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amethysttribble · 4 years

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A Lesser Prayer, Answered

Earendil is unexpectedly introduced to his youngest uncle in Valinor, and he and Argon go for a bonding trip.

@maedhroswhy, this is your @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift!! I hope you like it! Also, here’s the Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260264

In his rare moments of respite, Earendil preferred to spend his time on the ground with Elwing. No sweeping views, no looking up at the stars, no chatter… Just them, together, sitting on the beach. If he closed his eyes, then there was only the water at his feet, the salt in the air, and the warmth of Elwing under his arm. It was almost like Sirion if he closed his eyes, and it was those moments Earendil treasured the most.

Elvenhome was not Sirion, though.

The light was just slightly too bright, even when it came in through his eyelids. The breeze was never an imposition, always just right to be comfortable, and that disturbed him. The people here smiled easily, as well, and had sympathy to spare, and old, old wisdom from many people who Earendil was not sure had ever lived. Or, at least, not lived lives that could in any way be comparable to his own. They meant well, but when he or Elwing went to a cliff edge to scream until their throats were sore, there were looks and talk.

Worst of all the oddness in Valinor, though, was how when Elwing went off to be with her kin, Earendil did not know those people.

He had heard and repeated and memorized their names, naturally. Queen Earwen, her father, King Olwë, and her mother. There were uncles and cousins who had never been ‘across the sea’- how they referred to Middle Earth everytime without fail, something that started out innocuous but now grated- but seemed to live in the waves. Scores or kinswomen- well, not Women, per say- who were eager to give her a mother, a sister, a friend.

Earendil had met them all, and he thought fondly of them. A sprawling, happy family seemed to have done Elwing good. Earendil could never truly resent the peace they gave her. But a part of him- that seemed so dirty in this pure land, like something ugly, Mannish, marred about him- longed for the kin he knew. The Oropherion and Amdirion boys they scaled cliffs with, the children with pretty house names from Gondolin who he marched, marched, marched with, the girls who attended them while Elwing was pregnant and laughed at his worry. Lord Celeborn, Egalmoth, Cirdan. He missed Lady Galadriel, who Earendil would never forget his first sight of: his mother sobbing in her arms as they were welcomed into Sirion.

The people of their home.

None of those people were here. Instead, there were people with similar features, but different names, memories, hearts. There was also something… Earendil had once thought he knew Elves. The people of Valinor were more ‘Elven’ than any in Middle Earth, though, and they felt foreign.

He could never resent Elwing spending her day in their loving embrace, but preferred Earendil was kicking stones, alone.

Even he could tell that was not good.

Stooping to pick up a too-smooth rock that glittered like Feanor had forged it rather than the sea and shore, Earendil prayed.

Would the Valar please spare mercy for the dead of Sirion? he asked, though it felt odd. It was strange to pray to people whose faces he had seen.

Still, he wound his arm back and threw.

“Pass it along to Lord Namo!” he cried as the rock plopped into the water. If Finrod could be reborn in a matter of decades, surely one of those who had been killed by the Feanorions or by the war were worthy enough. Aran or Coldir or Harion, one of his friends, any of his friends. Earendil knew them, they were good and noble. They deserved life.

“Send me a friend,” he whispered, and hoped that the kind, warm wind stealing the words from his lips was Manwë’s.

He traded a glittery rock once to get his prayers answered, maybe this rock would do for a smaller wish.

Or he should stop feeling sorry for himself just because his wife was busy during his time off. Mother often said moping was in poor form, even if one did it dramatically on the seashore. Earendil’s hair wasn’t even properly tousled to make a good sight.

Laughing slightly to himself, he clapped his hands together and bowed his head.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered, “Never mind my ramblings, yeah? Maybe just… take that rock out to Numenor if you’re not too busy.”

If he squinted, Earendil thought he could see Elros’s island on clear days. It wasn’t clear today, though, and his eyes were still more Mannish than Elven. If he lingered here, melancholy, he’d waste the whole day trying to catch a glimpse of a Numenorean ship or the glint of light off a tower. He might start convincing himself that the dancing shadows in the distance were his grandchildren, and then he would have to try again to comprehend being a grandfather, when he barely felt like a father.

A piss poor one.

Damn. He really was pitiful today. Best to keep moving, best to keep occupied with this eternity he had.

Earendil turned away from the shores, and started trudging but up through the sand. Maybe he would go to the market. He could make something nice for Elwing for dinner, and they could make a real evening of it! Eat and drink and laugh and kiss until Tilion broke through the clouds and Vingilotë called.

Earendil hummed as the idea made him smile. He walked faster towards their tower, the wicker basket in the kitchen on his mind.

When he finished climbing the steps to their front garden, though, Earendil noticed instantly that their door was cracked open. The breath left his lungs, and though he tried to keep calm- to remember that this was Valinor, that there was nothing to fear, that you’re troubles are behind you now- he could not stop himself from jogging just a little faster.

His hands were jittery as he grabbed a garden hoe and inched inside. It was probably nothing, people were so free and loose here with coming to say hello, with inviting themselves in, with being friendly and familial and presumptuous. Oh goodness, what if it was Lossië from down the way bringing oranges again? Still, Earendil’s fingers would not loosen, he could not let go of his only protection, meager as it was, slim as he knew the possibility of threat was.

When a dark head peaked around the corner of his kitchen, Earendil took a step back.

There was a smile there, though, bright and wide, and then the Elf came into full view, saying, “Hello! Well met, nephew!”

Earendil let out a slight breath, letting the butt of the hoe hit the ground so that he could lean on it.

“Well met,” he said, flicking his eyes up and down the person in front of him, who had thick, unruly black hair and stood tall, with a certain… lightness about him. Earendil would call him young if not for the light of the Two Trees in his eyes. But Elves tended to age through experience rather than years, so he supposed the Elf in his kitchen could be a youth that predated the sun. But then again, he spoke so familiarly and there was something in how his nose and eyes were constructed that reminded Earendil of… of his grandfather.

If Finrod could be released early for great deeds and wisdom, surely Fingon the Valiant…

Earendil bowed.

“Ha! You’re a formal one aren’t you? Turukano’s influence no doubt.”

