barely a day after so that was nice.

It’s mostly when it’s announced that they will escape that she starts to get engaged again, because just call for help for Valars sake it isn’t that hard, stop letting your pride get in your way.

And then Aragorn fucking dies on the way, and Legolas is over there getting depressed while Boromir is having a bit of a panic attack, so everything is just a mess, and she wasn’t okay either because that was her ‘We we’re both raised as humans in an elven society also we like hugs’ buddy.

But she had to be the stable one for once, mostly because she had two people falling apart on her and Gimli was not the best when it came to feelings. Actually, she wasn’t either, so everyone was just stressing out.

Until Aragon arrived not too soon after, in which she first gave him a real fucking punch because how dare you, and then she hugged him because she’s just glad that he’s back.

So is Legolas.

And Èowyn, because she ain’t slick Tilda saw the looks she were giving her, and she laid it all out in front of her because those two had been giving each other “The Look” for all of the sixty years she’d known them, and it was better to just rip the band aid off.

Èowyn took it pretty okay.

Tilda was even more heated with Théoden when they’d arrived, because fucking damnit just call for aid, to you want me to message my ada? He’d surely help!

When Èowyn told her that she was not allowed to fight, she just said fuck that and encouraged her to do it anyways, because males are idiots sometimes.

So she did.

And while Legolas and Gimli had their little competition, Tilda, Èowyn, and Boromir were on the other side of the battle just kicking ass.

The scream of joy that escaped Èowyn’s mouth when she saw her brother almost made Tilda go deaf (That’s what happened if you ask her anyway), while she only smiled a little to herself because enforcements, yay, but by Éomer and Gandalf, fuck no.

After the battle was over, Tilda had a real talk with Aragorn about her brother, because Legolas literally fell apart when he thought that he’d died, and they both nearly died once more, so please just get it on already.

Tilda was really proud of Èowyn when she stood her ground against her uncles anger for participating in the battle, and yes they did fuck when they got back to Rohan.

Tilda had a great time just vibing with a pint of ale and watching the hobbits dance around, but she was pretty much immune to normal human ale at this point after growing up with the The Wine King, and also because she was no lightweight.

And then she fucked Èowyn again.

Until she felt a deep darkness around from somewhere, and she just rushed to get her clothes on to check it out.

What she found was Pippin getting yelled at by Gandalf while Aragorn was quite weakened and had to lean on Legolas for support.

So once again something big happened but Tilda had no idea what it was.

And then suddenly Gandalf was leaving with Pippin for Minas Tirith and Boromir is arguing about him coming with despite Gandalf’s refusal, and Merry was just sad and stuff and once again, Tilda had no idea what was going on.

Except that Gondor was in danger and Théoden refused to help, so yeah she was all about arguing with him because of that, and with arguing I mean she yelled at him for a bit, walked away to cool off before coming back just to start yelling again.

Aloe was basically the only thing keeping her sane because she was really fed up with everyone else, so she just spent a lot of time in the stable with her elk.

The moment that “Gondor called for aid”, Tilda just threw her arms up in the air all “FINALLY”, while also trying to calm Boromir down who was worried about his land and his brother.

She sent Aloe off with a message for her sister, and then rode on a normal horse with a fucking saddle which was uncomfortable as hell.

When they stopped at the mountain pass, Tilda was delighted when Aloe find his way to her, but less delighted when she heard her full name screamed across the camp from a very familiar and annoying voice.

Sigrid yelled at her for almost twenty minutes of how ‘irresponsible it was’, and how ‘She risked her life for the sake of adventure’ and how ‘Da and Thranduil are so worried about you’, which also angers Legolas a bit since she lied to him, and it’s all a mess.

But it’s nice to meet Bain again, whom she introduces to Boromir and Aragorn and the three get talking on sword stuff, she doesn’t really care.

And she gets a chance of talking with Sigrid, and apologizes for worrying her while she apologizes for yelling, and they both are cool.

Overall Tilda has it pretty chill that night, mostly just checking over all of her arrows while humming on a tune, until Legolas notices that Aragorn is packing up his stuff and all four of them are just welp I guess we’re doing this now.

Tilda just hates the feeling of the mountain, and she has an insanely tight grip on the fur of Aloe while just trying to calm the uneasy feeling, while listening to the other’s talking about its history. Still, she can’t help but read out the best climbing routes of the place.

Aloe is the only one of the riding animals that doesn’t run away at the entrance to the path of the dead, which she was rather smug about, and with him by her side she was a bit more comfortable with entering.

She was not alright with the fucking ghosts however, like fuck that what the fuck take me the fuck out of here hell nah bro.

It was fun entering the battle of the Pelennor fields riding her trusted elk surrounded by her friends and an army of spirits, like that was dope.

They were all alright after the battle, Tilda met Pippin again after being away from him for a few days, and Tilda reassured him that Merry would be alright, that she’d seen so much weaker people battle so much worse pain.

