#aegnor oneshot

[silmawensgarden]

For as long as I exist

Aegnor x fem reader

Prompt: Aegnor x princess Reader angst + Reader being born in Valinor as a Elf maiden and reuniting with him. Please! 🥺🛐

Requested by: anonymous

A/n: I wasn't entirely sure how to give shape to the story so I went with a human -> elf rebirth trope. I hope you like it! And thank you for requesting. 🥰

warnings: angst/hurt(+comfort), mentions of death.

"For as long as I exist, I will love you..."

Those words were the last thing you could remember of all the things Aegnor had promised you so many years ago. It had been so long, that by now you were frail and grey haired. 60 solar years had passed since your fleeting romance and bitter separation, and of Aegnor you knew only that he perished in war through the occasional elven gossip.

Why had he never bothered to return before? Not even once! He had gone away one day and ever since no matter where you searched no trace of him was found. He had said he'd return to you soon, but reality proved otherwise.

And if for your current human existence it had not been enough of a letdown, there had been rumors about Aegnor and a lady named Saelind. It had made your already bruised heart weep all the more bitterly.

Your grieving mind kept feeding you those beautiful few years of romance over and over. When you had been just about 20 years of age. Young, fair and free to do as you pleased. It reminded you of your first encounter, sitting by the riverbank in your favorite cornflower blue dress. The first rays of spring sun casting a warm glow on the fresh grass, and the loveliest flowers blooming in the meadow around you. You were not as vigilant as your brother was, who could be considered a bloodhound when it came to finding things and noticing presences in a room. You were a little less so, leaving you spooked often.

And this was the way you had met Aegnor. He had crept up behind you and hid among the blossoming peach trees. Observing you from a distance. Slowly he walked towards you until he was but a hairsbreadth away from you. His much taller form casting a shadow over where you sat. It was fair to say that in that moment your vocal capacity could've made a banshee jealous. You had left the poor elf stunned, wide eyed and covering his ears in surprise.

Nevertheless, he had become enamored by you in those very first moments. From your wide eyed look to the unique ways your face scrunched up when nervous. He was drawn to you like bees to honey. Of all the humans he had met, you were his favorite.

From that day onward the both of you lived in bliss and joy for a good 4 years. Your heart couldn't be happier. You had met some of his family, and he taught you many things about the world around you. Including elven customs, you couldn't wait for him to propose. He gave you every possible hint to indicate his intentions. And even spoke of a future together. You were sure of it that he'd ask you soon.

Or so you truly thought....

That day you would never forget. Even now at 80 years of age it was a day that was burned in to your memory like a hot poker.

"Y/N...? We must speak urgently. I have news I must share with you." Aegnor had spoken in a hushed tone, his face uncharacteristically sullen and serious. It was unlike your precious elf to look so downcast.

"Y/N, I have to leave. My people need me and I am unable to stall my departure any longer. I must leave at sunrise." Aegnor looked like he was holding something back as he spoke. But you did not question him.

"Aegnor, why did you only tell me this now? Last minute? How long will you be gone for?" Worry seeped in to your normally bright speech. Every possible alarm in your head began to go off. Something wasn't right. Aegnor's face betrayed but a tiny bit of his inner turmoil yet he managed to school his face in to his usual smile. That smile had made every one of your defenses drop each time.

"I will return to you soon melda. Do not worry....remember this; for as long as I exist, I will love you." Aegnor pressed a kiss to your lips and held you close. Little did you know it would be the last time you'd see him. For a long long time...

The next morning you woke up alone. No trace of Aegnor. Gone. Every item you had of his had vanished like snow under the sun. Except for the silver ring you wore on your finger. An elvish courting custom. Your heart froze in your chest and your breath stilled. The silence of the house was deafening. It almost seemed like even the birds had ceased to chirp. And no wind blew through the trees. He was gone, and with him all the warmth of the world you had known.

The day you died was the same kind of day as when Aegnor had left. It had been cloudy with a summer thunderstorm brewing on the horizon. A heavy wind set over the landscape, making many things difficult. But it didn't matter to you anymore. You were asleep in the cold damp arms of the earth.

Many ages passed and grass, greenery and flowers had grown over your grave. Wiping it away from the lands of Beleriand. And no other called Y/N came forth again from those lands. Until one day in valinor an elven maiden was born to a royal house, and they named the girl Y/N in common tongue. But to those in valinor she was known as Nísimë; fragrant maiden. Because she had brought the beauty and fragrance of a thousand flowering fields in to the royal court with her spirit.

As you grew into full stature, you were often found among the flowers and rivers. Something made you feel safe there. A reminder of what once was perhaps. And today again you sat in the blossoming fields of valinor, weaving a flower crown. Unaware of a certain golden haired elf observing you from behind. Aegnor had been reborn in valinor recently. Returning from Mandos a little later than his brother Angrod. And for his first day he had chosen to take a stroll through the fields, not wanting to spend time among his people just yet.

