#Imladris Fiction

[laurefindele-thegolden]

Day 6: Return To Middle Earth - Forget Me Nots

Okay so this is based on a post by ettelenethlien about flowers growing on the graves of middle earth heros and especially the part in the end asking if the flowers that grew on glorfindel’s grave now bloom under his window in imladris. And as cute as a concept as it is, I made it painful so here is a one shot based of this for @glorfindelweek . Also apologies as due to the mess called my life I am late with this prompt and I've not written in a long time.

°

It had been some time since Glorfindel had been back in Middle Earth, and since the second age passed, the Last Alliance defeated Sauron. However, it was the first time Glorfindel could stop; there was peace.

While he was most thankful to the Valar not only for another chance at life in Middle Earth but also for choosing him out of all the great elves of the past to return, there were moments where he gave into his weaknesses and saw it more as a cruel twist of fate rather than an honour. By now, the novelty of ‘the great hero of Gondolin’ being here had worn off for most inhabitants of Imladris and those who often visited, yet he still got stared at and still had questions asked, especially questions that were painful to answer because it was painful to think back on his home and all that he had lost that day.

In the early days after his return, he was often found in the library, perusing through the ancient texts, a painful curiosity driving him to see what historians had written about that day. It was difficult for him to get through what Erestor called his personal flagellation, but he needed to know. He wanted to know what happened after. He was, of course, filled in on that upon his return, but this is different; it was as if he needed to relieve that on his terms to move on.

However, no matter how he tried, it did not help. Soon enough, while the inhabitants of Imladris were enjoying themselves and finally basking in the times of peace, the golden-haired elf spent most of his time alone. The day that his city fell was nearing again, and this time, nothing was going on that had kept Glorfindel busy, nothing to get his mind off it. For the first time, he'd have to face it head-on. The change in his mood was evident to many, especially Elrond, and he could not help but worry.

“I worry about him, Erestor.”

“I know, and I do too, but what can we do? You know very well that when we offer him help, he deflects and says everything is fine.” The dark-haired elf sighed as he sat by the fire in the elven lords' study.

“The day is fast approaching. Maybe one of us can stay with him. Keep him company.

“You know he will decline the offer as he did the previous years. I feel like maybe this is something he needs to go through alone. But we'll be there for him should he need us.”

And so the day approached. Glorfindel tried to keep himself as busy as possible, but no matter how much he tried to go on patrols or scouting missions, it was as if some higher power undid all that, and on that day, he had nothing to do and was in Imladris. After an uneasy sleep, the golden-haired elf woke. The pale sunlight was slowly creeping into the valley, so far lighting the mountain peaks. Glorfindel slowly got out of bed and made his way to the balcony, which overlooked one of the smaller gardens in Imladris. One that he had been very fond of as it was more private and less visited compared to others.

As the cool morning air hit his face, he closed his eyes briefly before taking a deep breath. After what seemed like ages, he opened his eyes and looked at the garden but stopped, an almost stabbing-like feeling piercing his heart as his gaze landed on the hundreds if not thousands of little, light blue flowers which seemingly appeared overnight on the grass outside his balcony. He'd not seen those flowers in thousands of years, and painful memories came flooding in.

A memory of him and Ecthelion riding through the fields outside of the city, fields that were filled with these very flowers that he had not seen anywhere other but Gondolin. Ones that had been his favourite and which he also had growing in the garden of his house. He remembered little Eärendil running through those very fields, being chased by a laughing Idril, as he once joined Turgon, his king and friend, on a walk with his family. And he remembered reading the many accounts in the ancient scrolls of how these very flowers seemed to bloom in thousands over the grave that the refugees of Gondolin had made for him.

He thought of Rog, Egalmoth, and Galdor. He thought of one elleth who had a stand with baked goods at one of the city's markets, which always gave him the best sweet treats. He thought of a young ellon who always managed to find him while on duty and who told him how he'd become a warrior just like he was. The pain and guilt he felt at the moment was unbearable, and before he knew it, he was standing on the grass among those flowers.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was here. Why him? This, indeed, was a cruel joke the Valar had played on him. It was the only explanation. Why was he allowed to return, to walk in Middle Earth again, while so many did not? Had they even been released from Mandos, or still dwelt in its halls?

Glorfindel barely had felt the tears streaming down his face as he got on his knees and began grabbing fistfuls of those flowers and ripping them out. In his rage, he was sure this was another cruel trick of the Valar. These flowers had only bloomed in Gondolin; it's impossible for them to have been here.

As he was destroying the flowers, angrily, through the tears, mumbling incoherent words that a passing Lindir was able to make out, “That's for Ecthelion…that's for Turgon….that's for Penlod…” before he rushed to find his lord and Erestor, knowing they'd be able to help.

Soon enough, Elrond rushed into the garden, his chief advisor following. He stopped. The scene in front of him tugged in his heart. By now, the seneschal was sitting among the flowers, both those he ripped out, his fists still full of them and those which were still in the ground. But now he was sitting slumped in defeat. Though Elrond was confused, he'd never seen such flowers before anywhere, let alone in Imladris, and he was confused as to why they were seemingly the reason for Glorfindel's outburst.

“Ah.” Said Erestor softly so that only Elrond could hear him. “I remember these flowers from a scroll Glorfindel once read and one he often returned to. I cannot recall their name, but these flowers bloomed in the fields of the Hidden City. And it was said that once the refugees of Gondolin built our seneschal’s grave, the flowers bloomed over it in thousands.”

“I see.” Now Elrond understood. The ripped-out flowers made sense. He was sure their sudden appearance must have been shocking and painful to the golden-haired elf lord. Not knowing of any words of comfort that he could offer him, Elrond quietly walked over to him and, kneeling on the ground beside Glorfindel, he put his hand on his shoulder, offering him some comfort.

Glorfindel had no idea how long he sat there and was unaware of anyone around him until he felt Elrond's hand on his shoulder. For he knew it was the lord of the valley; he could sense his comforting presence. He stayed like this longer before slowly rising to his feet.

“I'm sorry you had to see me in such a state. And I deeply apologise for ruining the garden.”

“You have not ruined anything, my dear friend. Would you like to join me and Erestor for breakfast, or would you rather spend the time alone?”

“I think spending time in the company of others will do me some good. But I would like first to get dressed.”

“Of course.’

Thinking back to his home and all that he lost was still painful, even in the years to come. But in that moment, that outburst in the garden, Glorfindel properly allowed himself to grieve for his home, king, and friends. While the pain never disappeared, it was a little easier to bear. And the flowers that previously had only ever been found in the fields of the hidden city had since bloomed in the small garden outside of Glorfindel's chambers while the elf lord still dwelt there.

[somebirdortheother]

Naming chapter 1 Hello World is so very nerdy and poetic and PERFECT and I just saw it and SCREAMED!!!!!!!

Oh hello there! I knew you'd like it @lady-of-imladris! I really did want my aliens Sentient Collective Consciousness that Descended from AI to be a little cheeky when they greet humanity!

[balrogballs]

i'm a writer irl (can't say who because my agent would rightfully put me into a blender and press the button if i go and out myself as "balrogballs") and honestly the funniest and most humiliating incident of my life was the time my finished manuscript triggered a plagiarism flag with the publisher for two lines of prose in my literary fiction novel...