She briefly got to meet Boromir’s little brother Faramir that she’d heard so much about, and got to know that their father had tried to burn him alive and were corrently locked in the dungeon, and a pretty angry Tilda had to calm down a down right furious Boromir.

She learned of Théoden’s death, and was pretty satisfied by it, though in private as both Èowyn and Èomer were devestated.

The battle of the black gate is just filled with happy tears and cheers as its over, because the war is over, the ring is destroyed, they had won.

Tilda finds all three of her siblings after it and hug them all tightly, because they all are okay and all made it out, and she was just so gosh darn happy.

When Frodo and Sam are brought to Minas Tirith, bruised, bleeding, and so skinny, Tilda almost cries. Almost. Because such pure creatures should not have to go through what those two did, and she knows that permanent scars will be left of the journey.

Aragorn is crowned king, and Tilda smiled so brightly as she could, proud of what the boy she fell on after jumping on the wrong branch had become.

He finds Legolas in the crowd, and they smile softly at each other before kissing each other, and no one can ignore the shout of “FINALLY” that escaped Tilda’s mouth, because she’d been waiting for that for almost sisxty years god dammnit.

Before leaving Gondor for Mirkwood, she showers the hobbits with as much affection and hugs that she can, because all four of them deserve it.

She says goodbye to the fellowship, to the friends that she would never forget and the people she would visit so often, and leaves on Aloe with Legolas, to return home.

Both Bard and Thranduil are both happy and very angry when she returns, and she argues back boldly against them, because they can’t expect her to stay in Mirkwood after being away for thirteen months.

So instead of sneaking off, she is let go and leaves with Aloe, a bright smile on her face.

She still has nightmares of the journey. Of Boromir dying in her hands, of seeing Merry and Pippin’s burnt bodies in the pile of orc, of Aragorn never returning from the fall and Legolas’ light fading away, of Frodo and Sam being brought back by the eagles, so scarred and broken, an image she never gets out of her head.

She cuts her hair into a single braid going down her back, she gets tattoos dedicated to the fellowship, she finds happiness in travelling peacefully across middle earth.

She gets an invitation to her brother’s wedding, and she arrives in Gondor with the biggest smile on her face, embracing the fellowship.

Tilda gets put in charge of the music of the wedding, and as she plays softly on her lute with her voice calmly echoing throughout the room as Legolas and Aragorn dances, she can’t help but she’d a few tears as she’s been waiting on this for so long and she’s just so happy for them.

It’s a lot less tears and a lot more laughter at Frodo and Sam’s wedding, as hobbits really do know how to party and she’s just having a blast being one of the tallest.

But then the request to kill that god forsaken Forest Dragon comes along, and she just can’t say no.

***

So apparently if Tilda joined the fellowship Boromir would have survived?? 😅

I just thought about this whole thing, and I knew that she would not have someone bleed out when she could’ve done something.

The reason Denethor is alive and not burned is because since Boromir survived, he wouldn’t go full on crazy, and also I want him to face his actions.

This last part just became a bunch of fluff, but my last post was just consisting of mentally torturing this gal, so I wanted to give her a break.

AU Masterpost

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creatorsforacause · 6 years ago

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Writer Spotlight: @fandom-overload-327

@fandom-overload-327 has generously donated their time and skill for the cause. They have agreed to donate FOUR Commissions, each one 2.5K words. They can write for Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Dragon Age, Elder Scrolls, Marvel, Harry Potter, and the Witcher.

HOW TO WIN: Donate HERE or make a donation to any other organization that supports Hurricane Florence and Hurricane Michael relief efforts. Send a screenshot of your donation receipt confirming you donated to [email protected]. Every dollar donated is an entry in the raffle giveaway. (Example: $5 = 5 entries) Raffle will be drawn on November 30th 2018.

See writing samples below the cut.

June 21, TA 2959, Rivendell

“One has to wonder,” Lord Miston sneered disdainfully, “why Lord Elrond would welcome a filthy Dalish into his home. Not to mention, him treating it like it’s civilized. Please, it’s nothing more than a well-trained pet.” Legolas forced his face to remain passive, tightening his grip on his goblet of wine as the Elf-Lord spoke, his voice shrill and incredibly unpleasant.

Doing his best to ignore Lord Miston as he continued speaking, Legolas glanced at Ashara. The Dalish girl stood across the ballroom, oblivious to the topic of conversation around Legolas as she spoke with Lord Elrond’s twin sons. She exuded grace and refinement, seeming for all intents and purposes, to be another one of the elleths that filled the ballroom, her dark vallaslin the only thing that distinguished her as Dalish.