And there he found you. At first he thought his mind played tricks on him. Because there in the field he saw with his own eyes, a fair elven maiden that looked so much like you it made his heart hurt. The truth was that he had never forgotten you. He had remained faithful all his life. Never wedding anyone else. Aegnor stood frozen on the spot, twisting at the silver ring on his finger. Whose other half you had worn in Beleriand long ago. Before he realized what he was doing, he approached you. His eyes misty with feelings and memories from what once was.

And if he had needed more confirmation that it was truly you, your deafening screech had cemented that in for him nicely. "Just like back then...she hasn't changed..." Aegnor smiled warmly as he muttered to himself. This time he wasn't caught off guard. But instead sat beside you. Introducing himself once more.

You didn't know what it was about him, but he felt like home. Like the warmth of the first rays of sun on a spring day. And you knew then that your heart had loved him once before. In a time now long past. And you were given another chance by Eru. To mend what was broken and to restore and rebuild this love into something more beautiful than it had been before.

"For as long as I exist, I will love you..."

[cilil]

❝ He remembers that day all too well, of course. He remembers visiting the bustling port of Alqualondë together with his brothers, excusing himself when they started arguing in the evening and sitting down at the dock to cool his feet in the water and read. He remembers being caught off-guard by the swift and surprisingly silent arrival of the Alquilda, the ship he now knows to be one of the most famous and infamous, feared and revered ships that sail the oceans of Arda. He remembers Eärwen calling out to him, mistaking him for a sailor or dockworker, and telling him to catch the mooring line, which he caught with his face instead of his hands because he kept staring at her. ❞

𓊝 Characters/pairing: Finarfin x Eärwen, Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, Galadriel 𓊝 Synopsis: Finarfin tells his children how he fell in love with their mother, the (in)famous pirate captain Eärwen 𓊝 Warnings: / 𓊝 Oneshot (~1.8k words)

AN: I have @camille-lachenille to thank for inspiring this one. Also fair warning, there isn't any on-screen pirate stuff happening, I just had this cute little scenario of house hubby Finarfin telling his kids about their cool pirate mom in mind and had to write about it ^^

"Atya?" 

"Yes, Artanis?" 

She looks up at him with wide eyes, alight with the same sort of inquisitive curiosity Arafinwë has come to know so well. Behind her stand her older brothers, quiet but equally eager to witness the conversation unfold. 

He can tell that they have been talking among themselves and wonders if his boys put their sister up to whatever she is going to ask next. 

Artanis wastes no more time. "Can you tell me about Emya again? Please?" 

Arafinwë is careful not to let his smile falter for even a split second, nods and closes the book he has been reading. It's not that he doesn't enjoy talking about his beloved Eärwen — he could do so for days, and his brothers would surely tease him for it if they didn't feel similarly about their wives — but he knows their children miss her as much as he does and at times feels guilty that stories are all he has to offer. 

For the moment, at least. 

As soon as he places his book on the nearest table, Artanis climbs on his lap as if to take her due place on her personal throne. Findaráto, Angaráto and Aikanáro take it as their cue to follow, making themselves comfortable on the armrests of his armchair and at his feet. Arafinwë takes a moment to look at them, admiring their small, young faces, and strokes Artanis' hair absentmindedly. Time and time again he marvels at how lovely, smart and brave they are, sees their mother's grace and fire within them. 

I haven't even begun talking and I'm already getting sentimental, he silently chastises himself. 

Four pairs of eyes look up at him expectantly. Arafinwë clears his throat. "Is there any specific story you would like to hear?" 

Findaráto shakes his head, then rests his chin on his knee. Angaráto and Aikanáro exchange a glance before they do the same. Artanis, however, nods without hesitation. "Yes, please tell us about the first time you met Emya." 

Arafinwë's smile brightens. It's one of her favourites, he knows, and something tells him that she's already looking forward to sweeping an unsuspecting nér or nís off their feet as well one day. 

He remembers that day all too well, of course. He remembers visiting the bustling port of Alqualondë together with his brothers, excusing himself when they started arguing in the evening and sitting down at the dock to cool his feet in the water and read. He remembers being caught off-guard by the swift and surprisingly silent arrival of the Alquilda, the ship he now knows to be one of the most famous and infamous, feared and revered ships that sail the oceans of Arda. He remembers Eärwen calling out to him, mistaking him for a sailor or dockworker, and telling him to catch the mooring line, which he caught with his face instead of his hands because he kept staring at her. 

Eärwen never let him live it down, and neither would Artanis if she knew. 

"Years ago, your mother was already known as Lady Eärwen the swashbuckling swan-maiden, while I was but a young prince," Arafinwë begins his tale. "It was on a summer evening that I met her at the docks of Alqualondë. The sea was calm, and the Alquilda bound for the shores of home. Standing atop its bow and underneath swift sails, hair billowing in the wind, was Lady Eärwen and she came upon me as swiftly as upon her enemies." 