.... which was word for word similar to a paragraph in a certain explicit work on FFN starring elrond and his batsman from the hobbit films, aka that one elf that looked like he ate panic attacks for breakfast (i forget his name but it's Figwit II) where the lord of imladris bends said twink over his writing desk and gives him the battering ram treatment.

and if you think i had to sit in front of one if the biggest publishing companies in the world and admit that it was, in fact, me who wrote the fic where the lord of imladris bends said twink over his writing desk and gives him the battering ram treatment in order to avoid being wrongly flagged for plagiarism, you would be absolutely correct.

(yes they published the book)

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Lost in the Labyrinth of my Mind | Legolas Greenleaf

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Pining

▹ Words: ~4k

▹ Summary: The two times you realized you loved Legolas, and the one time you acted on it.

▹ Notes: I would like a reward, I've posted two times in a year 🙂🙃 But seriously, thank you for all the support and love in my last oneshot, you all had me giggling and twirling my hair with my feet kicked up.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Little has made sense lately.

Thrust into a world so unlike your own everything was disorienting. Now you were living in the world that closely mimicked the Middle Ages you’d only read about. The first year hidden in Imladris had felt like the morning after a jarringly realistic dream. Spots blurred your vision and you were half convinced nothing was even real. In fact, you still weren’t fully convinced this was anything more than a grand delusion. Your memory was spotty and the days passed in a haze, so maybe that's why you volunteered to join the Fellowship as a healer.

It was dangerous, you knew, but those fears were quelled with the notion that death would mean it all had been real afterall. Either you come home a hero or have a firm grasp on what’s reality, even if that’s in death. 

Dawn broke, the sun cresting high in the sky, but it was barely seen over the mountains. They seemed to close in, threatening to crush you and your companions, the falling snow ensuring your bodies would stay on the floor. There was a burn in your legs from the steep incline as the Fellowship hiked up the mountains. Even after a night of restless respite, your body still aches. You wouldn’t falter though, even as the tips of your fingers turned blue and your skin became as cold as ice. As the only woman in the company, you refused to be the one to stop first. Stubborn pride was all that kept you moving forward.

Somewhere in between the hobbits was where you found your spot in the marching order. You were content enough to slide in and out of their conversations, at least, the parts of the conversation that could be heard over the deafening wind. But even their chirper disposition seemed to wilt under the harsh weather that seemed to get worse the higher up the Fellowship got. 

Your eyes slid towards Legolas, a shining gold beacon amongst the frost. His hair was like the last rays of sunlight, the smile on his face as warming as a roaring fire. Seamlessly he weaved between the members of the Fellowship, seemingly unbothered by the snow. His footsteps were so light, he didn’t even leave a footprint in his wake. Unlike your travel companions, he seemed mostly unbothered by the pelting snow and frigid air. The cloak he wore, lighter than yours, seemed to be for show rather than practical use. 

It was obnoxious how distracting he could be. If you weren’t careful, you would stare at him for hours on end, mouth hung open like an idiot. It was humiliating, the amount of times you’d made a fool of yourself while in his presence. The teasing from Elladan and Elrohir had been endless. 

Yet as much as you’d hate to admit it, the flutter of your heart or the giddiness that puts a skip in your step were all sensations you reveled in. Always a hopeless romantic, even as previous partners tarnished your silver-plated optimism, you loved being in love. Except, you weren’t in love, you couldn’t be. And in the depths of night, while the stars hung high and all was quiet you told yourself a million things to convince yourself the crush on Legolas was surface level. You told yourself things like: 

“It was his elven heritage; you just weren’t used to seeing elves.”

“The infatuation and curiosity would dim with time.”

“Most of your life elves were fictional, and now there was one, right before you.”

Those were a few of the lines you told yourself to placate yourself when your mind wandered too close to Legolas, though it never felt very convincing. 

Legolas turned, his bright blue eyes meeting yours. They were so wide and full of wonder, it was hard to believe he was hundreds - if not a couple thousand - years old. He was so youthful and bright, not weighed down from living a million lifetimes. Nothing like his father nor the whispers that followed the King’s name in the corridors of Imladris. Legolas was soft and gentle, careful and perfectly polite to a fault. His father’s disposition may have been winter but Legolas remained the sun that melted the frigid snow. 

A smile blossomed on Legolas’ face, not a single crease appearing on his pale skin. The simple gesture made your heart rate increase to an alarming rate, knots twisting and turning in your stomach. Heat and embarrassment made your cheeks turn flush and you hoped he simply thought it was from the cold.

 You returned a smile, overtly aware of your own appearance and insecurities. You wanted him to think you were as pretty as the elves you’d lived among, but beauty was hard while caught in a snowstorm. Your eyes moved from Legolas, opting to stare at the back of Aragorn’s head, at least until the queasy feeling in your stomach went away. He was so beautiful, and kind, and wonderful, and--

‘Stop. Don’t do that.’ you scold yourself. It wasn’t worth the potential heartbreak to even consider Legolas like that. You were mortal and he was very much not, he would more than likely see you as a lost puppy than a romantic prospect. But despite yourself, you snuck one last glance at Legolas, foolishly hopeful his eyes were still locked on you. They weren’t; he was now in the front with Gandalf, idle and unaware of the turmoil a simple smile from him caused. 

A particularly strong gust of wind hit you, knocking you straight to the ground. The winds were getting fiercer and the snow heavier, how long would this continue before Galdalf admitted defeat and you turned around? 

Wet, cold snow seeped through your clothes. You tried to stand, but found it difficult in the thick layer of snow. Like a clumsy child you kicked and squirmed in an attempt to regain your dignity, but it was all for not. Then a hand appeared in your line of sight, offering your aid. You looked up, Legolas now standing before you with an outstretched hand. Without hesitation you took it, Legolas hauling you back to your feet with little to no effort. 

Even as your body was upright and stable, Legolas’ hand didn’t leave yours. His hands were rough from decades of archery training, but they seemed gentle in yours. His thumb lightly traced shapes over your skin. The action seemed subconscious as Legolas continued to look at you with that bright expression he always wore. 

“Careful my lady, we wouldn’t want you to blow away.” Despite how quiet they were, his words cut through the wind. There was a teasing glimmer in his eyes that seemed to translate to his words. 

You breathed out a laugh, careful to not stare into his eyes too long. Your cheeks became warm again, the red flush of embarrassment making its mark on you. Legolas’ head tilted to the side; concern masked the light mischief lighting up his face. 

“My lady, you must be freezing, especially after a fall into the snow. Here--” 

He didn’t give you time to respond, not that you even could. You were in a trance, enraptured the smell of cedar and bergamot as well as the heat that radiated from his body that was so close to yours. Legolas reached up to the clasp of his cloak and undid it. In a smooth motion, he took the cloak off and draped it over your body. 

“That should help keep you warm in the snow.”

 He smiled at you, sweet and gentle. His disposition was addictive, making a small grin curl on your lips. All too soon, he stepped away from you, sparring you one last glance before approaching Aragorn. Your cheeks remained warm and bright red, the rate of your heart not settling anytime soon. 

You continued to watch him animatley chat with Aragorn, unbothered by the cold even without a cloak. Subconsciously, you pulled the cloak tighter to your body, deeply inhaling his scent that lingered on the fabric. 

Practically floating, you were unaware of the knowing glances the rest of the Fellowship cast your way. All the while, you were lost in thought, trying to intellectualize each butterfly Legolas’ touch created. It was all overwhelming and you almost wanted to throw up. You were shaking and nervous; bright red from head to toe. This felt different than idle crushes and romanticization of complete strangers.

