#Erevir

[urloth]

AU Silmarillion Drabbles 30/50

Prompt: Social

Summary: Bitter winter on a battlefield and all they can do is gossip and wait.

Notes: I have attempted to write a sort of cross over with the very talented @vanimore​‘s amazing fic a few times. This is a part I recently excised out of the fic I am dwadling my way through. It was too much of a diversion and change of scene and didn’t fit the rest of the fic’s tone. It also didnt really work and it was too explination-y. But I didn’t want to just delete it and I feel guilty all the time about not writing more the Silm AU drabbles. 

So this is cheating it I guess. And archiving a bit of writing so I can go back later and pillage it for usable bits.

Warnings: OCs and world building. A unholy mess of two different worlds hitting each other in a way that doesn’t really work at all which is part of why it got taken out. Likely OOC and not really compliant for Vanimore’s fics. That and the tone was too jovial. Be more serious Erevir.

There was a pair of Five Arrows guarding Thranduil’s tent, standing proud. There was shouting inside the tent. Erevir could identify most of the lords inside thanks to it. Thranduil had bid them to wait, even invited them to take wine and sit within the tent until it was their turn.

Erevir was fine outside. Away from the yelling and the inevitable stares and accusations of being Gil-Galad’s spy. The weather was fine and the Five Arrows were quiet and interesting company. Erevir liked the Five Arrows. They were the least likely to become offended if their hallowing reacted to them and more likely to just be amused.

It was a change from the Thindar who were usually given the honour of guarding the royal tent. Given or who had edged out others, whichever it was. Greenwood was a political and racially complicated mess. 

These guards were wearing the hardened leather armour over soft hides that Erevir was used to seeing them wear. What was new was the colours of Greenwood bright in their cloaks, the sigils clear and proud upon their chests.

Thranduil was honouring Oropher’s promise to the Five Arrows who came from the marshiest and wettest parts of the deep heart of the forest. For years, Erevir had heard, scholars had wondered where the people the kingdom of Doriath had called the sawadhrim; the filth people, had made their home when Doriath and the Laiquendi would not give them any space in their own lands. Then Oropher had found them.

Erevir knew the settling of the Greenwood had not been the most comfortable thing. There were more than just the Five Arrows spread through the expansive forests, and Tatyar within the mountain in the centre to boot. The political gymnastics Oropher had performed were impressive but instilled prejudice against Five Arrows had been hard to break.

It was… it was good. Yes it was good that Thranduil was continuing Oropher’s sometimes bloodily stubborn push to have the Five Arrows brought into the union of peoples that he had cobbled into his court and country.

Three years of fighting, Erevir remembered dim gossip by campfires. Three years of fighting for him had been what Oropher had asked in exchange for enshrining complete protection of the Five Arrows in his laws.

He had even signed those laws before Greenwood’s armies had moved out as a sign of good faith.

They were four years in now, and the war had not indicated when it would end and how.

There would be no forcing them to undesirable areas of the forest. They would have their own Lord in the Council and most importantly they would have their own name. They were Five Arrows and the king himself would lay grievances against those that used that other, long hurtful name.

Erevir hoped what they saw meant that Thranduil had taken his father’s word as his own.

They hoped Sawadhrim would not be an acceptable name for them within what would not be Thranduil’s realm. It was a terrible name. Instinct said that the nature of humans meant another, just as painful, name would be found by those who would not let their minds be changed.

Well the Five Arrows would likely deal with that themselves. Utumno and Angbad had gifted many of them with the jaw strength similar to the orcs they had crawled their way back to elf form from, generation after painful generation; changeling child by changeling child. Better teeth though.

Better looking teeth.

The right sided guard turned his head, seemingly unaffected by the glare of the sun on the winter ground into his face, dark tattoos of plants found near Greenwood’s heart framing his face. His companion had a fine twisted set of lines over his nose and cheeks, well displayed when he turned to look where his fellow guard looked, that Erevir wanted to say was perhaps a star-chart but was unwilling to commit. Who really knew.