"It must have been meant to be, that she just happened to toss me a mooring line like a thread of fate, binding us together in spite of whichever tides may come. Your uncles say I was quite literally roped into the tale of a pirate princess and they may well be right — I certainly don't mind." 

Findaráto rolls his eyes at the last sentence, but can't suppress a grin. Artanis meanwhile takes no offence to her father's narration, hanging on his every word like a tiny kraken clutching a stray boat. 

"I was immediately fascinated by her, bewitched as if I had met a siren," Arafinwë continues, his eyes sparkling with mirth. Truth to be told, he isn't even exaggerating by much — his infatuation was immediate and strong. "Forgetting all about my feuding brothers, I embarked on my most daring adventure as of yet: I asked Lady Eärwen if she would join me for a drink at her favourite local tavern. Though perhaps I should rather say it was I who joined her, given that, in my haste, I had forgotten that I was woefully unfamiliar with our surroundings." 

"We talked and laughed and drank until the early morning hours, and it was the loveliest night I had ever had. It pained me to say goodbye to her at sunrise, but Atar was getting worried about my whereabouts and Ammë had begun sending out servants in search of me after Fëanáro and Nolofinwë mentioned they hadn't seen me since the previous day." 

"Lady Eärwen and I met again the next day and the day after and the day after that too, every day she stayed in Alqualondë. Yet in time all good things must come to an end, and she had to return to the sea eventually — something she had warned me about in the very beginning, but I didn't mind then and don't mind now. When we parted at the docks, she promised me that we would meet again and that she would send for me when the time came. To show me that she meant it, she gave me this–"

Arafinwë reaches for the necklace he always wears, a fine silver chain with a little swan pendant made of mother-of-pearl. The children have seen it before of course, but at least for little Artanis this moment never gets boring. 

"I returned to Tirion, slightly heartbroken but mostly hopeful, and I had faith that my lady would keep her word, especially now that her little swan kept me company. Every day I thought of her, every night I dreamed of her. To prepare for her return, I asked Fëanáro to help me make a gift for Lady Eärwen as well. It too would be a swan pendant, that much was clear, but we spent much time pondering which material would be best. In the end we settled on amber; not only to match the colours I had chosen for my future house, but also because at times small things become encased in amber, fleeting moments captured and preserved forever, like the feelings I had for her." 

It is at this point that the boys audibly groan, but Artanis shoots her brothers an angry glare. "Let Atya be in love! It's not like he can help it!" 

"Thank you, my little princess," Arafinwë laughs and places a small kiss on her parting. 

Artanis appears to appreciate the gesture, but has her mind on other things. "I want to hear how Emya came back to you." 

"Of course." He hurries to focus on the story once more. "Well, one day many months later, I found a seagull sitting on my windowsill, carrying a letter in its beak. I was overjoyed to find that it had been written by none other than Lady Eärwen, telling me that the Alquilda was once again heading for Alqualondë and that she would love to see me there. Without hesitation, I packed my things, borrowed the fastest horse I could find from Atar's stable and rode out to meet her, speeding across the plains of Valinor as if the hunters of Oromë were after me. And indeed, she was there when I arrived. She was waiting for me at the docks where we had first met." 

Arafinwë smiles wistfully. "Everything was exactly as it had been, we picked up where we had left off. And as for how it went on... well, the rest is history." 

He looks at his children, the greatest and proudest achievement of his and Eärwen's union. They sit in contemplative silence, their young minds pondering the story they heard before yet never understood in its entirety and wouldn't for some time, not until they grow up and fall in love themselves. 

Artanis' eyes are glowing with joy and excitement, and she claps her little hands. Arafinwë knows she has almost no memory of her mother, so these stories mean a lot to her. He takes her into his arms, also gathering her brothers, and they remain like this for a while. 

When he and Eärwen got married and decided to have a family, they knew already that her sea-longing would come back in time and sunder them for a while. Arafinwë was ready for it; before proposing, he asked her father for her hand, and Olwë took him aside to ask if he knew of his daughter's origins. She had told him of course — that her mother was a Maia who took the shape of swans and other sea-birds and couldn't live without the air and sea and that she, Eärwen, had become who she was because she had been beset by the same longing. 

Olwë confided in him, telling him how he had raised his children alone when she was absent, then asking again if he still wished to marry Eärwen. Arafinwë said yes. He meant it then just as he means it now, and his only regret is that their younger children barely remember their mother. 

Eärwen didn't take her decision to return to the sea lightly, of course. She spent years living with Arafinwë in Valinor while the Alquilda rested in the port of Alqualondë, lovingly maintained by her crew. Yet after their fourth child was born, she slowly felt the sea-longing return, and he was ready to keep his promise to let her go, as he had once said to her as part of his marriage vows. He had known all along what it meant and he would neither see her suffer nor go back on his word, he had sworn to himself. 