Maybe you were falling in love. 

---

The river languidly flowed, beams of soft light reflecting off the water and creating a thousand little rainbows. The river’s stream was gentle and almost lethargic, it seemed even the Earth was affected by the elves' lack of urgency in life. Lady Galadriel’s power had seeped into the very dirt and from it sprout and ethereal visages in the forest. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this at peace. It must’ve been before your old life had been ripped from you. 

You were alone, fingertips digging into the mud as you stared at the stream. Gandalf was dead. It was a strange thing to constantly remember. At times you would forget, searching for him in the Fellowship only to remember he’d fallen in Moria. There was a pit in your stomach you weren’t familiar with. Greif didn’t feel the way you’d thought it would’ve, not at all the way it was often dramatized in the media. Instead of bright and all encompassing, it was a subtle, slow burn that would eventually swallow you whole if left untempered. 

But you didn’t know how to temper it. 

So it left a dull ache within you, painless enough you’d forget it was there until it suddenly pricked you like a sewing needle. 

But at least you could mourn without the threat of orcs looming over your head. 

“I had hoped to find you.” His voice was carried by the gentle breeze that suddenly came through the clearing. You turned your head, only slightly, just enough to see Legolas’ lithe form standing a little ways away. 

“It’s quiet,” you replied, returning your attention to the water, feeling a need to explain yourself to Legolas, even though his observation wasn’t accusatory. The ground muffled the sound of Legolas’ footsteps, only a soft thump heard with each step. He then took a seat beside you, so quiet it felt like he’d always been there. His eyes were on you, you could feel it, the way his blue eyes bore past your body and into your soul. Elves were far more perceptive than humans, and you could feel the truth to that statement in his gaze. 

“I had thought so as well. I came here our first night in Lothlorien. It made me think of you, I am pleased to see I was correct in that.” He spoke the words so effortlessly, as if he hadn’t just admitted to thinking of you. Or perhaps it was nothing to him, a passing thought in his mind of one of his friends. You didn’t want to just be a friend, but perhaps that was the category you’ll remain.

You turn your head, eye to eye with Legolas. A warm flush appeared on your cheeks, something that seemed permanent when he looked at you with those eyes. The type of wonder and softness that almost made you believe he returned your affections. Yet you didn’t linger on those fantasies for too long, not wanting to potentially be let down. You’d never been very strong in your convictions, something born during childhood that you never managed to shake.

Flighty and fearful as long as danger was near and it was always near; haunting the edges of your vision, a jumpscare waiting around every corner. The worst case scenario had always been accepted as the only plausible scenario; fiction became fact and you wouldn’t accept any other truth. Perhaps Legolas was waiting for a cue from you to make a move, but you were too much of a coward to ever do it. 

So in limbo you would stay, content enough with your friendship while secretly yearning for more. 

“And what about a calm river could make you think of me?” 

You were irrational and emotional, quick to anger and hard to forgive. If anything you were a calamitous tsunami; rough and heavy, dragging everyone in its tide. Nothing like the level headed and logical elves you’d lived around. 

“You’re both a source of peace and beauty,” he responded, a small child-like grin curling on his lips. Your mouth grew dry, brows furrowed in slight disbelief. 

‘He thought I was beautiful?’ 

The thoughts in your mind flew at a thousand miles per hour. There wasn’t one singular train of thought you could latch onto, the ability to speak taken from you. No witty comment fell from your mouth, only a wide eyed stare that suspiciously resembled a doe. 

It seemed to make Legolas falter, a light dusting of pink appearing on his cheeks. He looked away, eyes locked on the river. “I apologize, that came out wrong. I simply meant that while you are attractive, you are also a great friend and I value speaking with you.” He stuttered and stumbled over his words, trailing off at the end. And his voice… it was so prim and proper, it made a few of the butterflies in your stomach turn to dust. “The same way I value the quiet of sitting in this…spot.”

His eyes darted away from your sharpened gaze, scanning the nearby treeline. His nerves seemed suffocating, he’d suddenly become so flighty. Had you made him uncomfortable? Did he see the hearts in your eyes when you looked at him? Had it made him uncomfortable?

The thoughts made you shrink within yourself. The barest hint of hope within you smothered in insecurities and doubt as dark as midnight. Perhaps he hadn’t meant the compliment in the way you wanted. They were only kind words to ease a friend's grief, yet you managed to only hear what you wanted. 

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

You fought against the disappointment, not allowing it to carve its place onto your face. The smile on your face was bright, but it didn't quite meet your eyes. “I’m glad we are friends.” You place your hand on his shoulder, your touch so light he nearly didn’t feel it. 

You half expected him to jump away from your touch as if it burned, but he didn’t. Instead, he met your gaze once more, and the worry muddying his eyes melted away.He gave a slight nod of the head, yet didn’t speak. 

Silence filled the clearing, and you were terrified he might hear your heart pounding against your chest. It became harder to breathe the longer the two of you stayed locked in the impromptu staring contest. The distance between you two was small, and you’d never been so close to him before. Oh god, was he getting closer? Was he leaning towards you? 

There was a slight quiver in your lips, heart slowing to a point you were afraid it wasn’t beating anymore. Palms sweaty, they clung to the blades of grass held captive in your hands. Time stopped, nothing else mattered as you prepared for his lips to touch yours.

Except…

They never did. Legolas pulled back, eyes wide in alarm. He stood, nearly stumbling backwards in his desperation to get away from you. He got to his feet and took two steps away. On the ground you remained, ripping out grass to keep from crying as you saw what you swore was regret crossing his face. 

“I should return to the Fellowship, Aragorn may require me. Until we meet again.” Legolas did an awkward half bow, scurrying away before you could so much as reply. 

Left alone, you let out a heavy breath, that was shuddered with choked sobs. Were you truly that bad he had to flee from you? The wind blew stronger this time, and you rolled your eyes. A few stray tears fell and you let them, there was no one to see you cry like a baby over a man you knew you could never have. 

You couldn’t deny it anymore, try as you might. 

Oh no, you were falling in love.

---

The panic that tore through Helm’s Deep was contagious. 

Ten thousand Uruk-hai would be marching towards you, an army that tripled what little forces the keep could muster. We needed outside help, but there wasn’t time to call for reinforcements. We’d all already be dead by the time they came. 

You tried to not let the fear show, desperate to keep your body steady despite the shaking it was plagued with. Deep breaths were forced as you attempted to keep your breath shallow and uneven. But you couldn’t deny it, even as you did anything and everything to keep your mind. 

You weren’t ready to die. 

Not today, not like this. 

It wouldn’t be swift and painless, it would be drawn out and agonizing; orcs weren’t famous for their mercy. Suffocated by a blanket of despair, you briefly considered offing yourself. There were so many twisting tunnels and a million ways for you to do it. But in the end, as you stared into the desolate eyes of the Rohirrim, you decided against it. If they could face impending doom with grace, then so could you. Yet that didn’t keep the terror from threatening to swallow you whole.

You were numb. 

Stood outside, elves and men began to line up along the wall. There were screams and shouts all around, but it was nothing but white noise in your ears. Across the crowd, your eyes met Legolas’. His lips were downturned and his eyes were tired; Legolas was just as terrified as you. 

You weren’t sure who moved first, but within a blink the two of you began to move towards one another. The crowd was thick but you shoved through them with the strength of someone twice your size. As you escaped the crowd and your hands found Leglolas’, you could finally breathe. It was a breath of fresh air after being forced underwater. 