An Ithiledhil walked past them. There was nothing unusual to them asides the usual. Erevir found themselves both overwhelmingly drawn to the Ithiledhril and utterly repelled. Thus they kept their distance. Anything with two different extremes of reactions was likely bad for their general health. They kept their distance and just watched... listened to the distant song of something that was carried in their fea as a flower carries pollen.

As for the guards… well Five Arrows and Ithiledhil, as far as they knew, simply ignored one another with a skill that was pure artistry.

There was only the slightest narrowing of eyes and a very subtle tension in the guards as the pale, strong figure crossed before them, and the song Erevir heard hissing through the cool air was one of flame white hot and cold.

Then it happened.

There was a patch of ice, hidden under mud that had not frosted over from the underlying chill.

The Ithiledhil stood on it…and slipped. Down he went. Straight down onto his arse with a squelch enough for them to hear across the way from him. His hair, it flew in the air from his high tail like a rippling peace banner. The colour was so pale and beautiful.

And the mud was very dark as that hair fluttered downwards and crossed paths with it.

From the Five Arrows came a sudden pure and golden joy. Erevir shivered from the strength of it as it passed through their bones and warmed all the places that had been chilled by the grey misery of winter. This happiness was so innocent and so sublime. It shimmered in the air and both the Five Arrows were, for a moment, transcendentally beautiful and Erevir was drawn to that like a proverbial moth.

“If I die tomorrow I go into the darkness fulfilled,” the one on the right said with great satisfaction and a great wave of contentment, his lips curled in a smile that revealed too many teeth, and not all of them quite in the configuration expected of elves. But Erevir was grinning back, so hard their cheeks were starting to twinge, and all because of this singular moment of joy.

It was not the right thing to enjoy the misfortune of others but where else would they ever feel this perfect happiness here in Baradur?

“A sight not to be repeated.”

“Ah and he heard us,” the left commented. The Ithiledhil had found his footing, refusing them the further viewing of his slipping and sliding in the mud. No he had righted himself on the first try to the disappointment of his audience of three, and had turned to stare at them.

The Five Arrows’ smiles became fixed, disagreeable emotion displacing that glorious happiness. The right had eyes flecked like bloodstone and the pupils were pulled into tight thin lines, the left had eyes more amber with sharp petals of crimson exploding out from around his thin pupils. Neither dropped eye contact but it was the left guard that slowly and deliberately let the filmy white of his second eyelids slide over his eyes in a lazy blink.

The Ithiledhil turned on his heel without a word and walked away.

Disatisfaction from the left guard and bitter amusement from the right.

“Stone cold bastards,” Left said.

“Ah they aren’t so bad if you pretend they don’t exist,” Right straightened his stance, his shoulders having almost crept out of perfect alignment.

“They cant even die and give us a funeral to watch properly,” Left complained, “no fun at all.”

“Master-Healer Lindlaer of the third mounted patrol was having a fling with one of them for a while, actually from before the war since third mounted had that region in their circuit,” Erevir supplied, “ended it last month. The fallout has been quiet enough, but kept most of the Healer Corps entertained.”

“There you go,” Right said to Left, “you can pester Pethras for details. He is apprenticed to that Healing Lord now. He should know enough to satisfy your strange fetish for Ithiledhil.”

Left made a gesture that was both obscene and demonstrative of his opinion of Right. Erevir had their interest wetted though. Five Arrows distrusted the Healing House, Lord Lithwaloth had, had trouble getting them to accept healers placed amongst them, and Pethras was a name they knew; he was one the Five Arrows’ more prominent shaman.

“I feel like I know the name Lindlaer,” Left mused.

“He’s the one who keeps having affairs with the sort of men who don’t take the end of those affairs well and make very public shows of it,” Erevir supplied, “the Lord of the Red Maple tried to kill him in the middle of a court service is the most famous example I think.”

There had been about three hadn’t there?

The incident of the Ithiledhil in the Night would never surpass that incident. Erevir had been living in Lindon and it had been the first thing anyone had mentioned in their letters to them for a season. Then the news of it had completely stopped.

 Greenwood’s Healing House protected its own.

Lord Healer Lithwaloth tended to crack down on gossip that exceeded acceptable parameters of the noisy air Healers seemed to need as much as food and more than sleep.