Every few weeks or months, birds from all over Arda arrive at his house and bring letters from Eärwen, detailing her adventures. Arafinwë reads all of them to their children and tells them everything he knows about the birds and the lands she's visiting. One day, when they're all old enough, they'll sail together, she promised him on the day she left. 

At times he wonders if the sea-longing will come for their children too one day. He is a prince, a politician and a diplomat, hardly fit to be a pirate or a sailor, but he will follow his family across the seas of Arda if he has to. At least, as Arafinwë often told Eärwen in jest, he knows how to use a sword and is the youngest of his father's house, unlikely to be crowned king any time soon, if ever. 

And until the sea calls for the Elflings he's now lovingly cradling in his arms, they are safe at home with him. 

Etymology: Alquilda - silent/hushed swan - referring to the silent swiftness of the ship, as well as being a pun on mute swan (the species) which are known for being monogamous and using the same nest every year

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @numenhore @urwendii

[fandomsandfairytales]

Not-Yet-Written/Unwritten Fics Game

I’ve seen the “Not-Yet-Written Fics”/”Unwritten Fics” game going around (mainly in late April-early May I think, but it’s never too late to participate in a game like this), and I wasn’t tagged but I wanted to do it! camille-lachenille started it, and then runawaymun also did it, and then thesummerestsolstice did it and that’s how I saw it, lol.

The idea is to write a list of all of your as-of-yet unwritten fic ideas that are bouncing around on your head, and people can send in asks to hear more about them. So here’s my list (for the Tolkien fandom specifically, vaguely in order of how I came up with each idea, and please, please ask away! And/or let me know in the tags/comments which ones you’d like to read most. I would love to talk about any and all of these fics.

Story about how epically terrifying the Fëanorions are in battle (focusing on one son of Fëanor per chapter) [answered here]

Battle of Sauron and Finrod

Huan and Celegorm in the wild + Huan getting mildly injured

Glorfindel babysitting baby Eärendil for the day

Kidnap fam oneshot where M&M discover that E&E can lose teeth

Maglor and Finrod getting stuck somewhere and somehow, their only option is to play music in order to escape (probably set in Valinor)

Various Celrond oneshots

Celebrimbor + dwarven friendship

The Fëanorians finding some Avari (possibly the oldest ones there, like the three main guys before Finwë and the other ‘wës) and being astonished about their lore and mythology

Story about the beacons being lit focusing on each of the guys who were at the different beacons (movie-verse)

Finrod finding out that humans (and dwarves) die and having a minor breakdown/existential crisis [answered here]

My take on an Aegnor/Andreth story

Fic where all of the known sets of twins of Middle-Earth meet each other through time travel and have to work together to get each other back to their own time periods

Silm baseball game commentary (featuring puns and plays on Silm names and such in a baseball setting) [answered here]

AU where Curufin somehow gets to see the Doors of Durin

We’ll see if I end up writing any of these, but I bet at least a few will make their way onto my computer!

Don’t know who else has been tagged so these might be repeats, but I’m tagging: @darkfrozenabyss @sweetteaanddragons @hwestalas @thegreenleavesofspring @muse-write

@afaroffsong @dreamingthroughthenoise and anyone else who wants to participate! (I think most of the people I've tagged know that this is a sideblog of mine; my main blog & my name on AO3 is awwyeah107, in case you've seen me comment or kudos any of your fics before.)

Edit: I separated the tags for accounts because I was informed that only the first 5 "@" tags in a paragraph will go through to the person who is tagged!

[ruiniel]

Whither you go

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Aegnor, Andreth

Relationship: Aegnor/Andreth

Rating: T

Count: 1.2k

Additional tags: Spirits, Halls of Mandos, Oneshot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Relationships, Drama, Past Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Cosmic horror elements if you squint, Ghost story of a kind, Personal interpretation of Mandos inspired by canon, There is no fluff here

Also on AO3

Summary:

'Whither you go may you find light. Await us there, my brother - and me.'

- from Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, J.R.R. Tolkien

Months and months ago, tried a short ghost story about souls meeting again in a time out of time. Featuring the saddest OTP. The AU is on me (apologies).

The nightwinds are kind. They lift her above foreign lands, over sleepy forests and serpentine rivers, above hopes and dreams and old woes. The stars gleam, too bright, ancient watchers dripping light in the maw of the world, and higher still, she rises; wandering gusts lap softly at her bareness. Frostbitten and faraway the kindled ones once seemed, now so close she brushes past them, past remnants of divine luster and the touch of hallowed fingers that sewed them to barren skies.

A part of her wonders if this is a dream, but no fancy of the mind ever brought such freedom, nor such peace; like a floundering bird on swift, restless wings, she crosses paths unknown with no end in sight. There is no weariness or hunger, only depths of loneliness as the past weakens its grasp, peeling away in chipped layers that fastly shrivel like paper to flame. She could clutch at them, tuck them close and so she tries, only to find all desires void of meaning, all wishes laid to rest.