Lord Beldaer coughed lightly, drawing back Legolas’s attention. “Lord Miston, with all due respect, you must remember, the girl is only half-Dalish. Her grandmother is Lady Galadriel after all. Perhaps the Noldor grace overpowers that inherent Dalish savagery,” he suggested, tracing the lip of his goblet as he spoke. That was the last straw for Legolas.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lords, I will take my leave,” he forced out politely through gritted teeth. He turned around and left them in his wake before he could hear their replies. Seething silently, rage practically radiating off of him, Legolas crossed the ballroom, joining Ashara and the twins were they stood, in a corner next to one of the tables laden with bottles of wine.

Ashara’s face brightened when she caught sight of him as he crossed the room. “Legolas,” she grinned, inclining her head slightly to him as he joined them. “Did you get tired of those dahn’direlanen?” she asked, raising a well-plucked brow. Legolas furrowed his brow in confusion and began to ask what exactly she’d just called Lord Miston and his cronies when she started giggling. “It means idiots,” she explained, then tilted her head as she considered something silently. “Bee punchers, if you’d rather have the literal definition,” she reiterated.

Instantly, Legolas’s anger began to melt away and he began to smile. “I suppose that that is a rather apt description for them,” he agreed, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

Ashara began giggling even harder at that. “I know, right?” she snickered. One of the twins cleared his throat, making her stop giggling and roll her eyes. “You can’t tell me that you don’t agree, Elladan,” she protested.

Elladan rolled his eyes. “You know full well that I do, Gwanur. But Legolas,” he said, turning to the Elf prince. “What exactly are they saying tonight?”

Legolas shrugged. “I don’t know how it compares to their usual rhetoric, but it seemed particularly vicious.” Elladan raised an eyebrow. “Lord Miston called Ashara a ‘well-trained pet’.” Legolas noticed how Ashara’s levity had vanished and she lowered her gaze, studying the goldwork on her goblet. “While Lord Beldaer had started to muse on the strength of Noldor blood versus Dalish blood when I’d finally had enough.” He frowned. “And you should’ve heard what they said about your father.” Legolas glanced back at the bigoted lords, only to see that they’d continued their conversation as if he’d never left. “If my father heard them speaking about him like that, they’d already have been banished from the Greenwood.”

The twins scowled and turned to look at Ashara simultaneously. “Someone doesn’t want to be a quote, ‘burden’,” Elrohir said accusingly. “She’s rather insistent that she can handle it herself, despite the massive evidence to the contrary.” Ashara’s face fell even more at that and an expression of guilt spread across her face.

Ashara sighed, anand Legolas could tell from the way her shoulders slumped, that this was by no means, a new argument between the three cousins. She swirled her wine, staring down into the burgundy liquid. “Fine,” she sighed. “Go ahead and do whatever you want.” She frowned, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as the twins disappeared into the crowd. “I need some air,” she said moodily, setting her goblet of wine down on the table next to them. ‘If you want to come along, go ahead.”

She slipped easily into the crowd, heading directly towards one of the open balconies. Sighing, Legolas set down his wine too, before following her into the crowd. When he stepped out onto the balcony after her, Ashara was leaning forward at the edge of the balcony, resting her arms on the railing with her back to Legolas and the entrance to the ballroom. The ornate circlet that circled her brow glittered in the moonlight as she stared up at the sky.

“Are you okay, Ashara?” Legolas asked gently as he mimicked her position beside her. She didn’t say anything, only kept staring up at the night sky. “Ashara?” he asked again, being a little bit more insistent. Sighing, he raised his hand and put it tentatively on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You don’t have to listen to Lord Miston and his ilk.”

She laughed bitterly at that and looked over at Legolas. “You say that as if most of your people don’t agree with them.” Legolas winced and let go of her, returning to his original position. He wished desperately that that hadn’t been true, but it was. But still, the elves of Mirkwood weren’t the only ones who thought the same. Not that that was much of a comfort. Or any comfort really.

They stood in silence for a long time before she finally spoke again. “Do you know anything about the destruction of my people, how Elvhenan fell to Morgoth?” she asked him.

Legolas shook his head, confused as to what had brought up the topic. “No, whenever I’d ask about it, my tutors would tell me that no one needed to learn of it anymore, that it was best for everyone to forget Elvhenan and its people. All they’d tell me that it was the Elvhen’s fault for trusting Morgoth.”

Ashara sighed, returning her gaze to the sky. “I’m not surprised,” she said softly. “Many of your people would like to forget the fact that we were once more than what we are now. Not to mention blaming us all for the actions of a few that happened 64 hundred years ago.” A lump rose in Legolas’s throat at that. He could relate to longing for the grace of the past, even though he could remember when Mirkwood had still been known as the Greenwood, and no living Elvhen had ever set foot in Elvhenan during its time of glory.

This one is the first chapter of a Witcher fanfiction that I've been working on for a while now

15 Saovine, 1257

The Witcher’s Path, Kaer Morhen Valley, Kaedwen

Dorata snorted, stopping in the middle of the path as she gazed into the forest around us, pawing at the ground nervously. Her ears began to twitch and I stroked her neck gently in an effort to calm her down, but it didn’t help. “What’s wrong, puledra?” I asked softly, shifting nervously in the saddle as I peered intently into the forest. But no matter how hard I strained my senses, I couldn’t hear or see what had spooked Dorata. She snorted again loudly, slamming her foot against the ground before she shied away from the spot she was staring at. She began to breathe heavily and she started backing up, her brown eyes still fixed on the dark woods and her ears twitching violently.