As soon as Earendil managed to stand up straight just enough to see the Elf before him again, there were hands reaching for him. He was dragged forward against the stranger’s chest into a very enthusiastic hug. Earendil had just long enough to feel bad about being so still and awkward when his great-uncle pulled back.

“It’s great to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much! I’m Arakano, your mother’s favorite uncle, and don’t believe anyone who says anything different.”

“Oh,” Earendil muttered, and breathed a little easier. Yes, Argon, he had heard a little about him. Mostly about him causing trouble with Mother and the occasionally whispered story about his early death in Beleriand. It was as much a tragic tale as any other from that age, but Earendil would much rather deal with the unannounced arrival of the younger uncle, rather than the hero.

“It’s very nice to meet you, as well,” he said with a smile. “Mother speaks of you fondly. Happy to finally make your acquaintance and put a face to the name.”

“Me as well!” Argon cried loudly and Earendil didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh at the enthusiasm.

The upsettingly smooth hands of one reborn came up to cup Earendil’s cheeks and squeezed. His face was squished and suddenly Earednil was wishing he’d sighed and maybe warned this off. Instead he tensed as his personal space was once more violated. Argon came in closer.

“You look like your father mostly, but I can see Itarillë- well, I can see Turukano and Elenwë. You’ve got the family eyes, and that is all Turno, the way you’re trying not to frown,” he laughed.

Earendil blushed, but he did take the opportunity to pull away. Elwing would be snickering at him right now, asking him where his manners were, teasing, Do you not have good cheer for our guest, when you have already failed to provide tea and cakes?

Oh Valar. If Mother knew how rude he’d been…

Earendil didn’t even know if they had anything suitable in the house!

“Ah, may I get you something, Uncle?” he asked, inching towards the kitchen.

“Actually, it’s about what I can do for you,” Argon said cheerfully, grabbing Earendil arms and spinning him around. He let out a slight yelp as Argon pulled him out of the door to the house. “So I was talking to your mother, and she said that you hadn’t hardly left the shore and the sky since you got here! And I said, I said, ‘Well, that’s unacceptable’. There’s so much to see! So I volunteered, because who better to show you around Valinor than a native and kinsman, yeah? I’ve packed us a lunch, we’re going to go for a ride, it’s going to be a great time. Wait. You do have a horse, right?”

They were in the front garden and there was still a hoe in his hand. When had they gotten to the garden?

Earendil was so busy trying to wrap his head around how fast things were moving, he nodded without even thinking about it.

“Fantastic! Then we can get a move on now!”

Argon pulled him along, but they were moving away from the small stable behind the house, and that was when Earendil realized Argon had no idea what he was doing or where he was going.

“Wait, wait,” he muttered, digging his heels into the dirt. Argon let go of him, and Earendil turned to wind around the house and fetch their horse. Then he turned back towards his uncle just as fast. What was Earendil doing? Argon was standing there, a pleased grin on his face and his hands on his hips, and Earendil still had a hoe in his grip.

Why was he going along with this? Hastily, he dropped the garden hoe, and wiped his hands against his shirt, trying to find any kind of excuse to get out of this.

“Wait, I’m sorry, I- I have to- I-” don’t have anything else going on today.

Damn.

Not only would Mother and Elwing never forgive him for turning down such an invitation from a kinsman for no good reason… Earendil wouldn’t even be able to justify it to himself.

He sighed, and used the time to mourn his quiet afternoon… the one he hadn’t even wanted.

Damn.

“I’m sorry, I just need a moment, this is all moving very fast,” he said eventually. “Where are we going?”

“I told you!” Argon said, though he most assuredly had not, “We’re going to go ride up to the top of Mount Osien and have lunch. Amazing views up there, my cousins used to take me.”

“We’re going to climb a mountain?” Earendil asked, feeling a little faint.

“No, no, a hill, not a mountain. A very big hill mind you, only barely misnamed! But nothing too intense for our first outing, yeah? I sure you have sea legs, but hiking’s a different game.”

“Right,” he muttered, and already regretting his choice to agree to this adventure, Earendil turned to walk towards the stables. Argon, mercifully, did not follow.

He and Elwing kept one horse. Neither of them had ever loved riding, which was why Elwing’s cousin had come at dawn to carry her down the cliff on her own horse. Mistë was a good mare, though, older and not temperamental, if slow and huffy. Earendil did not enjoy a means of transportation that had a mind of its own, but he was more than content to allow the old girl to steer herself down the steep trails she had travelled since birth and he was only just beginning to know.

Mistë also did not talk.

Argon did.

“I came to see your mother a few days ago,” he declared, swaying atop his own, not nearly as haggard horse. “I knew I had to see her before nearly anyone else. I’ve not even seen Findarato yet, and Mother said I probably shouldn’t go alone, but I mean- Come on! Itarillë is back on these shores around the time I come back to these shores? Serendipitous! No, I had to see our little girl, she…”

Argon paused for a moment to catch his breath, and Earendil took a moment to admire how he spoke so fast. How big were his lungs? He was much shorter that Grandfather, but seemed to have twice the air.

“She, ah, little Itarillë has grown,” Argon said, quieter than his other rambling.

Before Earendil could do more than blink at the oddness of that statement, he was back at it.

“So of course I’ve also met your father now too! Fine fellow, very strange. I’d never met a Man before. I think I would have liked them, though, he was very funny. I got the feeling that he would have liked to join us, but, well…”

“He can’t get around like he used to,” Earendil said softly, looking away.

They did not like to speak about it often. The Blessed Lands had certainly slowed Father’s aging, but Earendil suspected that nothing short of divine intervention would stop it entirely. Father had not been young when he, Mother, and Voronwë sailed west, and now… Earendil did not know how long it would be, but whatever the length of Father’s life, it would not be enough. Compared against eternity, nothing was for Elves.

Which… Earendil was, now.

Swallowing a sigh, he decided to pay attention again to Argon’s prattle, which had barely ceased.

“I have to say again, how you look quite like him. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I can see it in your face, it is certainly unmistakable. And your hair! You’ve got Elenwë’s hair color, but it curls differently.”