Should I be afraid?

Like a falling star, the thought dies, for the very concept of fear is unraveling and falling from her like leaves with the seasons.

Other memories emerge, flowering, wilting in rapid succession: some cherished, some best forgotten. A pull stronger than her will leads her forward, and unhoused she drifts as drowning in the thrashing waves of a cosmic river. Her frail, wayward light is cupped by great, gentle hands, like a grain of sand carried across the outer oceans.

Alone.

She stands beneath the looming arches of vast, endless chambers.

Heavy, leaden silence presses its solemn fists into stark grandeur. Fine silver dust shimmers on smooth black floors, disturbed by her wavering steps. The tall columns of jet soar into hidden heights, draped with grey vapors that float like gossamer, fluttering with no wind to stir them. Andreth sees etchings that sway and curl across their limpid surface, ever moving, ever changing. She looks closer, but for all her past knowledge, cannot place meaning to the script.

What is this place?

Stillness; no answer but the faint echo of her own voice, roiling like flickering motes inside her head. She walks on, stalked by a sudden, pressing weight of bereavement, and despair is on her heels.

Who... am I?

She knew this; she knew. She has to remember, can never forget, fighting the torpor that pools around her like a dark rippling lake, urging rest and forgetfulness.

I was a child of the earth.

I lived, I learned.

I loved.

She looks at her hands; grey and translucent. She ought to feel awe or terror, but now there is nothing.

I lost.

“Where am I?” her words arrow blindly, swallowed by quietude, trapped in the strangest of dreams. “Someone…?” Andreth sinks to her knees, curling like a shell, her forehead pressed to icy floors. “Anyone... please…”

“Saelind?”

It comes as a faraway keening, but she hears it. The word sears, stoking the flame of remembrance. Slowly she rises and stares at the figure a distance away, tall and golden amid shadows.

Saelind.

Aye, I was known by that name once. She must remember.

Andreth gains her feet and draws near, eyes widening as his features become clearer, sharper, familiar.

“You…”

The dead of winter. Snow is in her hair, melting on her burning cheek, her lashes. A firm grip rights her balance; an apology served with smiles like curved blades.

Bleeding sunsets fringe the memory detailing a cold evening, a freezing night. Her blood is hot and the stars are cold, and her face sways in the mirrorblack. Her veins sing beneath her youthful skin, craving coarse, sword-wielding fingers.

“Aegnor!” she cries, unable to believe it. She dares not speak, fearing he will disappear, that he will leave again, but he merely stands before her like a stab of regret. “How… but you left!” Andreth stumbles in her flight to reach him. “North away, long ago, to the swords, and the siege…”

He gives no answer; lowers his head.

His deep voice she remembers, soothing and warm like the hearth she curled up to on bitter nights, dwelling on what might have been. Andreth would throw her arms around him, weep and weep until the mountains crumbled, until the seas dried and the world was turned. She takes another step and another. She cares not how or why, but he is here now, with her.

Her hand reaches for his face, finding empty air. Frowning, she tries again and his eyes, once as kind as they were eager, are dark with grief, his lips a seal of misery as he says, “We cannot mingle here.”

“What is your meaning?” Andreth asks, frantic, yet trying to reach for him in vain, her hands delving through him. “Where is here?”

The Elf raises an arm, gesturing to a long corridor leading to a chilling, unworldly light. It dazes her, thrumming around them like a heartbeat, beckoning, calling. She knows.

“The Halls of Awaiting,” Andreth murmurs. “But that means I am…” she looks to her hands again, struck by the diaphanous glow of her bodiless form. “You are…” Gone. Ousted from the physical realm, come to the final circle.

She does not want to leave; does not want this gift.

Aegnor glances at a tapestry streaked with crimson, depicting lands drowning in dragon fire. “The war has ended for me.”

“You fell...” she sighs, looking up at him. Once, she would rest her forehead on the cold plate armor of his chest; his hands would twine in her hair. “So… so soon...” the truth bites with savage teeth. For all the time allotted to him on Arda, he’d gone before her. “Are you… are you alone here?”

The wraith shakes his head. “There are others.”

She does not see them. There is no one else but they, and now, at last, she is afraid. Andreth stares at his form, swaying like the lorn branches of trees caught in the storm. He is made of crumbling visions, golden and distorted, and fading. “But...” she tries, “...how?”

The spirit watches her, features breaking in dismay, and meanings flit across his face. Pain, longing, regret; acceptance. “I was allowed to see you, before...” his brows furrow, and he looks away, as though gathering courage long overdue; too late.

Andreth shivers. She remembers. Now, in this plane of thought where they are no more than whispers and sighs and broken light, she finally understands his choice without bitterness.