A shiver of terror ran down my spine and I tugged on the reins to try and turn Dorata around so that we could head back down the trail towards Larsos, the nearest village, when a leshen burst out of the forest and onto the path in front of us. Dorata and I both screamed in horror and Dorata reared up violently, making me slip out of the saddle. She tore off down the path, back the way we came from and barely missed crushing me under her hooves as I tumbled painfully to the rocky ground.

“Damned coward,” I muttered as I pushed myself to my feet, blood oozing from my painful new cuts and scrapes and I stared up at the leshen defiantly. My eyes narrowed and I clenched my hands into fists as I faced down the eight foot tall beast. “Scutum et potestatis,” I chanted quickly, holding my hand out in front of me, just as the leshen leapt forward. A shimmering orb of purple energy appeared around me just in time for the leshen’s claws to glance off of it. As it pulled away and began to circle me, just outside the barrier of my shield, I wracked my mind for any scrap of information I had on a leshen’s weaknesses. My shield wouldn’t last forever if the leshen decided to actually put work into attacking me and I was too aware of my own weaknesses and faults to think that I could actually fight off the beast with what knowledge that I had thought of.

As I began growing desperate, I remembered something that an old woman had told me years ago when I was a girl, studying at Aretuza. She’d told me that turning my clothes inside out and putting my boots on the wrong feet would drive a leshen off, but for some reason, I seriously doubted that that could ever work. I began to pace back and forth, wringing my hands and actually considering following the old woman’s advice when I remembered, right out of the blue, a passage from an old book that I’d read when I was at Aretuza.

“A sacred protector of woodlands and wildlife be the leshy. To survive an encounter with such a beast as this shall not be easy,” I recited, resting my hand against the inner shell of my shield. “Your reflexes and mind will have to be quick, as should be your feet. Summon or light some fire and you, it won’t eat.”

A satisfied smirk pulled at my lips as I looked up. The leshen had given up on circling me until my shield fell and was standing a few meters up the path from me, cocking its head as it stared intently at me. “Ignis est usque modo hostem,” I chanted under my breath and a ball of flickering blue fire formed in the palm of my hand. I swallowed and took a deep breath, closing my eyes in an attempt to relax myself. Once I had calmed down, I leapt into action. “Eat this, you tree-fucking skull faced bastard!” I bellowed and flung the fireball at the leshen as hard as I could. The fireball passed through my shield and slammed into the beast. It burst into flames and began to thrash around, wailing in pain. After a few moments, the leshen fell silent and dropped to the ground, seemingly dead.

I grinned and dropped my shimmering shield with a simple wave of my hand, sure that the leshen was dead, or incapacitated at the very least. But to my horror, the leshen dissolved into a cloud of smoke that rapidly disappeared into the forest. “Shit shit shit!” I muttered, doing everything I could not to panic. “How in the mother fucking shit could I have possibly forgotten about that?” With shaking hands, I pulled my silver dagger from the sheath on my belt and dropped into a fighting stance, searching the treeline for any trace of the leshen’s smoke. “Come on,” I hissed under my breath. “What the hell was the next line?” I swallowed and carefully stepped in a circle, silently summoning another fireball in my hand and peering desperately into the forest for the leshen. I may not have known much about leshens or their weaknesses, but I at least remembered that they didn’t give up prey that easily. Frankly, thinking of myself as ‘prey’ made me moderately queasy, but that’s exactly what I was to the leshen. There was no way in hell that the leshen was done with me, but I didn’t raise another shield. This battle would have to be finished with blades and claws, not magic. I wouldn’t- no, couldn’t- finish it from behind a shield.

I took a deep breath to calm myself as I searched the woods for the leshen. “But beware of the smoke the leshen may become when pained,” I remembered aloud, looking for said smoke, or even the leshen itself. But it was no use. Neither hide nor hair could be seen of the beast. “In this form, it may not be harmed. If you shan’t be careful, to it you shall fall. And unaware of your fate, your family will bawl. As the leshen does not leave much at all-”

The leshen appeared next to me with a fearsome screech and I whirled around, slashing my blade across the beast’s burnt belly, making it howl in pain. The leshen screeched again and raised its paw, the wicked, shining claws glinting in the dying sunlight before it raked its claws across my belly. I screamed in pain as what felt like white-hot fire burned its way across my abdomen in four blazing lines.