His eyes bore into yours, his grip tight as if to assure himself you wouldn’t leave. Battle was coming, he knew that, you knew that, but the sentiment was nice. It made your heart flutter, the numbness freezing your body lifting the longer you stayed there. 

You wanted to speak, to tell him all the love confessions and speeches you’d been mentally writing and rewriting. But the ability to talk had been lost. Your mouth was dry and your throat had closed up. Instead you squeezed his hands tighter, hoping to convey everything your words couldn’t. 

His lips, pressed into a thin line, relaxed into a slight frown. His eyes were searching your face, looking for the answers to his never ending questions. You weren’t sure if he found what he was looking for, too afraid to ask in case it soiled the moment. 

It was in that moment, with your eyes connected and his hands tangled with yours, everything clicked into place. Every nagging insecurity and silly fear felt so miniscule and pointless. How much time had been wasted living in fear? 

Moments before doom and your hit with an epiphany. Your feelings weren’t as unrequited as once believed. Reflected in Legolas' shining eyes you could see the same unsurety that came with loving someone new. The constant doubts that you were wrong, not trusting your own eyes and instincts. It was never one sided, you just wish one of you had the courage to say something before this moment. 

A part of you waited for Legolas to speak, to declare everything you’d already figured out, but he never did. Rendered mute just as you were, he was silent in the midst of chaos. 

So you opted to not speak either and instead pressed your lips against his. Your lips were dry and cracked, raw from biting on them constantly. Legolas’ were much the same, yet neither of you hardly cared. His grip on you tightened as he pulled your body closer. He never wanted to let you lose and you didn’t want him to. 

The kiss was hardly romantic or anything like the sappy romance books that became your bible. His lips were rough and his grip was nearly bruising, but it made your heart burst all the same. There was no time for gentle kisses and longing eye contact under flutter lashes, the world was coming to an end. And you’d be damned if it ended without you telling Legolas you’d loved him. 

You pulled back, wide eyes staring into his eyes. A warm rush through your body, heart beat racing against your chest. Faintly, you heard Aragorn calling for the two of you; the current scenario came rushing back as time began to move normally. Majority of the army has lined up, anxiously awaiting the official start of a long dreaded war. You looked at Legolas once more, and his eyes met yours.

“I love you.” The words fell from your lips, jumbled together as you spoke to the tempo of your heartbeat. He understood them all the same, his lips curling into a melancholic sort of grin. 

“I love you.”

The moment was over, the bubble previously surrounding just the two of you bursting. The end was near.

Following the crowd, you and Legolas took your places at the wall, watching ten thousand Uruk-Hai march towards you. Yet you weren’t filled with the same icy fear and delolation. You’d been revived; dropped into icy water after a year long drought. 

Under the wall and hidden by darkness, your hand found Legolas’. He squeezed it, a reassurance and a promise. 

You would both make it out. 

And everything would be right. 

Deeply, you inhaled slowly exhaling. A single arrow bit through the darkness and landed in the chest of an Uruk-Hai. The enemy army shouted and began to charge. You lifted your blade, untangling your hands from Legolas’ as you knocked his arrow. 

The two of you would be fine. 

If only so you could hear him say the words you’ve dreamed about since your first meeting.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ 

Tags: @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @mouseships | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @fried-potato-balloon | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @im-a-muggleborn | @ollyoxenfrees | @delyeceamaitare |

[vagueandominousvibes]

The Imladris

Artist: @vagueandominousvibes | WriterKalhsScribbles on Ao3

Author: @ar3dhel | Ar3dhel on Ao3

Artwork posted separately HERE as well as in the fanfic.

Summary: The crew of the good ship Imladris have received a tip about the salvage job of their lives, all the way out at the edge of the solar system. But they might not be the only people who want a piece of that ancient battleship ... Rating (fanfic): T Rating (art): G Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond Peredhel, Arwen Undómiel, Maglor Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel Word count: 7,192 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Science Fiction; Action/Adventure; Alternate Universe – Space; Rivendell | Imladris

Through the viewport, the derelict appeared deceptively small. A gleaming red-gold shape in the dark vastness, it appeared as the only landmark. Devoid of anything to give it scale, it could have been a scale model of a ruined ship. Small enough that one could have reached out, through the reinforced plasteel, and taken it in hand. Only the Imladris’s sensors showed the true scale of the ship. Vast was the only really appropriate word.

Thanks to @tolkienrsb for running the event!

[helenvader]

four fictional crushes, tagged by @mamanmae

My dear sister in Mairon, to make you laugh I'm going with these:

Sauron

Halbrand

Annatar

Mairon

[picture pending; S2 should deliver]

Tagging @demonscantgothere @lady-of-imladris @querulousmegapode @rings-of-power-realm

[scriberated]

4 Fictional Crushes

I was tagged by @myfavouritelunatic, @thrillofhope, @coraleethroughthelookingglass, and @makeshiftdraco (thanks guys!!)

Let's see... Current? Past? Little bit of both?

Jareth, the Goblin King - the Labyrinth

Definitely my first major fictional crush. What's not to like?!

2. Killian Jones, Captain Hook - Once Upon A Time

Literally from the damn TRAILER this MFER HAD ME BY THE THROAT. Someday I will import all the old Captain Swan fic I wrote from FF.net (proudly among the first smut fics for the ship).

3. Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I still love him. Probably my all-time favorite ETL ship.

4. Stephen Bonnet - Outlander

Look. LOOK. I KNOW, OKAY? I know. He's a bad, bad man. I can't help it. She could fix him. (this one is new and fresh and I can't make eye contact with anyone anymore. i'm ashamed and I accept my shame.

Tagging some friends: @sotwk, @kingslionheart, @aconiteheart, @klynnvakarian, @shady-swan-jones, @stardustspell, @iamstartraveller776, @lady-of-imladris, @ringofthenibelung-blog & anyone who wants to participate!

[antares0606]

Thank you so much! Who doesn't love a grumpy Erestor?

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Arwen Undómiel & Elladan & Elrohir & Erestor, Arwen Undómiel & Celebrían & Elladan & Elrohir & Elrond Peredhel Characters: Arwen Undómiel, Elladan (Tolkien), Elrohir (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel, Celebrían (Tolkien), Erestor (Tolkien), Glorfindel (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Fluff, Presents, Midwinter, Knitting, Children, Gift Giving Summary:

Arwen wants to cheer up Erestor when she works out that he’s extra-grumpy because he doesn’t like the winter, and Elladan and Elrohir lend a hand.

This one’s for the lovely @antares0606 who prompted me ‘give’, 'scrooge’ and 'handmade’ from this list of prompts. 'Scrooge’ was a bit of a challenge given that Dickens doesn’t exist in Middle-Earth, but I thought that a bit of grumpy!Erestor might possibly be a worthy substitute XD  Features tiny!Arwen and only-just-grown-up!Elladan and Elrohir. :D

All the joy of the season to all of you, whatever you celebrate (or don’t), and thank you for your support and enthusiasm over this last year - it has meant the world to me. <3333333

[jkl-fff]

What mythical, ✨fantastical✨, or fictional places would you like to visit? They can range from places like the underworld from a certain mythology to media-related as Gravity Falls!