Earendil kept it short too, something people loved to comment on, never mind that it made life easier when sailing through the highest winds in the sky.

“Mother quite likes your hair, she’s mentioned it a lot. I think she’s designing you a whole wardrobe for the next time you come to Tirion.”

“That’s sweet of her,” Earendil said, and Argon nodded rigorously.

“Yeah, that’s, that’s how she shows her love, you know? Even though all of my old clothes still fit and she’s kept them in pristine condition, she insists I need new clothes. It’s all out of style by now. I guess you ran into a similar problem, your Beleriand clothes must be different from what we have here.”

Earendil coughed, and then muttered, “Yes, but I didn’t have much.”

Just one musty trunk on a small boat. Elwing had nothing. Not even the clothes she’d jumped in.

Unbidden, the stray thought of the Fall of Sirion conjured in his mind the horrible scene that was his wife’s last memory of home, and he drew in a long breath. There was little more than fire and red beaches and shadowed faces, and Earendil knew what his imagination created was likely worse than the reality, but it kept him up at night. Something he wasn’t even there to see.

His last memory of home was of warmth and lights, and he walked away from it, when she hadn’t wanted to run, and it was so unfair to her-

“You’re a quiet one, huh?” Argon said suddenly, cleanly cutting through Earendil’s thoughts.

He was so caught off guard and so mortified by his horrible manners, he whipped his head around to gape at his uncle.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered after a moment where he was able to shut his mouth, “I’m not much of a conversationalist.”

Elwing could talk to the birds and the waves and they would speak back, she was so charming, compelling, clever. Earendil hadn’t needed to be talkative in a very long time, not with her right there and so willing to make small talk and make folks leave him alone when it was a bit much. He’d gotten too used to her telling all their little friends to buzz off when they were children and the crashing water sounded like a dragon’s roar and Earendil lost his words.

He could no longer remember if he was more chatty before Gondolin fell. Mother and Father had never commented on his ‘quiet nature’ with anything other than the odd look of concern, so Earendil didn’t feel like he had to ask. They all had their scars.

Or, well-

Earendil could not begin to guess if the Reborn were allowed to keep their scars.

The skin around Argon’s silver earring was puffy and inflamed.

For his part, Argon grimaced at his apology, the first expression besides a smile Earendil has seen on him.

“No, goodness, I’m sorry. I don’t mean anything by it, I just want- You know, you can tell me to shut up if you want. It will not be the first time or the last, so I’ll take no offense if I’m bothering you!”

“Oh, oh no,” Earendil sputtered, struck with the acute feeling that he’d failed at his manners and Cirdan was about to frown at him disapprovingly from across the sea. “You’re not a bother, I dont mind really, I- I could, ah, use a little conversation. I don’t get much of it.”

Argon laughed heartily at that, and any trace of contriteness seemed to have left him.

“See, that’s what your mother said!”

“Did she,” Earendil muttered, fighting a small flash of irritation.

Argon just laughed harder at him.

“She said you’d get huffy about it too! That you pouted mightily when she made you play with and talk to the Sindarin Princess, and now you’re married to her, so you just need a push sometimes. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.”

Though he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, Earendil managed to say, “Thank you,” with an appropriate amount of felicity.

As Argon started up an erratic retelling of the courtship and marriage of Turgon and Elenwë, the ground slowly plateaued and the smell of salt on the air faded away. They were riding further inland, down roads that Earendil did not recognize. Everytime he’d travelled to one of the land-locked cities, they gone primarily on river boats. He also hadn’t been paying much attention in general, neither he nor Elwing. He could barely remembers their missions to go petition the Noldorin and Vanyarin kings, or to meet the Valar on their mountain. Looking back, Earendil was pretty sure he was half-mad at the time.

Perhaps now he could appreciate the golden, rocky beauty of the city Argon was describing with such glee.

“And Turukano always said he’d like to live in a city like that, all stripped-down and sheer and a thousand natural colors. Itarillë said they modeled your city after it! What do you think, do they compare?”

“I don’t really know, I’d have to take another look,” Earendil said, looking out onto the fields of wildflowers he couldn’t begin to identify. How had he not known this was out here, just behind them? Too used to Sirion, where to leave their walls meant death and the ocean was the only escape, he supposed.

“Elenwë will be out soon enough,” Argon said, far more softly than he had spoken before. When Earendil looked over to him, he was smiling more gently, as well. “Maybe she can show you around Valmar. I think you would like it, especially with her. She’s like you. Quiet.”

There was nothing to say to that, but Earendil did laugh.

Argon did not prompt him to speak again until they reached the base of the hill they had intended for, instead prattling on about the different virtues and problems with the various cities in the Blessed Lands. Tirion was filled with anything everyone could ever need, but was so built up and out you could forget there was a natural world beyond it. Valmar gleamed and glittered and felt like the most lovely place on earth at first, but was a little austere with time. Alqualondë was fun, filled with waterways and sunlight, but eventually one got tired of being damp, you know?

Earendil didn’t know, and told Argon as much, with made him laugh.

Earendil also didn’t know the best way to tie a horse to a tree, and Argon was still laughing when he settled Mistë in for a long wait with an apple, but Earendil was a bit more embarrassed about that one. In fact, he felt thoroughly useless as Argon handled the horses and swung around a large wicker basket and led the way up the hill.

“I can carry that,” he offered, but Argon waved him off.

“Nah, nah, this is my expedition! Besides, you do enough work for all of us, up there in the sky every night.”

Earendil was grateful Argon was five steps ahead of him and had his back turned, because he felt his body go cold and his expression drop.

“It must be very exciting. I cannot imagine how much you can see. Hey!” Argon said excitedly, turning on heel to look at Earendil while jogging upwards backwards. “Have you ever seen the Lake of Cuivienen from on high, or what’s left of Father’s fortre-”

Earendil’s face must have looked something awful, to make that expression of shock flicker across Argon’s. The second after his uncle’s expression faltered, though, that smile, nearly as bright as the silmaril, was back. Earendil had to blink at the full-force of that good will.

He could almost not believe this boy was Grandfather’s brother, did not recognize the way he sung his limbs around in any of Mother’s careful mannerisms. And though he didn’t linger on the comparison long, Earendil could see no Maeglin either.