“Ah,” a nod.

Poor Master Lindlaer, you could be a master healer and a leading mind of your speciality and all people remembered was your torrid and turbulent love life. Though in Lindlaer’s defence he never slept with married men…which had also been the reason for so much of his laundry being aired publicly.

There was such a thing as being too beautiful it seemed. And Master Lindlaer was very beautiful. Enough to make Erevir wonder if, when this current furor had died down a little, they might see if his bedroll was feeling empty.

“The Lords have quieted,” Right noted, “maybe they’ll finish and you can go in out of the cold and speak your business.”

Someone suddenly swore and called another lord’s father a name that made Erevir rock back a little. Even the Five Arrows who likely knew black speech, blinked and though they did not break their positions, Right mouthed what they had all just heard. Erevir’s ears blushed just at the repeat. What had been the use of living in a brothel for ten years, they wondered sometimes.

“Never mind,” Left cast eyes to Erevir, “it would please me to hear more about the Master-Healer Lindlaer’s current predicament.”

[chronicles-of-kats-dnd-game]

Raven’s Wings Session 2: Into the Sewers

-The party refuses Zara’s offer to follow her to her temple. She responds by signaling to the surrounding Shar cultists to attack.

-Aralin attempts to climb one of the surrounding buildings to escape, and hangs onto the crumbling wall as two cultists slash at the tiefling sorcerer from below, as the rest of the cultists fight the party.

-Cecily stops the combat before her new companions can be attacked any further by telling Zara that they will follow her if she doesn’t hurt them anymore. She orders the cultists to stop, and they circle the party once more as the priestess of Shar begins to lead the party somewhere else, the cultists making sure that none of them try to leave. Zara assures them that they are much better off with her, and that she is glad they have seen reason.

-The party attempts to make small talk with Zara to figure out her motives and lessen the tension, but she only gives cryptic responses. As another awkward silence begins, the party hears the telepathic voice in their mind of a Message spell telling them to look to their right. They see two solid blue eyes and a pale white hand motioning for them to come closer from the sewer entrance.

-Before their guards can notice, a sleep spell is cast upon them, and three of the four cultists fall to the ground. Their new ally urges them to follow as the party hesitates, untrusting of this strange new place. Cecily decides to take her chances with this new person and dives for the sewer entrance, the others following close behind. 

-Zara casts a Guiding Bolt at Aspen before she can make it through as she shouts for the last remaining cultist to follow them. Their new ally slams the sewer gate shut as they all descend into the dark sewers- though now lit by a purple glow as Aspen’s location is brightly revealed by Zara’s spell.

-They run after their new ally through the sewers, though the remaining cultist quickly catches up to them, following Aspen’s glow. He goes down after a couple magical bonks with spiritual weapons and shillelaghs, and the party continues on their way, eager to escape the fighting.

-The danger still continues however, as the party turns to see a vaguely human form made of pure shadow lunge for Aralin, another one close behind.

-Combat begins once more! Cecily casts a spell of laughter to force the shadow gripping Aralin to let go, though not before it drains away some of the tiefling’s strength. Having no clear human form, the creature only makes an unsettling low wheezing noise as it attempts to laugh.

-Aspen is attacked by the second shadow, as the creature wraps itself around the wood elf druid and saps her of a large amount of her strength before their new ally blasts it with a Magic Missile spell, causing the shadow to vanish.

-The party gathers around the remaining shadow to take it down, and discover that the shadow is resistant to nearly all of their damage types- of the ones that even hit. Their attack rolls were so bad.

-The laughter spell wears off, the shadow diving for the first creature it sees. The monster's shadowy form wraps around Aspen once more as she is drained of nearly all of her strength, barely able to stand or hold her staff.

-Their new ally regretfully burns another spell slot to cast a second Magic Missile, finally finishing off the shadow. There is no time to rest however, as their guide urges them to follow quickly. He tells them that the shadows down here are drawn to the living, and their recent arrival from the Material Plane makes them a beacon.