Myhical: Actually, the Underworld of Greek Mythology would be quite fascinating to explore as a tourist. The palace of Hades and Persephone when they judge the dead. The pits of Tartarus, where deposed Titans and the worst offenders against the laws of the Olympians are imprisoned. The Asphodel Fields where most schlubs hang out and the Isles of the Blessed where exceptional heroes get to rest (and maybe be reincarnated? would love to get an explanation from someone about how that fits into their cosmology). The River Styx where Kharon ferries the Dead to their rest (so I can ask him why he even needs the coins). I'd like to see if I could get Kerberos to let me pet hims, too.

Fantastical: Rivendell or Imladris from "Lord of the Rings" looks very peaceful. I think it would be restful to my soul to visit there, even if someplace like Minas Tirith might be more epic. Besides, it seems a lot of interesting people pass through Rivendell, so it'd be a great place to hear some fascinating stories.

Fictional: Kashyyyk from the Galaxy of Star Wars. Besides looking like a beautiful place, it's the homeworld of the Wookies. And I *will* hug as many of them as will consent to it. Which I suspect (and hope) will be a lot.

Thanks!

[queenmeriadoc]

You have to marry the last fictional character in your camera roll: how screwed are you? (tag game)

Tagged by @deadlymistletoe

Technically not fictional character, since he is based on a real person, let’s see

I swear I don’t just have pictures of Charles Edwards on my phone. You know I am fucked either way tho!

Tagging: @starlady66 @founder-of-imladris @lady-of-imladris @shirebarbie @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @bananaphanta

[fenharel-enaste]

Fifteen Questions for Fifteen Mutuals

Tagged by @thesolarangel @lady-of-imladris @queenmeriadoc and @starlady66 Tysm my lovelies 💖💖

Are you named after anyone? Nope

Do you have kids? Nope, and I don't intend to

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Not as much as I'd like to ���

When was the last time you cried? Hmm a few days ago but it was good cry

What is the first thing you notice about other people? Their vibes usually, or something cool like their haircut/hair color or tattoos

Eye color? Blue (gray-ish sometimes)

What sports do you/have you played? I used to do taekwondo and a lot of swimming when I was a kid. I also played lots of different sports at PE class, but I haven't played those since then. Nowadays I always play table tennis the moment I see an available table 😂

Any special talent? My friends are always surprised when I recognise voice actors the moment I hear them 🤣

Where were you born? Southern Spain (still live there)

Scary movies or happy endings? I don't like scary movies so happy endings (but my fave are bittersweet endings)

Do you have any pets? I don't (I used to have a little turtle many years ago)

How tall are you? 170cm (5'7")

What are your hobbies? Writing, videogames, shows and reading (fiction related stuff 24/7)

Favorite subject in school? English, latin, ancient greek and art history

Dream job? Novels/videogames translator

Tagging (no pressure): @elrondsevenstar @nihilizzzm @ashifloof ✨

[myfavouritelunatic]

Rules: Tag 10 People You Want to Know Better

I was tagged by @starlady66 and @lady-of-imladris thank you so much!! 🥰

Relationship Status: Single... forever dating fictional beings.

Favourite Colour: Purple 😈✝️💜🔮☂️

Song Stuck in my Head: Intergalactic by Beastie Boys, thanks to that excellent trailer for The Marvels 😍

Last Song I Listened To: Woman by City and Colour

Three Favourite Foods: Mexican (anything), Laksa, and avocado with scrambled eggs on toast 😍

Last Thing(s) I Googled: Melbourne CBD Weather, because the weather here in my city is beyond unpredictable 😂

Dream Trip: Anywhere with the love of my life… whomever that may be. But if I had to pick a location… Egypt. I must see Giza and anything to do with Ancient Egypt before I die. Ultimate bucket list.

Tagging, no pressure : @denzit @heronamedhawks @gil-galadhwen @pursuitseternal @coraleethroughthelookingglass @somebirdortheother @honeyfarts666 @fenharel-enaste @hikarielizabethbloom @vellichormybeloved @klynnvakarian 🖤

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Drowning in his gaze (part 2)

Elendil x reader

This is mainly inspired by this post by @the-haven-of-fiction about Lloyd Owen’s character in Monarch of the Glen.

This is part two of three. This part Is dedicated to the lovely @lady-of-imladris.

*****

Coincidentally, or maybe not, you meet Merendur on the day of Elendil’s birthday, two months after he left. He is your age, the assistant of one of the city’s magistrates; your supervisor tasks you with transcribing some important documents Merendur brings to the Scribes’ Guild’s office, he decides to wait rather than leaving and coming back to collect them later, and this gives you the opportunity to bond.

It is exactly a month later that he asks you to accompany him to one of the city’s most popular festivals, to celebrate the anniversary of the King’s accession to power. It is the first time you receive an invitation of that sort, and you cannot help being flattered, but you tell him that at the moment you are too focused on your work and other duties to think about a courtship. 

Which is true; you do not add that there is another reason you would be unable to commit to him, or to anyone else. A reason who has deep blue eyes, and a smile brigher than Anor, and who you, stubborn and proud, allowed to leave...

Impassive, Merendur answers that it is all right and he will be happy to go as your friend.

Your relationship slowly develops in the next five years. You like Merendur, and admire him: he is young, brillant and ambitious, determined to make a career and become himself a magistrate, or maybe join the selected circle of the King’s advisors. He is clever, courteous, a pleasant company; he takes care of his two nephews, sons of an older brother who died in an accident, and has convinced his father to support a family who lives in the same street as him, left destitute after a sudden reverse of fortune. 

You become good friends, attend parties and other events together, and you are even able to help each other’s careers; once you are a full-fledged member of the Scribes’ Guild, an old client Merendur meets through you accepts in turn to introduce him to one of King Palantir’s closest advisors, while he proposes you for a prestigious and lucrative position as another Guild’s scribe. Your relationship is in other words mutually beneficial, as well as based on sincere fondness and friendship, and both of you hope it will continue as it has in the past, for both your sakes.

And then Merendur asks for your hand in marriage. 

When it happens, in the study you rent in an affluent neighbourhood of the city, at the end of a long and tiring but profitable day of work, you are so stunned you do not even know what to say; for a full minute you are almost sure you are dreaming - although not in the way so common among the women who receive that kind of proposal.

“... what?” you ask in the end, completely flabbergasted “Marry you? I mean, the two of us? Surely you are joking.”

But Merendur is perfectly serious, as serious as he is in any matter of business - which this also is, you find out a minute later. 

“I am not joking, believe me. (name)...” he starts, as he moves to sit by your side behind your desk. You are wearing a simple dark green dress, the same, you suddenly realize, you wore on the day you met him; who knows, maybe it is not a coincidence... "You must see this decision would be highly beneficial for both of us. We both know we are compatible; there is friendship and trust and respect between us, which is more than could be said of many couples in this city, and I know this is not going to change in the future. I... I must admit; I am not in love with you, nor I will ever be.”

Silence.

“I am sorry; the last thing I want is... to upset you...”

“Quite the opposite.” you confess, and you finally smile “I was suddenly fearing that all this time I had misunderstood your feelings and I would have to break your heart. I... I understand that you are proposing a business deal, not a love match.”