Perhaps I should visit Lady Anairë again, Earendil thought as Argon swung back around and beckoned him onwards. Perhaps her character was as bright as her youngest son’s, though on first meeting she’d seemed very circumspect. But what did Earendil know? He hadn’t even been aware one of his uncles had been reborn.

“I think you’ll really like the view from here, all the same,” Argon said, lively as can be, changing the subject like the wind, no stumble or awkwardness. Earendil appreciated that. “You can see the ocean!”

Argon then picked up the pace of their trek. Conversation lulled for the time, but Earendil did not mind. He’d gone months without someone to talk to before, this was nothing. What was more astounding was that Argon did not seem to mind. Perhaps his manners were just truly impeccable, but when Earendil jogged forwards to walk besides him, he could not see any dissatisfaction in him. No resentment or displeasure or… pity, when most people usually had at least one of those feelings when Earendil failed a conversation.

Instead, Argon started to speak again when they reached the top as if nothing awkward had happened.

“Irissë and I camped out here with Angarato and Aikanaro when we I was a child, once. Mother and Father wouldn’t let me going hunting with them yet, so we came out here and they let me pretend we were on a grand expedition. I’ve seen crazy sights now, but I still think this is pretty grand, yeah?”

Earendil turned to look at the view, and just like Aegon promised, the ocean could be seen in the distance. What caught Earendil’s eye, though, was the field that had just been traveling along, bursting with flowers. His breath caught at the sight, as the red, blue, yellow, purple, white, and all the green before him. He had never seen flowers, seen a field or any land quite like it. Nothing but life lay before him, and it nearly stopped Earendil’s heart.

“Of course,” Aegon cut in upon his reverie, “then I tripped while throwing rocks at birds and tumbled half-way down the side of the hill and busted my chin open. Aikanaro yelled at me for so long! Because he knew it’d be his skin if I got really hurt, and he was right too, he got in so much trouble. So you’ve go to promise me, nephew, no stupid injuries! I don’t want to get yelled at by your mother. That would be too weird.”

Earendil snorted, tearing his eyes away from the horizon. He barely managed to say, “Got it,” before Argon was on the ground, spreading out a blanket and reaching deep into the basket.

He pulled out biscuits and jams, cheeses and meats, and a bottle of wine. helped him Earendil spread their ‘feast’ out around them. It was quite the lunch, and Argon proudly declared, “I made it all with Itarillë! I never had much interest in cooking before, but let me tell you, after the Halls and the Helcaraxë? I want to eat everything and know how to make it.”

“Now that I understand,” Earendil said, cutting open a biscuit and slathering it in marmalade. “When I would go on long sailing trips, it would be nothing by steamed fish and salted meats and plain fruit. Once I shot down a seagull and barely cooked it, I was so despreate for some variety. Nevermind that the seagull meant that I was close enough to shore that it was entirely unnecessary.”

Argon laughed, and said, “Really?” so loudly it distrubed the birds settled on the other side of the hill.

His joy was infectious and Earendil laughed, as well.

“Really,” he said, and his voice was so soft it could barely be heard above the wind but Aegon was still listening, “Elwing saw all the feathers on my boat and yelled at me for it, too. Said that if I had eaten one of her friends she would never forgive me.”

“Wait, she’s friends with birds? Like, close friends? No one’s ever mentioned she can speak the languages of birds and beasts, that’s really amazing!”

Earendil hummed and lazily tiled his head from side to side to neither confirm nor deny. Instead, he took a moment to reach for the wine and drink straight from the bottle. Then he felt prepared to begin this explanation.

“It’s less that she speaks their language and more they listen to her. There is very little that will not respond when she speaks, and birds are chatty. We think it is a gift from her grandmother. Actually-” Earendil paused to laugh a little. “The seagulls especially respond well to her. We often joke that the nightingales were for Luthien and the gulls are for Elwing, not half as elegant, but twice as loud.”

Argon did not laugh as Earendil had been expecting him too, but when he looked up, his uncle was smiling. He grinned wider and held his hand out for the bottle, which Earendil passed him. Argon drank, and when he came up for air, he said, “You look so much like Turno when you talk about your wife. I’d love to meet her!”

“I think she would like to meet you, as well,” Earendil said, and he laughed as he took the bottle back again.

He told Argon, then, a story he had never divulged on this side of the sea. It was the tale of how he and Elwing had married one another in secret in the hull of one of Cirdan’s boats. As he and Argon passed the bottle back and forth, Earendil told him about how they made up their vows by stealing the traditional words from several different Houses of Men, and how it was Ereinion- not yet the great king, Gil-galad, just Ereinion- who found them first. They’d been flush with embarrassment and the new rush of emotions bonding their souls had caused, completely caught of their guard. They hadn’t really expected the Elven marriage bond to take hold in their mized blood. Earendil and Elwing had not regretted it, though.

The wine was finished off by the time he finished recounting the look of horror on Cirdan’s face, how he had moaned, How ever do you expect me to explain this to your Mother? To Celeborn?

Argon laughed hard enough that Earendil feared for a moment that he was going to be sick from it.

“I’d be scared,” he cried between gasps for air, “of Itarillë in that instance, too!”

Then he collapsed, falling onto his back, and Earendil was truly worried for a second before he felt Argon’s hand grab his sleeve and tug. He followed Argon to the ground, and laid back to look up at the sky, wide and bright blue and dotted with stars. Earendil had never gotten used to seeing stars during daylight, but here they never truly faded. Just another of those things in the Blessed Lands that felt too good to be true. Just another thing made less special.

But maybe it was just Earendil that had changed. How could a star be impressed with other stars, after all?

“I’ve missed this,” Argon said dreamily.

“The stars?” Earendil asked without looking at him.

“No. Sleep.”

Earendil snorted, but then it really registered what had just been said and he burst out laughing so hard he had to sit up.

“What?” he laughed, turning to stare down his uncle fully.