Dazed from the pain, I clasped my hands to my side, dropping my dagger. My stomach lurched as I looked down to see blood seeping out of four deep gashes, far too big for my hands to cover. Blood covered my hands and I tried to think of a healing spell as my legs turned to jelly, but not a single incantation came to mind. My vision began to darken and I dropped to my knees, my legs too weak to support me anymore. My head swam as I looked up at the leshen. It towered menacingly over me, my blood dripping from its claws. The last of my strength left me in a rush and I collapsed in the middle of the path, unconscious.

#Creators for a Cause #Hurricane Michael #Hurricane Florence #Star Wars #Lord of the Rings #Dragon Age #Elder Scrolls #Harry Potter #The Witcher #Marvel #Fanfiction #fanfic #prizes

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decadentenemyturtle · 7 years ago

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The Great Unknown

Part 8

Summary: As if it wasn’t bad enough to fall in a random hole in a road and find yourself in Middle Earth, travelling with Thorin Oakenshield and his company, but also get turned into a dog by Gandalf. And when the wizard doesn’t even know how it happened or how to turn you back, you could only hope that this was just a bad dream. But is it?

Pairing: Thorin’s company x Reader

Words: 2190

All parts of The Great Unknown

No-ones/general POW;

Yet again, the night was falling over Rivendell. The elves were setting over the night expect the guards, lord Elrond, few random soldiers and elf, and the visiting dwarves and their pet-dog. The 11 dwarves were enough to make noise for entire city. Or that it was it felt like for the elves in nearby the terrace the Company stayed in. They all had refused for the chambers, even Thorin and Balin (only after everyone else had told that they would rather sleep on the ground than on the elven bed). Thorin and Balin were with Elrond and Gandalf, trying to find the secrets of the map. Bilbo had sneaked in the room, and when the four had noted him, none of them decided to pay any mind to him and let him stay.

In certain terrace, where talk and laughter still could be heard, dwelled eleven dwarfs. One of them was laying on top of the table, or what was left of it. After the laugh somewhat eased, the fat dwarf was helped back up. Then the remaining peaces of wood were burnt in the campfire and everyone stayed unaware of the tables fate, if any outsider asked about it. Nor did they tell even their leader about the broken table. Sometimes even the dwarves admired that silence is golden.

When the talk continued, the young dark haired prince, Kili, frowned and turned to look down to the sleeping dog. She was making puffing like sounds. Soon they got loud enough that everyone stopped talking and turned to look at her, confused. Was she awake?

Then her paw started to move and she continued the puff-sounds. And yet her eyes remain to be close. A smile grew on Kili's face and he let his hand go on with the dogs back.

"She's dreaming" he whispered to the others, looking at them with a big grin. The others huffed their laugh and continued their talk.

"Silly lass..." Dori murmured. At some point the talk did turn about the dog. Everyone at least agreed openly that is was shame what had happened to her and how she didn't deserve it. Then Dwalin, from all of the dwarves, let out a little chuckle and turned to glance towards the sleeping dog.

"If it's alright for me tae say... It's easier tae hunt when lass is with me. She smells the animal's much earlier than when I see 'em, and she has learned a way to inform me about the animals without alarming 'em. And it's easier tae read 'er" Dwalin murmurs, still glancing towards the sleeping dog. Some dwarves smile, especially Bombur who was utterly happy to have more meat in suppers than before (Y/n) had arrived.

"Ye two seem to have some sort of connection" Fili comments and puts his pipe back to his mouth. Dwalin nods and lets a his smile deepen a little.

"Aye. Tho, only when we're huntin'" he admits and Fili huffs.

"Talk to 'er" he points out. "And apologize her. She still thinks ye hate 'er"

"Like we all should..." Kili says and pats the dog from her back. Every pair of eye turns down. None of them says anything anymore, but a silent agreement was made. Talk to 'er. Be open to 'er. She had lost everything she had had, even her identity as a human. She helped the company as much as she could, even when they pushed her away. Ye don' have to like 'er, but at least try to understand 'er situation. She probably never asked any of this.

Reader's POV;

You woke up from the best goodnight sleep you had had since you had come to Middle Earth. Your eyes drifted open and met the dwarves, who were bustling around as silently as they could. Someone was still holding you. You turn your head and see Kili, looking the others and seeming to be rather thoughtful. You let out a long yawn and then you stretch your body. Kili seems to come to his senses when you do this and he turns to look at you. A little smile grows on his lips and starts to scratch your head. Your tail starts wiggle and you press your head back against him. How many girl in your world could say that they had slept a whole night in arms of a good looking dwarf prince?

When the others note that you were awake, they came to greet you and some even ruffled your head. Balin and Thorin were here too, you noted. And they seemed to be a little confused as why the Company were suddenly acting a little more friendly towards you. You were, too. More than a little actually. They never addressed you this much at mornings. But then you wave it off, thinking that they were just worried about you after the troll incident and when they had had finally time to sit and think about it. So they just wanted to be nice to you now, when you were hurt.