Merendur laughs. “You are quite right. You are the most capable young scribe in this city; you could lead the very Guild one day, or become the King’s personal secretary. I am also building a career for myself; in a few years I will probably be part of Palantir’s entourage, and my latest business deals have proved quite profitable. On the other hand, we both know there is a large faction of Númenor’s elite who will continue to distrust and disregard us, because you are a woman, and an orphan, and I am the son of a peasant who found himself the heir of a rich distant relative. We are both capable, clever, and strong-willed; what we lack is respectability. If we... get settled together, we will offer those who actually hold power in this city the image of a successful, dependable couple; it is foolish, and unfair, but do you not know someone who has been passed over for a promotion, or an office, because they were unmarried?”

You do. Númenor’s society is traditionally based on strong familial values; any respectable citizen is expected to marry as soon as they have reached adulthood and a stable economic position, and to have children to perpetuate the family name, while those who remain unmarried, by choice or any other reason, are -sometimes unconsciously, more often not- deemed unreliable or, worse, having something to hide, as if taking part in a brief ceremony and moving together with another person is a sign of high moral virtues. It is a completely unreasonable, illogical, state of things, that many of your generation resent and openly mock, but which is still upheld by the elders... and the ruling class of the city.

“In other words you are saying that if we get married, and offer the impression of a respectable and reliable couple, our reputation will improve, and with it our circle of affairs.”

Merendur smiles, glad to see how easily you understand each other, and nods. “What do you think?” he asks, excited and candid as he always is, be it in your friendship or in a business deal, and you admit your... interest in his proposal.

“I will have to move to your house; as you know, I still live with my guardian. And what about... how shall I say...”

“... our private affairs?” he finishes for you with a smile, perfectly at ease “I think we can continue to pursue them like we have done until now, as long as we remain discreet; to be honest, I have never shared anyone’s bed, and I doubt my desires will change in the future. But I will not stand in your way if you desire to pursue a relationship; I want you to be happy, even if you would have to keep it secret. But it is important that you know: I have no interest in having children, since I have already named my nephews my heirs. Do you wish to be a mother, (name)?”

You do; you did, at least, since you immediately realize the deal your friend is proposing is not one you would have a child grow in in any case. And above all, it would be wrong, because for a fleeting, long gone moment, you have actually envisioned to raise a family with the man you had fallen in love with, and while that dream has wilted like a rose in winter, you cannot force yourself to consider any other option, because no reality would ever compare to that fantasy, and it would be a betrayal, even just in the secrecy of your heart...

“If we were ever to split, would you give me back my dowry?” you ask, banishing those sterile memories with a shake of your head, and adopting a more direct approach, appropriate to someone who is examining the clauses in a contract  “And will you pay half of the bride-price to my guardian, if I cover the rest myself?”

You discuss for a while before Merendur takes his leave. “Take all the time you need.” he offers, saying goodbye to you with a chaste kiss on your cheek, the only sort you will ever receive, or want, from him “I know it was unexpected, but believe me, I wouldn’t propose this if I weren’t sure we could work well together, in this like in any other situation. I shall be a good husband, I promise; and I shall always be your friend, as long as I live.”

That night you end up taking the long way home, to give yourself time to think about that unexpected proposition. You can see the vantages being Merendur’s wife would offer: the honorable position of a Númenorean matron, settled and who lives within the rules of society, the status of being part of an affluent family, useful connections for your work, an husband you get along with and who unlike what happens to many women, would let you live your life as you wish, without interfering or demanding to decide for you.

It would be nice. Easy. Convenient. Amandil, who thinks well of your friend, would approve unreservedly, and many women in the city would wish they were in your place, even if it meant sleeping in separate rooms from your husband. The most practical, career-oriented part of you wanted to accept as soon as Merendur explained he was uninterested in fatherhood; no man has ever attracted your attention in the last five years, let alone one of the few who have offered to court you, and most of the women your age are already married. This is as good as any proposal you could receive by now, and better than many others; at least, Merendur would never break your heart, because he is in no danger of receiving it as a gift.

Safe. Predictable. Comfortable. Eru forgive you, why do you feel your heart breaking to imagine yourself as part of such an union? Why do know you would regret it an hour after the end of the wedding ceremony, and you would end up hating Merendur, and yourself, very soon?

In the end, you finally reach home. “Did you have a good day at work, dear?” Amandil asks as you close the door behind you, and you force yourself to answer and to pretend everything is fine - which, after all, it is. Eru, woman, you have received a marriage proposal! Why do you feel as if you are going to be put to death?

“It was... uneventful. Good, thank you. Should I light the fire?” 

“I received a letter from Elendil.” your guardian adds later, as you sit in front of each other at the dinner table; your skills in the kitchen are mediocre, even though you always try your best, but Amandil is forced to tolerate them only one day per week, on the governess’ free day.

You stop eating. “You did?”

“Yes. He is all right, even though he said his mission is not about to end soon, after five years. Would you please pass me the bread?”

If Amandil is aware, or even just suspects, of the change your relationship with his son has undergone, he makes no mention of it; he is proud of Elendil’s bravery and resourcefulness, and worried for the dangers he could face, as any father would, but unlike you he appears to have made his peace with his fears, contenting himself with the brief letters Elendil sends home, roughly once every two months. Elendil was still a boy when he announced he would join the Sea Guard as soon as he would come of age, and his determination has never wavered; his father has always encouraged and supported him, even if it meant forgetting his own hopes and aspirations for his only son and letting him go his own way.

You wondered more than once whether you should have taken an example from him. 

A warm, placid summer has mantled Armenelos, and after dinner your guardian decides to take a walk to the harbour, the informal gathering point of many older citizens; he invites you to go with him, to enjoy the warm evening, but you tell him you are tired and want to retire soon. 

Obviously you do not, given that three hours later you are still awake, in the dark room you have slept in since you were five, listening to the sweet song of the cicadas in the garden as you toss and turn on your bed. In the end, with a sigh you get up and walk to the window to open it and let the cool air of the night in.

The city is beautiful by night. Its characteristic bustle and the frenzy of the most populated neighborhoods forgotten, it is as if a mantle of peace and stillness has fallen on the buildings and the empty streets; you contemplate the view in front of you, a hand supporting your face and your elbows propped on the window frame, and you wonder, not for the first or even the thousandth time, what Elendil is doing right now. 

Were you the protagonist of one of the legends and the poems so popular among the ladies of Númenor, you should have spent the last five years in mourning, crying for your lost love as if Elendil had passed away, and eschewed all contacts with the opposite sex; what other destiny could await a woman whose beloved had broken her heart, leaving and refusing to take her with him?

Thankfully you live in the real world, not in a ballad, and while Elendil has hurt your feelings, in the last five years you have lived a happy and productive life; you have focused on your education, completed your apprenticeship at the  Guild and started a career as a scribe; you have many good friends, enjoy living with your guardian even though you could now afford to rent a house of your own, and are in excellent health. You know you have much to be grateful for, and you are; you can look at the future with hope and confidence, which is more than can be said for most people.

But you do miss him. You miss him as you would miss a part of your body, and no matter how full your days are, and how satisfied you are with other facets of your life, all of a sudden you find yourself thinking about him, and the longing and the solitude that fill your heart are intense enough to make you feel suffocating. 

Even though you have not seen him for five years, your feelings for Elendil are as intense, true and deep as they were on the day that you confessed them to him, and you shared your first and only kiss. Sometimes, as you look back at that moment, you wish you had acted differently; other times, you feel he is the one at fault, and that you could have started to build something special, or at least parted amicably, had he not been so stubborn and selfish.