“Sleep,” Argon said, his eyes closed and a wicked smile on his lips. “You don’t sleep in the Halls and I’ve really missed it. I’ve missed enjoying my rest, missed sitting in the sun and feeling so safe and happy that I just… drift off. Enjoying something so simple, something I didn’t know I could lose. I mean, I know they say that sleep is the brother of death, and all, but being dead was too much, too much like a dream you couldn’t wake from. I missed the low stakes, missed feeling… safe in sleeping. Does that make sense?”

And Earendil was still smiling when he laid back down, but there was a dull ache in his chest. Because, yes, it did make sense.

He missed sailing. He missed the sun on his sky and the wind in his hair and the smell of the water and the rocking of the boat and the look of the sails caught in a gale and the feeling of ropes in his hands. Earenedil missed undocking a boat with Elwing at the helm, and their friends milling around on deck uselessly as they sailed far enough out that their parents could see that they hadn't drowned but couldn’t see what they were doing.

He missed the one memory he had of taking Elrond and Elros out to sea, and watching them laugh and clap and shriek with joy at it all.

Did they like to sail? It would be in spite of, not because of him if they did. Had. Elrond did, Elros had.

But instead of telling Argon all of that, Earendil said, “It may be because I’m tipsy, but, yes, that makes sense.”

Argon hummed contently.

“I’ve missed talking, too,” he said, and his words were getting slower, softer. “In the Halls you don’t really talk, it’s all-”

Argon waved his hand lazily around his head.

“You can’t really hide anything or force it down and it’s hard to keep on one topic. Everything just spills out of you as your thoughts and feelings come in. I’ve missed talking rather than that, because… picking words is different than having thoughts. It’s more fun, more deliberate. And you’ve been so nice, just left me talk and talk, and say all kinds of stupid things. Thanks for that.”

“Thank you,” Earendil said. “I think… I think I’ve actually missed having company that does talk. The Silmaril doesn’t.”

Argon laughed softly, and the last thing he said before he fell asleep was, “Be thankful it doesn’t sound like Uncle Feanaro.”

Earendil did not know when he also drifted off to Irmo’s Garden, but he was warm and safe and he could not remember the last time he’d slept.

The sun was low in the sky when he woke up. He had a brief moment of panic thinking about the time, that he was going to be late, that he would ruin his one responsibility. But then Earendil took a deep breath and the calm of the day came rushing back in like the tide, to strong to be swept away. He was… happy today, and he would not be ashamed.

If Tilion was occasionally late and erratic, so could the Star of Earendil be.

But he was still packing up the food when Argon blinked his eyes open.

“I’m sorry,” Earendil told him, “but I have to get home soon, preferably before the sun sets.”

“Oh no!” Argon cried, fully awake in a instant and scrambling for the blanket beneath them. “I’ve kept you too long, okay, okay, if we hurry back we should be fine.”

Earendil just laughed at him, though, startling his uncle into blinking up at him owlishly.

“I very much doubt Mistë will want to hurry anywhere. If we head back now we should be fine making a leisurely pace.”

The smile he got in return could light up the night’s sky.

On their journey back, Earendil laughed and laughed at Argon’s story of being horrifically late for one of King Finwë’s celebrations, and how he all but crashed into the grand hall of Tirion’s palace half-dressed.

“I thought my father was going to grow ill with embarrassment, but Grandfather just sighed and invited me up to the High Table, thanked me for making time for them.”

“I do believe my grandfather would not have been so gracious in such a situation.”

“No, absolutely not! Oh Valar, at Itarillë’s naming day I think I nearly killed him with my behaviour.”

Argon was still dsecribing the full extent of Turgon’s immaculate moritfication when they came to the crossroads. One path led further into the country, up and up a cliff where a tower could just be seen at the top, Earendil’s new home. The other went towards the city, closer to where Mother, Father, and Voronwë lived these days.

“I promised Itarillë that I wound’t bother you too long, that I’d be back for dinner at her place,” Argon said regretfully, already veering left. “But hey! I’m also supposed to invite you and Elwing to lunch tomorrow!” “That sounds lovely,” Earendil said, and surprisingly wasn’t surprised to find that he meant it.

He even waved a little as Argon rode away.

For his part, his uncle waved until he was nearly out of sight.

Mistë got them up the steep hill easily enough, and Earendil was still smiling when they reached the top. He gave her another apple when he stabled and rubbed her down, thanking the old girl for working more today than she likely had since coming into their possession. From what Earendil could tell from her horsey expression, she seemed grateful enough.

Who was not thankful, though, for how long he’d loitered in the stables after returning, was his wife. When he rounded the corner of the house, Elwing was standing in the doorway, holding the garden hoe too tightly. She only relaxed when he came fully into her sight.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, looking thoroughly aggrieved.

She must have been so confused to come home and find him gone, vanished. Valar, what an awful fright that must have given her. Earendil felt ashamed to have not left a note, but not even that ruined his mood.

Instead of apologizing and explaining as he should, Earendil rushed forwards towards Elwing and grabbed her around the waist. He lifted her and stumbled backwards into the garden, and then spun, laughing like a mad Man. Elwing gave a small squeak, but dropped the hoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a moment in the air, she laughed.

“You’re in a good mood,” she giggled when she was back on the ground with him.

“I am,” Earendil said, pressing his forehead against hers. “The best one I’ve had in a long, long time.”

“Oh? And what caused it?” Elwing asked, pushing his hair back from his slightly wrinkled eyes gently. The gesture was so warm, so kind, Earendil’s eyes fluttered shut and he felt the same joy he had early today, just happy and safe in good company. He could not stop smiling.

“I think I made a friend.”

#earendil #argon #turgon #the silmarillion #tolkien #tolkiensecretsanta2020 #fanfic #Tribble Post

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years

Text

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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

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

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

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.). [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest?

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom @thedragonghostofmordor @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

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khazzman · 7 years

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HOLY SHIT LEMME TALK ABOUT LORD OF THE RINGS! (Part 1: FUCKING FINARFIN FAMILY IS BETTER THAN ANYONE, HONESTLY FIGHT ME)

Ok so lemme just compose myself for a second before jumping into the fact that the house of Finarfin is the best house of not just the Noldor but of all the elves. Wanna know why? Course you do, and I’m unwilling to keep silent on it.