-They eventually arrive at a door and he quickly guides them in as the gathering shadows behind them grow closer. He snaps his fingers to light the halls in blue torchlight, as they finally take a moment to catch their breath. Their new ally takes off his hood to reveal that he is a tiefling, and introduces himself as Erevir Akros. 

-Erevir tells them that he came here from the Material Plane like they did, though he has no memory of his life before. He explains to the party that they are no longer in the same plane of existence as they were before- this place is the Shadowfell, a dark reflection of the world they had known. He tells them that this city is called Evernight, a darker, broken copy of the city of Neverwinter they once knew.

-The party asks him how they can return home, and Erevir tells them that he doesn't know, but that his master might. He leads them through the corridors of this shelter within the sewers to a large circular room, where a wizard wearing a hooded robe obscuring his face rises from his desk to greet them.

-He introduces himself as Mavrus, and offers the party a chance at escape from the Shadowfell in return for help against his enemies. He describes to them his struggle against the other two powers currently controlling Evernight- the castle of vampires, and the church of Shar. He asks that the party steal from the temple an artifact gifted to them by the goddess Shar herself, a shard of pure night. He says that stealing this will weaken the church, and with its power Mavrus can fight back against his enemies- and with more Shadowfell magic and freedom to walk the surface, he could potentially locate for them a portal back to their world.

-The party is suspicious of the mysterious wizard, and Aralin is able to tell that he is not telling the full truth- but they are desperate for any chance to return home, and so they accept. With the party tired and wounded, but now with hope in their hearts, the second session comes to an end!

[grifalinas]

Ohhhhh, Erevir is pretty...

Wait, what if I used one of my old Sindar or Quenya names for my Ozpin standin?

[urloth]

me: I would like to write a simple crossover

brain: here is 20,000 words of world building with no real impact on the plot unless you write another 50,000

me: [lies down and refuses to move]

[urloth]

Tears

There were no tears to be found at his rejection becausethey had expected it, and already built up the walls around their emotions,using the foundations laid by Tindomion’s rejection years earlier and the solidsupports of Celebrimbor and Gildor’s acceptance of their claims to them, sothat Vanímorë couldnot break the false calmness they acted in as they grabbed the back of his handregardless and the air at the point of contact sparked gold and silver.

- the continued adventures of Erevir touching things they should not, Or, the War of the Last Alliance did no one any good, Or, ships passing in the night before one turns around and collides head on with the other

[urloth]

6, 11 and 15 for the fic meme - but I'll let you choose your fave fic for it

I am going to choose Wall of Shadows to try and kick myself back into thinking about it

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

It is the first time I wrote Erevir with a fully concrete set of headcanons about them, established through a lot of privately shared fics on skype, roleplaying, and generally talking with my friends :) 

11: What do you like best about this fic?

All the stuff I havent posted yet XD Glorfindel and Gildor especially. Also the Tatyar that they run into. Maglor learning that the world has continued to move on since he lost the last of his family and how differently some of that world views history and has recorded it.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

just how much I have scattered throughout different draft and scrap documents abut Erevir’s life and amber verse (a modest estimate based on word count is 120k), just how much Erevir has changed, and just how unwilling I’ve become in recent years to post whatever comes out of my brain. I just …stopped one day. Thats why the silm prompts seems to have died. I realised I got shy of the fandom in general, both negative reactions and its apathy.

[urloth]

To finish before the end of feb:

- next chapter of wall of shadows

- the next chapter of tower fallen

-half finished silm au prompt fill in which the worlds of Erevir and @vanimore‘s Vanimore meet and its nosebleeds, weird psychic shit, and second degree burns for everyone (and also tears but they are manly tears (and Lord Healer Lithwaloth is kind of tired of the Noldor why do the Tatyar have to be related to them again oh wait yeah))

- first chapter of Manwe/Ingwe fic for @feanope where Manwe is a dick and Ingwe cant do anything about what a supreme arsehole his boss is. Fealty can be a bitch. Bonus: Eonwe and Ingwion will be involved despite attempts to remove them from the premises

[urloth]

vanimore replied to your post: To finish before the end of feb: - next chapter of...