Did your friend share the feelings you had just discovered had been for so long in your heart? Given the passion he had kissed you with, you were inclined to believe he did; maybe he loved you just like you loved him, but had decided to leave nonetheless because his honour, and his aspiration to become an officer of the Sea Guard, forbade him from forgetting his mission and resign himself to a quiet life with you.

Or maybe not. Maybe he had only considered you a dear friend, the sister he had grown with, and the only reason he had kissed you had been that your declaration had ignited an elusive, instinctive desire that he was right to stop as soon as he realized. In that case, your feelings were destined to remain unreciprocated, and to keep living side by side with Elendil would have been awkward and painful. 

Maybe. Or maybe not. You have no idea, since you have had no contact with your friend for almost five years. While he and his father have mantained a regular, although infrequent, correspondence ever since he sailed, you have sent him exactly one letter, three weeks after he had left; too embarassed to discuss what had happened that day in his room, you simply wrote that you missed him and would pray for his safety and success. Elendil wrote back three months later, with an equally sincere, but impersonal and brief message, and your epistolary relationship ended there.

You could have written again, and much more. You could have been sincere, telling him that you regretted what had happened, and that while your feelings were too deep and important to be forgotten or put aside, you were grateful for his desire to protect you, and you would have considered yourself fortunate to be his friend again; and that if he did reciprocate your affection, you could not allow a foolish argument to separate you. You were still determined to join him in the kingdom he had been sent to war to, whatever danger you might have to face, but you just needed to know he loved you, only that, and you would have waited for him as long as you had to, you would have waited for him until the end of the world if necessary, as long as you could call him yours and know he knew you were his...

You never did. The quill and parchment you used for your personal correspondance remained in the drawer of your desk, and you had to make do with the scant news Elendil sent his father; in five years he has been wounded at least five times, kidnapped twice and almost drowned in three separate occasions, but he has also received two commendations, and his name has been mentioned in the dispatches to the King, the youngest soldier to receive such an honour. His Commander is convinced Elendil will be made captain before the end of the war. You are proud of him, and happy his bravery and talent as a warrior and seaman are being recognized; every night in your room you appeal to Ossë, patron of the Sea Guard, and Tulkas, who protects warriors, and ask them to watch over your friend. You have no idea what you will do, and say, when he returns, and you do not dare hope that one day the two of you could resume where you have stopped; you just want him to come back safe and sound.

You love him, and always will; in your heart you know this is the truth. But you cannot help fearing you have lost your chance; no man could ever compare to him, the husband and the father of your children you had hoped to share your life with. And since the alternative is to remain an old maid -which would not be so bad, after all- why should you not marry for reasons other than love, and that could at least facilitate your career?

If you were half your age, or even just ten years younger, you could picture it: you are a moment away from binding yourself to Merendur, in the temple surrounded by friends and family, and suddenly Elendil bursts in, declaring he is in love with you and, in front of everyone, takes your hand to take you away...

No. It will not happen, so you better not think about it. What you can do, you suddenly decide as you listen to the solitary calling of a barn owl -you are sure of it, since when you were very young, Amandil taught you to recognize the call of all the different birds- is to tell him what you plan to do, not in the hope that he realizes his feelings and returns to you -right? Right?- but because he is part of your family, part of your world, and he deserves to be made aware of any important change in your life. If the roles were reversed, you would be terribly hurt and disappointed to discover your friend had kept you in the dark about such an important event, even if it were to save you the pain or -worse- because he did not believe you needed to know. By now, you are not yet sure you are going to accept Merendur’s proposal, but if you do, you will write to Elendil to inform him, and to explain the truth regarding your deal; he will probably find it strange, but you cannot bear the thought of your friend thinking you have forgotten your feelings for him. This is the purest form of love, you ponder as you finally move away from the window with a sigh and return to bed; a love that endures after all hope of fulfillment has withered. It is sad, but you feel in your heart it is the right thing to do. 

You fall asleep with his name on your lips.

*****

The next morning you are sipping your tea in the kitchen, nose buried in your scrolls as you always do, the table and the cupboard behind it bathed in the warm light filtering through the open windows; the governess has already arrived and then left for the market, leaving you alone in the house... or not?

You have not seen Amandil yet today which, you suddenly realize, is unusual, since your guardian has never lost the habits acquired as a soldier, first and foremost being an early-riser. Well, maybe he wants to sleep a little more today; as far as you remember he doesn’t have any pressing matter to attend to, you think as you stand to return to your room to wash your face and get dressed. 

An hour later you are ready to leave for your study and an unpleasant feeling, an uneasiness with a touched of danger, has started moving in your belly, because there is still no trace of Amandil; you have lived in his house since you were five, and you do not remember ever seeing him remain in bed this late, not even when he had had trouble sleeping the previous night. What could have happened? Is he unwell? 

"Amandil? Is everything all right?” you ask after knocking, softly and then more forcefully, on the door, but the only answer you receive is the silence coming from the inside of the master bedroom. What should you do? Let him be, since obviously lounging in bed is not a crime, or enter to check, which could be embarassing for a man?

But you have no real reason to be torn, since in your heart you already know what has almost certainly happened, and you are simply postponing what you cannot avoid. You call him again, begging him to answer, and then hold your breath, push the door open, and enter.

He doesn’t appear to have suffered, his expression peaceful as he lies on his back, the light blanket covering his half-naked form. You do not need to press your hand against his heart to know it is too late, as it probably was already when you got up, given the fact that he is already cold; but what you feel as you look at him, standing next to the bed that has been only his ever since his wife died, is not guilt. It is the peculiar sensation to see the ground opening under your feet. 

Elendil’s latest letter is on the bedside table; you look at it for a moment before kneeling, taking your guardian hand in yours as you bend your head and start crying.  

*****

The funeral of Amandil son of Númendil, lord of Andúnië, takes place two days later; it is a sweltering, rainy day, as if the sky itself is crying in mouring. A veritable crowd has intervened, including some of the city’s most influent citizens and -which Amandil would have been happiest of- many fellow soldiers who had served with him. It is a beautiful, moving ceremony, taking place as tradition dictates in the dead’s home and then moving to the cemetery just outside the city, where the priests entrust the fëa of your guardian to the Valar and the coffin is lowered in the grave, next to the one of the wife who died only two years after making him a father, and who you never met. As Amandil’s closest present relative you stand at the forefront, receiving condolences and the simbolic gifts the mourners have brought, and you feel... numb, almost dazed, as if your heart and your mind had lost the ability to understand feelings. 

You still cannot believe he is gone. He was all right the night before, he did not even complain of feeling tired or sore; and he was getting old, of course, but not to the point that you could expect... 

“Maybe it is for the best.” someone says as the crowd gathers for the conclusion of the rite “To go suddenly, painlessly... better than a long weakening among pains and ills.”

You agree. Amandil was such a strong man, full of life and proud of his past as a soldier, he would have never resigned himself to a more sedentary life and to have to be taken care of by a nurse, or worse, by you and Elendil; this is probably the death he would have chosen, had he had the chance to, and that is well, even though it does not comfort you at all...

Many friends offer to stay with you and keep you company after the funeral, but the only thing that you desperately need is the peace and quiet of home; you force yourself to resist until the last participant has left, you thank the priests and make arrangements for Amandil’s name to be added to the plaque under those of his ancestors. Then you take your time returning home, well aware that the issues you will have to deal with will not disappear just because you dawdle, but you have never felt so tired, so weary, and focusing on the simple movement of your feet is vaguely comforting. You could keep walking forever, you think, just let the miles pass on the ground, and avoid thinking about what to do...