So a little fresher course for all yall who are just familiar with the usual Lord of the Rings/Hobbit. I bet you think elves just kind of act as one homogenous group of gorgeous arrow shooters. WRONG! An elf from Rivendell probably would prefer working in a forge while an elf from Mirkwood would sooner die than go in one. And it goes down to the Silmarillion. See, at the beginning the elves were divided into two kindreds. The ‘perfect’ Vanyar who are probably the most boring since we don’t get much from them, the chillest of chill, the Teleri who love hanging out on boats and singing, and the Noldor (aka Middle Earth’s best dramaqueens). The Noldor themselves were split into three groups after their king, Finwe, was murdered by Morgoth (Most dramatic dramaqueen you could ever read about in Tolkien). The three groups were each lead by one of the sons of Finwe. Feanor, the craftiest but the biggest diva around, Fingolflin, the guy who can’t help but constantly forgive his brother’s faults, and Finarfin. Finarfin marries a Teleri (cause he’s the smartest) and has some dope ass kids. So lets get into it.

Finarfin: So in all honesty, we don’t know much directly about Finarfin since he ended up being the smart brother and staying in the promised land of Valinor. We know that he is described as simply being the wisest and fairest of Finwe’s sons. He’s got the gold hair of the Vanyar that he got from his mom, and all his kids are golden haired too, making them the odd ones among the Noldor who all tend to have black hair. All around, a decent guy who probably deserves to be king, despite that he only became king of the Noldor when his two other bros and their boys left.

Finrod: HOLY SHIT! Ok so Finrod is basically my favorite elf because he is the nice kid who would sit next to you in the cafeteria if he saw you were alone. This guy left paradise cause he didn’t want his friends and loved ones to be alone in their exile, he built a secret little kingdom to keep his people safe, became bros with the dwarves, was the first elf from the West to meet humans and loved them immediately, comforted the mortal love of his brother’s life when he died, and then finally died himself in a singing battle with Sauron, only to regenerate back in the West and live happily with the love of his life. And we even get a glimpse of him in the actual Lord of the Rings! See, when he met humans and was all like “LOOK At THESE FELLAS, GUYS! THEY SHOULD BE OUR BESTIES! LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE WITH THEIR FACIAL HAIR!” he ended up giving his favorite ring (not magic just pretty) to one his human friends named Barahir, so if ever humans were in trouble, they could use it to get help from the elves. Well guess who that ring eventually passes down to millennia later. That’s right. Motherfucking Aragorn, Son of Arathorn! This guy was a solid OG elf who just wanted to help people and became my favorite elf. NEXT!

Angrod and Aegnor: Ok so these two were basically just good warriors who died in one of the worst battles in the Silmarillion, the Dagor Bragollach. But Aegnor is a little different since he is the only elf male recorded to fall in love with a mortal female. But sadly, he knew they would just end in sadness, being separated till the end of time, and he did not become involved with her. But then of course good bro Finrod tends to have tea and philosophical debates about death in Middle Earth with her and OMG FINROD IS THE BEST MOVING ON!

BADDEST BITCH IN MIDDLE EARTH! (Galadriel): So the most well known member of House Finarfin is most likely his daughter, Galadriel. OK! SO *deep breathes* Galadriel decided to go with the Noldor into exile by choice simply because she wanted to. She didn’t come for her friends, or family, or the silmarils. She had spend her entire life cooped up in Valinor and decided, fuck it. I want to see Middle Earth. And yes, she also wanted to rule. A strong independent elleth who don’t need no man. But she ended up wanting one and Celeborn became her hoe. Don’t mistake it, Galadriel is on top in this relationship, guaranteed. Anyway, she ended up learning magic from the Middle Earth equivalent of a minor goddess, along with her own magic. When most of the Noldor started heading back to Valinor in the Third Age, Galadriel said, screw that, I’m staying here! I still gotta rule a realm! So she and Celeborn founded Eregion, then got bored of that, gave it to her great nephew Celebrimbor (guy who helped Sauron forge the rings of power) and started the realm of Lothlorien. She ends up getting one of the rings of power making her even more powerful (though Nenya's power was preservation, protection, and concealment from evil). She survives the War of the Last Alliance and has her realm become a safe haven in the years when the elves are beginning to dwindle. Sauron doesn’t know where the fuck she is, and she forms the White Council to combat him. Not to mention she’s the only one in the group who distrusts Saruman and feels Gandalf should have been head of the Order. But just think of this! She is the last elf in Middle Earth to have seen the light of Valinor! She is old as balls! Elrond, the respected lore-master of the elves, is a little baby next to her! Not to mention her son-in-law. Eventually she gets to go back to the West with Gandalf, Elrond, Frodo, and Bilbo to be all like “BACK BitCHES!”

This concludes my gushing over lord of the rings. Join me next time when I lose my shit over some other character or group... STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES WE’RE DOING FEANOR NEXT TIME

#silmarillion #lord of the rings #finarfin #galadriel #finrod #noldor #gushing #HOLY FUCKING SHIT I LOVE TOLKIEN

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years

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The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 3

Summary: You, a fantasy-loving LARPing human from Earth, got dropped into Middle-Earth with no recollection of the place except for bits and pieces. Lord Fabulous Elvenking has given you three days to find the portal from which you came, with the aide of his son Legolas, who you've taken to calling "Blue-Eyes." If you don't find the portal, you're to be taken back to the palace for a swift execution...

Chapter No.: Chapter 2

Key:

[Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I actually researched the languages using a website called elfdict,but I don’t know if the orcish is correct...

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

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

Starting at dawn every day, you, Legolas, and the troop of Elves searched repeatedly for the portal. You threw yourself off of the tree countless times. You laid in the spot for hours. At one point, the Elves had even used some kind of sheet made of leaves and their supernatural strength to fling you up like a trampoline to see if the portal was aboveground.

Nothing happened.

As the days wore on, you grew more and more bitter. Every move felt exhausting, and like there was no use: you couldn't get back to your family.

You couldn't live here. There seemed to be no point of your existence anymore.

Somewhere around sunset of the second day, Blue-Eyes noticed your sudden lack of enthusiasm. "May I ask what troubles you?"