“Saelind, please, listen. I will—”

He struggles to speak, his hollow eyes plead meaning, but fragments of thought flutter between them like grey moths and she no longer understands him. The fleeting words rush through her like fireflies, and he flickers like a spent candle. The halls are deathly cold, but terrible and bright, blinding her vision of him. Desperate, Andreth shuns the rising command from beyond, tucking away every trait, every detail, all the memories. She faces the imperious light, “Let me linger a moment longer, no more!”

The Elf is mere gleaming outlines, his features bled away like inked parchment in the rain. Hardly Andreth fights the finger-like threads coiling as burning whips around her, and she herself is dwindling, fracturing to splintered colors. Her hands reach for him, craving his words, needing to know. Luminous waves spin like a maelstrom as the call swells unbearably loud, and her cries are lost.

Silence falls, heavy-handed. The halls are dimmed. The lone fëa lingers amid the tapestries of fate, wordless and formless, fading to a dull, mournful grey as the soft dust of Mandos falls upon him.

[hmsannlett]

2022 Fanfic Year in Review: Arveldis on AO3

Thanks for the tag @viola-ophelia!

I branched out in fandoms this year, so some of the fics mentioned in this aren’t for Turn.

Total Completed Works: 17

Word Count: 43,952, which is slightly inflated because of the rollover from my Turn WIP, And Every Winter Turn to Spring, that I started in 2021, but is, nonetheless, a lot better than last year’s word count!

Fandoms I’ve Written In: Narnia, HP, Six of Crows, LOTR, The Silmarillion, and Turn

Looking Back, Did You Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected?: More! I’m really happy with what I wrote this year. Last year, I struggled with burnout for most of the year and didn’t end up writing much of what I had hoped to write because of that. This year, I was determined to not let that happen again and did better at stepping back when I needed to. I switched back and forth from writing fics to making edits when I needed a mental break, so I’m happy with what I accomplished, considering that I split my time between the two.

What’s Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year?: I’d been rotating the idea for with death on his brow like a crown (Silmarillion, G, Finrod & Aegnor) in my mind for months before writing it, and I was thrilled to finally pull the fic together and post it. I wanted to explore Finrod and Aegnor’s relationship with each other, look at Aegnor and Andreth’s relationship from an outside perspective, play with Finrod’s canon foresight, and pose how Aegnor came to his decision to leave Andreth. I’m really happy with how it turned out and how readers responded to it,

Do You Have Any Fanfic Goals For The New Year?: I want to branch out more with the characters I write for. I tend to get stuck in a rut (one that I happily dig myself into) and write for the same characters over and over, and I’d like to give some other characters a chance.

Most Popular Story Of The Year?: By hits, it’s from western woods to eastern sea (Narnia, G, misc. characters and ships), which is a collection of miscellaneous Narnia ficlets I wrote for the 2022 Three Sentence Ficathon on Dreamwidth.

By kudos, it’s here at journey’s end (LOTR, G, Frodo Baggins & Legolas), a oneshot set post-ROTK that examines Frodo’s and Legolas’ similar circumstances in wanting to leave Middle-earth but knowing they must stay for those they care about. Given that Frodo and Legolas famously don’t interact much in either the books or the films, and given that this was only the sixth fic in the Frodo & Legolas tag on AO3, I wasn’t sure there would be much of an audience for it. So I’m very happy it was received well!

Story Of Mine Most Under-Appreciated By The Universe, In My Opinion: There was a lot of enthusiasm here on Tumblr for the headcanon I used in for time runs more swiftly than justice (Silmarillion, G, Aegnor/Andreth), but the response to it on AO3 was pretty...lackluster, which was disappointing. I still really love my headcanon, though. :’)

Most Fun Story To Write: I had a lot of fun researching myths, constellations, and historical astronomy discoveries to weave together in bodies of dust illuminated (Turn, G, Anna Strong/Edmund Hewlett). I also—shockingly, given my preference for writing description—really enjoyed writing the dialogue for the fic.

And I have to give a shoutout to the Three Sentence Ficathon (link to my collected fills on AO3), which was far and away the highlight of my year for fic writing. It was my first time participating in it, and I had a blast! I’m not sure how I churned out all the fills that I did, except that it was addicting.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: Hmm...I never know how to answer this one. I can’t think of any work in particular that’s telling, although I’m sure you could glean something about me from some of my most-used tags/tropes/concepts—perhaps that almost every fic I write is tagged with “character study” or “introspection.” I’m sure it’s also patently obvious that I’m a giant nerd when it comes to doing research for fics.

Biggest Disappointment: Considering that the goal I wrote for last year’s edition of this was to finish AEWTTS in 2022, and I ultimately ended up posting just two chapters of it and haven’t had any inspiration for it since…that was disappointing.

My biggest disappointment, though, has been feeling like the majority of the fics I’ve posted since fall haven’t landed well with readers. I’ve been feeling more and more like I’m posting fics into the void, unfortunately.

Biggest Surprise: I’m still surprised I started posting Silmarillion fics despite not having read the book in 10 years, but really, with how forgetful I am, it wouldn’t matter whether I read it ten minutes ago or ten years ago. :D Tolkien Gateway, I owe you everything.