You have no reason to fear the future. As your guardian, as well as taking care of you Amandil has made sure your parents’ inheritance was preserved and looked after and now, adding what you earn with your job, you can afford to buy a home and other necessities; but the cause of your restlessness is different.

Oh, Amandil. You have been the only father I have ever known, and you have loved me as if I were a daughter of your blood. Did I ever told you how much I loved you, and how grateful and proud I was to be part of your family? You were my guide, and my mentor; how will I go on without you? I cannot believe I will never see you again, that we will never share a glass of wine in the evening and I will not prepare your favorite dinner as a surprise for your birthday...

You never told him you were considering marrying Merendur. The last thing you said to him was completely unimportant, good night or remember to bolt the door when you return, not knowing what would happen in a few hours, and for this you will feel illogically guilty for the rest of your life, but if only you had told him of the proposal you had received, it could have made him happy. Your guardian had respected his promise to leave you complete freedom in deciding whether to get married, and to whom, and he would have been happy to have you at home with him forever, but you know that seeing you alone, without a family, not settled, was a concern he was careful to never show, but that kept gnawing at his heart. If only you had taken the time to tell him... it would have made no difference, but perhaps it would have eased his worries...

In the end, after wandering in the neighborhood for a while, there is nothing left for you but to return home, under a sky going dark with clouds heavy with rain; you are still looking for the key in your satchel, when the noise of approaching footsteps reaches your ears, and then a voice calling your name.

“(name)! I am so sorry.” Merendur exclaims as he reaches you, heaving “I just heard... I had to leave for Ondosto the morning after we last spoke, to take care of a business for my father, I have only been back for an hour. I would have come to the funeral...”

“That is all right.” you reassure him; a mutual friend told you he was away on business, and you are glad to see him “It was kind of you to come.”

“Of course; lord Amandil was a good man, and I know how much you loved him, and he you. How... are are you feeling?”

As you finally open the door and you invite Merendur to follow you inside, you admit this is one of the worst days of your life, even worse than when you lost your parents, who you barely remember; you have never felt so alone.

“Is your brother coming home?” he asks then, startling you.

“My... what?”

“Your adoptive brother; lord Amandil’s son. He is a member of the Sea Guard, I think?”

He is talking about Elendil, you realize after a moment; Merendur has never met him, since the two of you met just after your dearest friend left for his mission, and while you mentioned him a few times, Merendur has no idea about what happened between the two of you, a secret you have never shared with anybody. 

You have informed Elendil of the death of his father yesterday. It was the hardest letter you have ever written, and the hardest task of your life, and while you begged the Sea Guard’s messenger to deliver it as soon as he could, you know it could take weeks before he receives it, and even more for him to be able to come back, since after all your friend is fighting a war, not enjoying himself on vacation. You have decided to proceed with the funeral in his absence, since traditionally the rite has to take place within five days after the death and you could not bear to think about Amandil’s mortal remains rotting before you were able to put them to rest, and only Eru knows when Elendil will be able to visit him and cry on his tomb.

“(name)?”

It is in that moment that the truth hits you, as sudden as a thunder piercing a clear sky and more painful and violent than a slap on the face. 

You are alone. You barely remember your parents, you have no siblings, your guardian has died and the man you had wished to share your life with has left and disappeared from your life five years ago. You have many friends, and a job you are passionated about, but you have lost every single person you really loved. You are alone, and lonely, and while you are old and capable enough not to need someone by your side, the thought of spending the rest of your life by yourself terrifies you...

“Is your proposal still open?” you ask quietly in the end, as you and Merendur stand in the middle of the room; he looks at you, blinks, and understands.

“You do not have to answer me now.” he gently points out “In fact, any moment would be better than this. You are in mourning, upset, you cannot make such an important decision in this state; give yourself the time to think about it...”

But you are sure; or at least, that is what you tell him, and yourself. You do not love this man, but he does not ask you to, and you will do your utmost to be a good wife, and in return you will have what your guardian wished for you: stability, esteem, and the opportunity to pursue a career and build a name for yourself. You are doing it for him, and for you as well; because you are too much of a coward to contemplate another option.

“Will you marry me, Merendur?” you quietly ask, looking more at your feet than at him; you bite your lip, trying to hide how scared you are. “Please?”

And this is the story of how you got engaged less than two hours after the end of your guardian’s funeral.

Three weeks later the news of the end of the war Elendil is fighting in reaches the city, and in less than a fortnight, in a clear, sunny morning while the seagulls cry above the gentle waves, his ship docks at the port. 

Tagging @starlady66 and @elvenenby .

[helenvader]

You have to marry the last fictional character in your camera roll: how screwed are you?

Tagged by the lovely @somebirdortheother who will not be surprised it's...

Tagging @anidharker @yletylyf @theriverwild @lady-of-imladris

[141ce]

I have this random Hanahaki au rattling around inside my brain which is a crossover between Harry Potter and The Hobbit/LOTR. The OC Daisy Dursley, Harry's older cousin who like her aunt was a muggleborn. Considering Petunia and Vernon hate magic they would undoubtedly detach completely from their magical daughter. They originally catch her entertaining her younger brother and Harry by making her toys dance and from that point on (lets say 5y.o. on) instead of doting on her and loving her as parents do they treat her like a freak. They try exorcisms and medicine to "cure" her of her magic, all the while she's hurt and confused because suddenly her parents don't love her anymore. But she holds onto hope that they're doing these things because they love her and she begins to think that there's something wrong with her because she can do things that others can't. But then when she turns 11 her Hogwarts letter shows up. The final straw really for her parents. So they come up with a plan. They can't get rid of Harry because protection blah blah blah, but that doesn't mean they can't get rid of her. They pretend that they're taking her on a trip for her birthday. Only instead of a birthday trip they take her to France and abandon her on the steps of an orphanage. When they don't return for her this is when the Hanahaki Disease part comes in.

Hanahaki Disease: fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. (via wikipedia)

Now because this is my AU we're going to say that it's possible for Daisy to be afflicted with this disease because unrequited love from a child to their parents is heartbreaking. The owner of the orphanage she was left at is a squib (having been abandoned there for not having magic when she was a child and taken it over when she grew up) and recognizes that Daisy has magic so she uses her connections in the magical world to find her help. The disease progresses during her first year studying at Beauxbaton and she ends up being brought into the Veela Clans in hopes of finding her a family to bond with to cure her. But she's closed off and resigned to not surviving after the rejection of her parents so eventually the Veela use ancient magic to send her to the world they had originated from as a last chance/hope sort of thing (Veela being some relation to Elves in Middle Earth seems plausible). Only those with Veela Blood would be able to return though so she is blood adopted before being sent away and that changes her into an elfling (this is so self indulgent, but my brain is trying to ensure that this au is fully fleshed out lmao)

Anyways this is the start I'm undecided on which place I want her to appear at. The most logical would probably be Imladris imo. Or she could just land somewhere randomly and be found and brought to Imladris. IDK if anyone is interested, but I'm gonna keep posting about it anyways because why not

The possibilities are endless do I have her join any of the stories within Middle Earth or make this plotless and just enjoy playing in the sandbox. do I send her back to her original world grown up because she remembers Harry and doesn't want to be alone (in my head they're close as children until she gets left in France)

[wareagleofthemountain]

For the fictional

marriage tag game

Yes please!

@coopsgirl @lady-of-imladris @elithilanor