You scoffed. "Why do you care? I'll be dead in about forty-eight hours anyway. What I feel doesn't matter."

"I beg to differ," Legolas took a seat beside you; you scooted a couple of inches away. "You are in our world now, so you will go to our gods for judgement when you die."

You frowned. You'd always been kinda an atheist. "The Valar?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes. The Valar. Your feelings before death will determine whether or not you'll be given a good place among them."

You rolled your eyes. "You're kidding, right? They'll judge me for being pissed off and upset 'cause I can't get back to my own world to see my family, then killed just for breathing on Lord Fabulous's precious trees? They can go fuck themselves."

His face was priceless. If you hadn't been so pissed, you might've laughed. "...Lord... Fabulous? And, while I have my doubts about your recent hand gesturing, I do know that what you just said is most likely vulgar. Have respect for the Valar."

You snorted. "First of all, fabulous means somebody who loves dressing in the best and most well-liked outfits of the time, while also being very uppity and acting like they're God's gift to humanity. Second of all, yeah, that is vulgar, and no I will not take it back. Third, how fucking dare you, sir, to tell me to respect some candy-ass bitches up in the sky who'll judge me for having feelings."

Legolas shook his head. "Alright, ass is a word we do have here, as is candy. I can get the gist of that meaning. I cannot force you to have respect for them, especially when they brought you here."

You glared at him. "Yeah, whatever. Just leave me alone."

Blue-Eyes sighed. "As you wish."

You turned away, scrunching up into yourself against the night chill.

On the edge of night...

All shall fade...

With a huff, you curled up where you were and tried to fall asleep.

A beautiful copper dragon sat before you on a mound of gold. "Do you think flattery will keep you alive?"

"N-no..." Said the silhouette of a very small person.

"No indeed," Confirmed the dragon. He began to prowl around. "You seem familiar with my name, but I don't remember smelling your kind before. Who are you, and where do you come from, if I may ask?"

The dream flipped.

You stood between two Elves in silver robes, one of which was Blue-Eyes, looking sullen. "Tell me," Said the other Elf, "Where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

Legolas's crystal blue eyes glistened with tears, but he held them back. He'd never seemed like one to cry. "He was taken by both shadow and flame. A balrog of Morgoth."

The dream--no, vision-- changed again.

Before you was an old man in blue-gray robes with a long gray beard and pointed hat, smiling kindly up at what looked like a child. You couldn't turn your head to see. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor is he ever early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

The visions flashed in your mind quickly now, too fast for you to discern much from them.

"Sauron's forces are massing in the east."

"This is no mere ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. You owe him your allegiance."

"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

"I ain't droppin' no eaves, Mister Frodo!"

"I choose a mortal life."

"The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!"

"He is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the true King under the Mountain."

"You have the gift of foresight. What did you see?"

"Arwen..."

"What did you see?"

"I saw death. Your death."

"But there is also life. You saw my son."

"You have my sword."

"And my bow."

"And my axe!"

"If this is what the council decides, then Gondor will see it is done."

"Things that were... Things that are... And things that have not yet come to pass."

"Did he offer you a bargain?"

"Yes. I refused."

"A bargain was our only hope..."

"Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?"

"I am fire... I am...Death."

~ominous as fuck time skip~

You woke with a start, the dragon's words still echoing in your head. You knew over half of those names, deep in your mind... Sauron, Morgoth, balrog, Thorin, Frodo, Aragorn, Gandalf... You knew the voices, too. But you couldn't place any of them.

The Elves were already awake (With the sun as usual.), readying their breakfast of weeds.

You frowned. Why should you be concerned with why this place sounds familiar if you weren't going to be here much longer? You got up, and prepared to search for the portal-- you didn't want any breakfast, especially when it was nothing but dandelion fluff and sparkles.

"You are not breaking your fast?" Blue-Eyes asked you, and at first you thought he was using Elvish slang.

"You mean I'm not eating breakfast?"

"If that is how you say it in your world, yes."

You shrugged. "I'll be dead later anyway. What's the point?"

Legolas sighed. "To keep up your strength to find your way back. What if you arrive back on your world in the middle of the wilderness, like you did here? You will have no supplies, and I doubt you know much about foraging."

You huffed. "You know what? Screw off. I don't want anything to eat, and you can fucking deal with that."

He looked up in exasperation, probably praying to his Valar for you to stop being such a nuisance. "You use that word an awful lot."

"What word?"

"Fuck."

Then you almost busted out laughing, because a fancy pretty sparkly Elf, even if he was deadly, saying a modern cuss word was too funny.

He blinked. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Do you even know what the definition of that word is?"

"No." You gestured for him to come closer, then whispered the meaning into his ear. He sprang back wildly with wide eyes and a profoundly disgusted expression. "Dear Valar, I will never repeat a word you say again unless I am sure of what it means!" His eyes widened even further. "Wait... You just told the gods to perform impossible sexual acts on themselves! And the day before you told me to..." He stopped short, appalled.

"Yuh-huh. Just now gettin' that, goldie? For shame upon me." A thought struck you. "Wait, do Elves even have sex like humans? Do you even know what I'm talking about?"

He blushed a little. "Find the portal. Quickly." He awkwardly left, sparing you a quick glance like "wtf."

You grinned maliciously, then went back to your search.

By sundown, nothing was found. You stared down at the patch where you'd originally landed, wishing for all the world that you'd been born normal, with maybe a slight love for fantasy. Why? Why had you wished, for all of your life, that you'd been transported elsewhere? Now you were, but... You didn't have your family. Without them, you couldn't function right. You just couldn't imagine never seeing them again.

The Elves were already leaving, except for Blue-Eyes. He stood by your side for a minute, as if you were both staring at a grave. You might as well have been. "Bury me here, will you? Maybe my family will find my body. And kill me as non-messily as possible, please? Like, an arrow to the heart'll do."

Blue-Eyes stiffly patted your back. You went ramrod straight-- you'd always hated touch contact. "I will pray for you." He followed his comrades, who were already a good ways back to the river, spread out through the forest. You half considered running in the opposite direction, but you'd be dead before you even so much as got to the ridge where the first of the big dogs had attacked you.