Tagging @tortoisesshells and any other writers who follow me! I think all of the writers I know in this fandom have already been tagged, but if I’ve missed you, feel free to jump in.

[ruiniel]

Brittle and Brief

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Aegnor, Andreth

Relationship: Aegnor/Andreth

Count: 1.9k

Rating: T

Tags & Warnings: Oneshot, First Age, Edain, Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, Dorthonion, Elves and Men, Beleriand, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Confessions, Longing, Pining

Also on AO3

Summary:

Oneshot of Aegnor and Andreth by the shore of the Aeluin. AU-ish

AN: my first ever fanfiction on these two, written in 2019. Much gloom, beware the reader whiplash from the change in POV

Shadow descended upon the highlands of Dorthonion, and the host dwelling in the foothills.

Journeying from Nargothrond where his rule stood, Finrod Felagund had come to meet his kin. The Siege was long begun and now, steady of foot, he went seeking for his brother. He shook his head upon seeing that light still burned within the confines of the tent.

“It is late,” he greeted as the chill wind followed him through the flaps at the entrance.

Another Elf stood there before a large table, poring over scrolls of reports and maps. “The Moringotto never rests,” came his reply, his eyes still on the writings, palms spread flat on the table. His brow was furrowed in thought, his mouth a thin line. His hair of rich gold flame tumbled past his shoulders as he leaned in, face partly obscured by shadow.

Finrod saw his mind was afire, feverish in seeking how to better assess the movement of Angband. “Aye, and we need not be like he,” he replied, a hand on the other’s shoulder. He gripped lightly. “Go, and rest. I have my reports to sift through either way, and I long for the peace of it.”

His brother Aegnor sighed through his nose, righting himself from the table. “We set to leave before sunrise.” He abandoned his place, his face wary, as though reluctant to meet the night outside. He stepped closer to the entrance and gazed long at Finrod. “You would do well to heed your own advice, brother,” he said with a gentle smile, and an incline of the head was their farewell for the night.

Aegnor emerged into the cold and followed the known path to his tent. Even tangled in thought as he was, he still discerned movement.

His feet wavered. Ahead, taking to the lake, was one he would know in the dimmest darkness of Morgoth’s dungeons. A flash of pain crossed his face as the Elf looked at her retreat. Many nights she had been doing this — why for, Aegnor knew not, for he had never asked. Perhaps she went to muse on whatever wisdom her kin held dear.

Perhaps she thought of him, a sinuous thought emerged. Longing, he came to know; Beleriand had changed his people, had changed them all. None remembered the careless beings once running through vineyards in bloom beneath silver-gold lights. Here was death, pain, and loss. Here were the Secondborn, and Morgoth ruled the land.

And here, he found her.

All those times she braved the night, the Elf would follow. She knew, but never called to him and he would keep his distance, watchful of peril late until she retired. A distance away, an ocean apart. Aegnor would wish for many things during those lonesome hours until he could stand no more, and not a few were the times he nearly betrayed himself. And his struggle must have reached even her, for upon her return the woman always passed him by, her face lined with both new and drying tears.

And now, despite the lateness of the hour and his mind urging the opposite, Aegnor again followed. He knew his folly, but the moment her face swayed before him in those black waters, all hope and reason left him, and the Elf knew he was lost.

He stopped by a tree, his hand pressed against the harsh bark. The young woman neared the lakeshore, arms folded around herself, her figure barely visible in the gloom.

Aegnor gazed around them, to the tall trees fringing the lake, then sought the heather hills rolling around its clear, dark eye. His thoughts would ebb and flow, then return to her. And the Elf had never seen her look his way; not for a moment, not for a breath, and he had no hope or wish for her to do so now.

Time passed, and the stars shone their distant light, and waters rippled in their stillness. Then, with both joy and dread, he saw her hair swaying in the nightly breeze as Andreth turned her head. Over her shoulder, she looked, and though his sight was beyond compare and his senses sharp, Aegnor could not see if she sought him or no; but she must have, and guilty hope teemed in his chest.

The mortal gazed back at the lake.

Stillness returned, but now it would not serve. His eyes were dark as Aegnor wondered if she had always waited there, hoping he would come? With a barely contained tremor, his body not his own to master any longer, his booted feet were silent in their faltering steps. In a haze, he walked, driven beyond sense, beyond will. He went to the lake, closer; to her.

“Saelind.” His voice, foreign to his own ears.

She did not stir. He heard her rushed heartbeat, throbbing on weak wings.

He waited.

Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh, white mist in the gloom.

One step and then another. Every seam and recess of his being warned for a retreat; even so, he went.

“I have been pondering,” Andreth began once he was closer, her head tipped to the stars.

Aegnor looked to the water, where the same stars shone in a shivering mirror. “What about?”