When it was time to go and get breakfast, Dwalin caught you in his arms like you weight nothing and said that he would carry you around until your paw would be better. Your jaw dropped and ears shot as up as they could go. Dwalin chuckled - chuckled, for a love of God! - and then he was off to the same dining area where you had been eating yesterday. But this morning the elf lord wasn't dining with the dwarves, and even Gandalf wasn't present. But a beautiful elf maiden was sitting on a table, where Elrond had sat yesterday, with two male elves sitting beside her and Lindir at his "usual" spot. The four of them turned to you and greeted you, then returning to murmur among each other.

Dwalin set you down between himself and Thorin, who this time decided to dine with the company. Two elf maidens brought few choices for breakfast and for you they brought a plate full of meat. Your tail was wiggling like crazy and some drool was beginning to appear corner's of your lips. This was heaven! You had had meat, but this felt like half of what you had been eating in half of the time you had been travelling with these dwarves.

And speaking of dwarves.... While they had porridge, boiled eggs, warm bread, ham, grapes, tee and juice, they were still giving open glances towards your plate. You let out unapproved voice and looked at them with "Fuck you, guys" face. Your food, not them. Let them starve, if that wasn't enough for them.

After lively breakfast, thought as not lively as yesterday, you tried to avoid the company as well as you could. But there was always someone who was seeking your company.

First Dwalin had taken you over to a beautiful lookout, thanking you about your help with hunting. He admit that you had been more than a little help to him, especially when he was hunting alone. When Balin came to look for you two, Dwalin leaned close to you and whispered, that your nose was indeed better than dwarves nose were. You turned to look at him and licked his cheek as a thank you. You could tell that he meant every word. And literally meaning every word he had told you. He chuckled and ruffled your head, which seemed to become a habit to him.

"Dwalin, Thorin wants to speak with you" Balin informed, looking at his brother and seeming to ignore you as if you even weren't there. Then he turned and left. You frowned at this, wondering what had happened. You knew that dwarves didn't like you that much, but Balin had seemed to take some liking of you. And his behavior just now seemed so... odd. Cold towards you. Like he did address you, but at the same time he did not address you.

Dwalin was taking you back to the company's camp, when you saw Bilbo. You hadn't seen the hobbit in what felt like ages and you rather wanted to be with him than surrounded by dwarves. When you whined and leaned toward the garden-like area, and when Dwalin saw Bilbo, the bald dwarf turned towards the area and let you dawn.

"Someone will pick ye from here later on" Dwalin said and then he turned and left. You watched after him and then you turned to look at Bilbo, who was looking down at you rater sadly. The hobbit swung his hands before he stepped next to you and sat down on the marblefloor. You were still sitting and were looking at his features. The situation felt so awkward, that you almost felt like calling after Dwalin and asking him to take you with him. But the warrior was long gone. And he probably wouldn't even understand, if he would hear you shout after him.

Then, Bilbo turned to look at you and he raise his hand towards you. You leaned your head to his hand and then he started to scratch.

"I know you didn't mean any bad when you pushed me into the trolls camp. You couldn't just randomly attack them to save time or the dwarves. We needed to do some teamwork. I-I-I just... failed to see it, back then. I'm not a warrior. I'm not used to life like this" Bilbo sighed. You leaned toward him and kind of fell on his lap, pressing your head on his chest. Bilbo caught you and held you still.

"I know you are scared. I am too. And to be honest... Everyone's scared of something, it's normal to feel something. You shouldn't be astonished of feeling" you said, knowing that Bilbo couldn't understand you, and closed your eyes. You could feel Bilbo take sharply breath and his grip of your fur seemed to tighten.

Almost an hour later Fili came to check on you. You had spent the time talking with Bilbo. Well, Bilbo had done the talking and you had been listening. At some point Bilbo had told you about certain lady hobbit, Yuva, and few times his cheeks went red from variant reason. You weren't helping when you were looking him like "Ooh, someone is in love" or "That's so sweet". And you could swear that some part of Bilbo was happy, when Fili appeared to look for you, so Bilbo wouldn't need to talk about her. When Bilbo informed that he was going to look for the library, Fili took you back to the terrace.

Dwalin was apparently done with Thorin, since he sparring with Kili, when Fili took you to the terrace. There was no one else there. Fili set you down on the sofa and then you both turned to look at Kili, who was laying on the ground, pouting and glaring Dwalin. Neither of them had shirts on. Your tail wiggled once and you let your gaze go from Dwalin's muscular back to Kili's bare chest. You wished you had hands now so you could try Dwalin's back or run your hand over Kili's chest hair. How come he had more hair on his chest than on his jaw?

"You know lass, it's not nice to stare" you heard Fili said. You turn to look at him and try to look innocent. He grinned you back and winked. Kili and Dwalin had noted that you were back, so they stopped their sparring. Which was shame, you didn't want them to stop just because of you. Kili came to pat you after putting his shirt back on, while Dwalin went to look for Thorin and his brother. Soon after he had left, Oin, Gloin, Dori, Ori and Bombur came back. Gloin looked like he would strange someone and the others looked rather angry too.