Wow - sounds amazing, nosebleeds and weird psychic shit? Wow!

in order of causation the weird psychic shit causes the nosebleeds which causes the second degree burns (thanks Erevir you and your weaponised healing). I am contemplating chopping it into bits so I can fulfill a bunch of the prompts (but thats cheating.)

 :,D I want to get Vanimore right 

[urloth]

"The new year?" the Living Silmaril shrugged, "I vow to one day punch Melkor in the face." "You vow that every year," Gil-Galad complained. "Change it to Manwë," Gildor suggested where  he and Celebrimbor's drunken lounging had now consumed a confused Glorfindel-the-Younger who was sitting very still as they both patted his hair and cooed over his pretty eyes. Glorfindel-the-Elder was watching this but not helping his son, perhaps because Elrond had fallen asleep next to him and was using him as a pillow, perhaps because he thought it would be a formative experience for Glorfindel-of-Gondolin to endure. "Gildor," Gil-Galad warned but Erevir looked far too keen about that. "You cannot vow to punch Manwë in the face," Gil-Galad desperately tried to gain control of the situation. "Alright," Erevir complied and poured him more wine. That was nice. His cup was almost empty. "Thank you." "Varda then." "Noldomírë no."

I tried to write a Christmas-New years fic but didn't get far. It is hard to write when travelling. Please rejoice and let your new years pass safely. I hope you enjoy good health and happiness in the coming year.

[urloth]

@vanimore

* Let’s see - (no, not that) Their hopes and dreams?

Hmmm lets see. Erevir? They are the character most on my mind at the moment.

Erevir’s hopes are widely spread out. They hope to find Maglor. They hope to see the release of the Feanorion hoard from the void. They most especially hope Feanor will not see them as a marring of his work. They hope to please Eru with their work. They also hope their foster brother Tathar will forgive them for whatever it was that they did that made him become cold. They hope Gildor will stay safe on the road.

They also hope Elrond has forgotten that thing they might have said to Glorfindel that made him flip an entire setee lounge in the hall of fire in an attempt to throw it at their head.

If Erevir ever sat down and wrote down a list of all their hopes they might never stop.

Dreams are easier. Erevir does not dream in the normal sense. Their dreams are split into four categories: Eru has a reason to see them face to face. A local god is fucking around. They have somehow accidentally stepped outside their body while sleeping. Or their brain has decided to process a new segment of the large mass of data, really is the best way to put describe it, inherited from their time as a nearly sentinent jewel. (which is REAL fun given a decent chunk of that “data” is from the vantage point of Melkor’s head.)

[urloth]

Maglor and the living Silmaril have both essentially looted from the dead in this fic.

#justexhilicnoldorthings

[urloth]

ambrorussa replied to your post:

ASK FICLET PROMPTS

“living silmaril + feanor interaction & the color red”

For the explosions/silm prompts verse where the Silmaril emerges before Feanor dies.

Celegorm had gotten clothing for his new charge wherever he could find it. It had led to some unfortunate fashion statements here and there.

Today was a little more coordinated. Feanor flicked a drying stem of grass off one shoulder and wondered where the faded crandberry-red tunic dragging under the Silmaril’s knees had come from. It was too loose at the neck and the sleeves were too long but it was Autumn, the leaves brightening then dying, the air chilling.A looser tunic would be useful to put other clothing beneath later.

“Left,” the inexplicable creature said, having spent a long time in silence since they had found and latched onto him in his tent, shuffling a little but yet to release their locked arms from around his waist. 

“Is Celegorm not teaching you adequate manners?” he inquired lightly, resettling in his chair but he obliged them by moving his hand further to the left and letting it rest on the nape of their neck. They simply sighed, a pleased rustle of noise against his shoulder. 

He rubbed at the skin of their nape and watched as the tree just beyond his tent shed a few more crimson leaves. It was a skinny thing, useful only for firewood but it was a good marker for the centre of the camp and had been spared its fate.

The Silmaril reached up between them with one arm and copied his hand, patting his nape with the jerky uncoordinated actions he knew came from their inexperience of the flesh.

“Right,” he said, tugging up the collar of their tunic for them before resuming his hold and they obligingly moved their arm so they were no longer crushing his hair.