“... on how your people see us, so brittle and brief compared to you. Despite this, friendship blooms between our kindreds, fading though it is,” she said sadly to the moonless skies. “But nothing more.”

“Not once have I thought you brittle,” the words spilled from him. He reached for her arm.

Andreth closed her eyes. He was there, alive and near, and this was so unlike all her foolish illusions. But the pressure of light fingers to her sides was real, as was the warmth adding to hers. “Will you deny the pity you so openly bestow upon us?” she asked, eyes unfocused. He felt nearer still, the slow shift a torment. But she had not known peace, not since that day. Steel-clad arms wound around her, harsh and cold, commanding her into him.

The Elf ached at her words, for they were bitter and regretful, and infused with the hurt of one wronged. He had never meant to wrong her, anymore than he had meant to love her. But were he to speak of his affection, it would only wrong her further. “I never pitied you,” he spoke against her neck. “Never, Saelind.”

Andreth tilted her head to his. It was all so new and strong and overwhelming, the warmth of his cheek upon hers. His skin was nothing she would ever feel again, this she knew. And he was ever closer, his arms now impossibly tight around her, the plate armor digging into her flesh. They should not be here, like this, she knew. And found she did not care.

Andreth tried to understand why it was to be this way. The reasons against them she had accepted with the bravery of one doomed, all the while having to look into his eyes and see the opposite meaning to his words.

And now, despite this understanding, here they were, and Andreth could cast him away no more than he could leave her be. It was that which allowed Aegnor to slowly turn her around so she faced him. His eyes were starlit like the waters, his features bright in the depth of night.

“If it were my choice, I would take you to be mine, and we would flee this place.”

The possessive flicker in his words both frightened her and drew her closer.

His forehead rested against hers. “I cannot.” Aegnor met her eyes again, cowed by her strength and patience. He cupped her face in his palms, saw her lower lip quivering. Met with no resistance and lost in his thirst, he pressed his lips lightly to her cheek.

Her breathing nearly ceased. Andreth found her knees were failing and so leaned into him, feeling irate and miserable and elated all at once.

He tasted her skin, licked a light trail along her jaw, sucked at the corner of her lips; and beyond reason as he was Aegnor felt her tensing, and somewhere in him, there was a deep and selfish shiver.

For many moments, Andreth neither returned the kiss, nor did she shun him. But then he felt her falling, following him faithfully and just as eager.

The scent she had only dreamed of now dazed her into a powerful haze akin to a spell, and somehow the lake was no more, the dark canopy of endless trees was no more, and Andreth came to know only him. Her arm reached around his neck as his lips opened against hers, and a new world was made known to her.

He was of silk, of searing wonder; all she would never have. A sliver of resent and hurt coiled within her, but his pull was stronger. He was kindling a new, simmering flame, igniting her with nary a touch. He felt so very good, and now Andreth saw he tasted better, and she became a flaming pyre in his arms. She knew his grief, felt his chest nestling her, how her own hands clutched at him, so wanton and feverish, never to release; but she must.

Slowly, she severed the kiss, drawing back in the hardest trial she would remember in the after days. Andreth watched his parted lips, then met his eyes, drinking in the vision she would keep close to the end.

And Aegnor, the steadfast, whose eyes they say burned with flames of wrath during battle, fell to his knees before young Andreth of the kindred of Men. His arms never left her, and his hands were hopelessly clasping her body, his head bowed against her middle.

Slight fingers twined in his hair, and the Elf sighed in guilt for what he’d begun. “I do not want to cause you pain,” he spoke into her. “Forgive me, Saelind.”

Andreth cradled his head to her while all still spun about her, and the world faded with his closeness; silence drowned in the rise and fall of his chest.

“I forgive you, for you are no guiltier than I.”

Then gently she pried herself from him, and he let her, his hands falling to his sides.

As she walked away Aegnor stayed behind. War knew no marriage among the Eldar, as death knew no master, and these were not times for love; duty was a heavy chain, and it was strung in endless knots around his feet.

“Why tonight, of all nights? Why did you turn, Saelind?” he found his words, and the strength to ask before she went too far.

Andreth ceased in her steps, and with her back to him, a saddened smile lay hidden.

“You never came to me yourself, and on the morrow, you are gone.”

Fingers digging into his palms, his resolution crumbled to dust. There came the urge to seek her anew, to throw all this to the wind. But then she spoke.

“What I feel will never wither as I would. And I grieve for being denied. But... but if you ever doubt your choice, remember I cannot resent you, though this feels like punishment and seems born of pride. Farewell, Aegnor of the Eldar. I will wait for you, though I know not where.”

She stayed a moment longer; he said nothing, and daggers were her footsteps receding in the dark.

“So will I,” his voice faded in the gloom once Andreth was out of sight, cut by anguish and need. But he was weak, and afraid of his own heart more than the Edain feared death, and so he kept still as a stone on the floors of boundless seas. The earth was cold beneath his feet, and the deeps of the night witnessed his tears in silence.