"Is something wrong?" Fili asked, deep, worried frown on his face. Gloin turned to look at him, staying on his feet and hands grossed over his chest, while others set down and Oin knelt before you to check your paw.

"The elf lord refuses to see lass. He refuses to look at 'er paw or listen to 'er story. Thorin and Balin tried to reason 'im yesterday, but he 'has better tasks on his mind', as he had told 'em" Gloin tells to Fili, who sighs and shakes his head. The empty feeling returns to your chest and you lower your head.

So even the elf lord refused to help you. This had been your only hope, lord Elrond trying to help you. But he refused see you. Like Gandalf had refused to take any responsibility of you. Your only hope had just flied to the wind and now you didn't know what to do. You wished you could go back home, but it was impossible.

"I've never seen a dog cry before...." Kili murmurs and everyone turns to look at you. Tears filled your eyes and fell to your fur.

"Hurt paw is easier to heal than a lost, broken heart" Oin murmurs as he bandages new gauze around your paw.

Tag list;

@lidda @bee-wrecker @queendarkmuffin @silencegetawayfromme@kettnerjanea @sdavid09 @ealasaid @jumpingmanatee @fab-notfat @bae-kage @fricking-ghoul @k-youre-a-fantasy @dumbgopher1 @maddybeck01 @naminalati @leah-halliwell92

Those who I couldn’t, from some reason, tag in this, have been marked in bold.

#the great unknown #thorin's company x reader

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roamingholiday · 7 years ago

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Monday, August 14th 2017

I spent the hours between midnight and three trying to pack everything that I brought to live on for ten months away from home and also everything that I’d managed to collect over six weeks of living in London which included, but was not limited to, eight fairly large books, several new shirts, a pride sash, a very small toy minion that was once the top of a kid’s movie snack cup, and more baking supplies than most people would deem necessary for a six week stint in a foreign country. It was hardly adequate.

I then sent a message to my mother that said something along the lines of I am setting an alarm for eight in the morning, but if I don’t have a message from you telling me to be out of the door by eight thirty, I am going back to bed and resetting the alarm for ten.

I sent that, and then went to sleep.

At eight, I woke up to a message telling me to go back to sleep, which I did.

At ten, I woke up and packed everything I forgot about the night before, and then hauled my suitcase, my backpack, and the three extra bags of things that I could not fit into my original luggage into the rental car, with my mother’s help.

I then proceeded to sleep for most of the five hour ride.

We got to the Lake District (my old enemy we meet again) in the evening, and were welcomed into the cutest B&B. It was adorable and brightly colored and the owner told us all about how she renovated the space with one of her sons, and how she was planning on writing the name of every lake she’d swum in on the stairs.

Just look at this gorgeous bathroom.

It has a tub.

I mean, I didn’t actually take a bath, because I don’t like baths, but I could have, which makes it a far cry from the very tiny box of a shower that I had been using in my London residence, which was literally not big enough to stick both elbows out in.

The room was also adorable, and my own, so I didn’t have to share with anybody, which was lovely.

We got dinner at a little restaurant that served excellent meat pies, and then my mother and her husband retired to their room to sleep, and I retired to my room to… well, not do that.

I actually was planning on sleeping, because despite the fact that I’d spent most of my day asleep, I was still exhausted. Finals week plus traveling to a new country for a whirlwind weekend adventure does not lead to healthy sleep habits.

However, at about ten at night I discovered that the first Lord of the Rings movie was available on Amazon Prime UK, and that seemed like an appropriate movie to watch while still in England, so I figured I might as well.

To be clear, I’d never actually seen the movie before, or read the books (I know, I know, a high fantasy book that Trixie hasn’t read? It’s a miracle! But seriously, I tried so many times when I was younger, and I could never make it past the first hundred pages because it dragged so much. I read the Hobbit, but the Lord of the Rings always eluded me. I might try to read them again, though, I think I could do it if I just powered through the boring beginning), and somehow I hadn’t looked at the time stamp, so I was a full hour in before I realized I’d committed to a movie that was four hours long (it was the extended edition, because of course it was) and by then I was far too invested.

I do believe I sent a message somewhere along the lines of WHO MAKES A FOUR HOUR LONG MOVIE AS THE BEGINNING OF A TRILOGY to friends that I knew had seen the movies before.

The rest of this post is going to be a ramble about my feelings on the first Lord of the Rings movie, so if you’d rather not read that, you can stop here, and I will certainly not blame you.

So first of all why, in every fantasy novel, do they introduce the people like the elves, who are perfect, and the dwarves, who are rich, and the humans, who are corrupt and definitely the first to fall in any here comes the evil scenario? People die soonest? It’s not that I disagree that people are the worst, it’s just that I don’t understand why everyone else can’t also be the worst?

I'm confused. The Power of the Ring makes him a jedi?

It's very unclear what the Power of the Ring actually is.

Like.

Mind control?

Telekinesis?

And does it pass on like the elder wand? You gotta kill someone to get it?

I suspect these are the things that I would find out in the books, but if I read all three of them (and the Silmarillion, thanks, I do know some things), and I don’t get a detailed description of what the rings are, what power they impart, how they got that power in the first place, how they were made (and if it’s hand waved as ‘magic’ that does not count), and what, precisely, it means to have the power to rule them all, I will dig up J R R Tolkien to demand answers.

Moving on: I’m sure Gollum was a super creepy character when he was first introduced but I’ve seen too many memes mocking the voice and the my precious line to take it seriously.

I understand why I loved the Hobbit more than LOTR: Hobbits spend their lives eating and reading and hating tall people, that’s clearly where I belong.

I also hope that the books contain a detailed explanation for what wizards are, how they get their power, why they’re all apparently old men, and what, exactly, their power set is.

Speaking of wizards, Harry Potter has negatively conditioned me to mistrust any old bearded wizard who says trust me, I'm your friend. Is Gandalf actually Sauron. I think I’d have gotten that spoiled for me at some point, but honestly I have surprisingly little idea how LOTR actually ends. I assume they win. Hopefully not a lot of people die but I don’t have high hopes about that.

Dementors on horses.

I realize that Harry Potter is basically a ripoff of LOTR, as most fantasy written since it was written is, but it’s my best point of reference for everything in life, so.

Okay, if your name is practically the same as the big evil guy, I feel like it should be a hint that you, too, are a big evil guy. Saruman, I am looking at you, dude. You were born to be very evil, and you didn’t even need to sit on that super creepy big black throne to prove it, though the fact that you did that anyway just proves that you’re one of the super dramatic big evil guys. Good for you.

It's interesting that, typically, in these sorts of books, people use magic to have physical fights. They're just throwing people around, but using magic instead of muscles. If they'd just hit the gym more often they wouldn't even need the magic.

I say that as a person who absolutely could not throw someone across a room without the use of a lot of magic.

Small dark haired plucky protagonists that look like Daniel Radcliffe should stop having such blind faith in old grey bearded wizards.

Sam yells, "Those wraiths are still out there!" and I heard, "The racists are out there!"

Honestly it would not surprise me to learn that ring wraiths are racist. They seem like the type? You know, malevolent, evil, wear hoods, like to gang up on innocent people and make their lives miserable, undead, probably trying to kill someone you love at any given moment, it makes sense. Also were once in power and are desperate to get it back and failing hard. Also probably living in the white house right now.

Lord Elrond looks like he's about to throw up every time he looks at someone. Anyone. Every person. What happened in his life to make him this extraordinarily bitter person. Is that one of those things the books would tell me?

"I am ready to go home."

-Frodo, with two and a half hours left in the first movie in his trilogy that might as well be entitled Frodo Doesn't Get To Go Home.

I feel like people who say that humanity's greatest downfall is pride are missing some key aspects of our personality, because personally I do not want to rule shit, thanks, and I don't particularly want whatever mystical power that ring holds over other people, it's clearly evil, throw it away please, but also if I were at that meeting I would absolutely want to poke the ring. I don't want to have it, or put it on, I just want to poke it. Curiosity to the point go stupidity is a much more interesting fatal flaw, and a much more accurate one for our species as a whole.

Elrond is hilariously offended to find out people were eavesdropping on his super secret meeting concerning the fate of the world in an open-air pavilion area.

I also believe that Elrond is evil, along with Gandalf, and everyone else, in fact, I trust Sam and everyone else has an agenda. Sam and Frodo. Maybe Merry and Pippin but that is it everyone else is the height of evil and someone should protect these hobbits from the rest of the world.

Why is everyone in every fantasy movie ever so willing and eager to make their last stand?

You know, the first Harry Potter movie was released about a month before the first Lord of the Rings movie, and I'm pretty sure that audiences everywhere that year were getting super tired of watching small dark haired plucky protagonists that look like Daniel Radcliffe be attacked by trolls while their equally plucky though typically more reluctant friends rescue them.

what fresh hell is that minotaur on fire

YOU SHALL NOT PASS has much more gravitas when it's not a mocking parody, I have found.

I was three hours in and decided to actually get some sleep, and finish everything up the next day because they were super peacefully floating down a river on some elven boats and I suspect, from the course of the movie thus far, they were not going to remain peaceful for any longer.

All in all, so far it's not a bad movie. Is my personal opinion. I know the entire world was waiting to hear my judgement on what is arguably the most famous series ever written (that isn't Harry Potter), and I judge it not bad, so far. Shocking that this massive phenomenon that has inspired the adoration of millions is actually good.

#london #travels #movie review #all in all this was a highly unproductive day but I really enjoyed that movie #and also that car ride was the height of relaxing honestly #a fantastic beginning to my vacation's vacation

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