You sighed, and forced yourself to move forward; you gasped as your ankle slipped into a rut, and you yanked it out, arms spread wide for balance. You gave the ground the dirtiest look you could muster, which quickly faded to stunned silence. You leaned down, and scraped more of the dried leaves away...

Your breath caught in your throat. "Blue-Eyes!"

Legolas was at your side in a moment. "Did you find it?"

"I don't know!" You stood and gestured to what you'd found. An inscription, in a language you couldn't read. "It was buried under the leaves."

"Can you read it?"

"Obviously not, dumbass. Is it Elvish?"

Blue-Eyes knelt, tilting his head slightly to read it. His hand grazed the writing. "It is a form of old Elvish, used in the time of Gondolin. This has been here for a very, very long time." He gave you a look. "Forgive me, I'd thought you'd written it at first." You thought about smacking him upside the head, but with everybody suddenly around you again and ready to attack, you thought better of it. Legolas turned back to the writing.

After an almost unspeakably long amount of time, you got impatient. "What's it say, dammit?!"

Legolas shook his head slowly. "I am sorry. Truly, I am. If we had seen this earlier..."

"What does it say, Legolas?!"

He stood, and looked you in the eyes, sympathetic. "'The way is shut. There is no going back. The way is shut, until next fiery moonlight.'"

Your face lit up. "R-really?! Then that means all we have to do is wait for a full moon, right?! That's usually what it is! Full moon at midnight for stuff like this, in all the books! Do you think Lord Fabulous could extend my sentence--"

"[Y/N]," It was the first time he'd used your name, and it made you freeze. "The night you arrived, the moon was full. But it was also a Firemoon. It means you cannot return to your world until the next Firemoon."

Your hopes slowly fell, but you were determined not to succumb to the panic that was quickly rising. "H-how much longer till the next one?"

Legolas put a hand on your shoulder, trying to get you to understand.

"Firemoons only happen once every thousand years, [Y/N]." The words were like being hit by a semi going full speed on the highway-- sudden, fatal, and unbelievable. "You cannot go home."

Everything suddenly seemed far away, like you were seeing this from someone else's perspective. Everything went quiet, at least to you. The world seemed to spin. You dropped to your knees, and you were vaguely aware of Blue-Eyes saying, "I am sorry..."

You didn't know what to do. I can't go home... I can't go home...

I can't go home.

Your breaths came in panicked, short bursts. Even if it killed you, you took off running. Maybe if you ran for long enough, you'd wake up from this nightmare. Then you could pretend you were in some fantasy world with your family this time. You expected to be shot in the back, but you heard Blue-Eyes shout an order in Elvish, and instead, about three or four individual Elves followed you. You don't know how long you ran; tears streamed from your cheeks. Your lungs burned. Your legs felt like Jello. You collapsed at one point, and screamed, though you couldn't hear it. You screamed until your throat was raw. You were vaguely aware of a few Elves nearby, but you ignored them.

All shall...

In all the chaos, it wasn't long before you blacked out.

...Fade...

~emo time skip~

When you woke up, it was midmorning. Birds chirped endlessly on, the happiest goddamned creatures in the world. A couple of Elves talked quietly amongst themselves in hushed voices and in Elvish. You were laying on your back, and somebody had covered you up in a blanket. The smell of something good-- not that anything was, at this point--filled the air. It smelled like cinnamon and walnuts, like Christmas.

With a sigh, you cracked your swollen eyes open. Legolas sat cross-legged beside you, checking his bowstring and polishing the wood. He smiled half-heartedly at you. "You are awake."

Obviously. You didn't say anything. You didn't want to talk. Or think. Legolas sighed, placing his bow across his lap. "We must head for the palace. My father will wonder what is keeping us."

Yeah, gotta kill me as quick as possible... Death is better than this, anyway.

Legolas gave the order, and the Elves started to pack up. You laid monotone and still for the length of it, until Blue-Eyes gave you the signal to get up. Then you walked slowly behind them, every step a chore. You'd barely reached the river, and you were exhausted. And still, that damned song was going through your head...

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

All shall fade...

You knew that your dream last night had been connected to this place, whatever it was. Did that mean this song was, too? You were half tempted to ask Blue-Eyes, but you decided you weren't worthy of talking to any of these fantastical fantasy beings, even if they were going to kill you in t-minus some hours.

The company suddenly halted. Blue-Eyes had a hand raised, and all the Elves's weapons had materialized in their hands. Blue-Eyes was quiet, listening...

An eerie howl cut through the trees, chilling you to your bones. Was that one of those big dogs that carried orcs? A horn followed the howl, and all the Elves strung their bows and readied their weapons. "Gundabad yrch!" Legolas proclaimed-- you were going to assume that yrch meant orcs. He went on to give a bunch of other orders, and the Elves took off running; if it were up to you, you'd've stopped running and let the dogs have you for dinner.

But apparently Legolas seen that, and grabbed your upper arm to drag you along beside him. Damn him... The rest of the Elves were suddenly ignoring Blue-Eyes's orders. Half of them went off into the trees in the direction of the horn and howl, and the other half formed a protective circle around him-- and you, coincidentally.

Blue-Eyes barked an order at them which they ignored, but all of you stopped short when you seen what awaited you on the far bank; the way back to the palace.

Six massive wargs, more wolflike than the ones from before, with orcs a hell of a lot uglier than the ones from before sitting atop their backs, with black bows and jagged, haphazard swords. In the direction the other Elves had gone, there was more howling. Shit. If you cared about your survival right now, you'd've been terrified. But you almost enjoyed the thought of death, if it hadn't been so gruesome.

Blue-Eyes scanned the bank. There were more orcs nearby, on foot, and several more wargs. One of the Elves moved faster than you could see, snatching a sleek gold horn on his hip and blowing hard before Legolas could stop him.

The Elf-- it was the one that'd found your hair dye repulsive the other day-- hardly got a note out before an arrow lodged itself in his throat. The note trailed off into a gurgle as blood sprayed from the wound. Droplets splattered onto you, and you recoiled; you'd never seen death. You'd been to a funeral once or twice, but never this. He fell backward, and the river swiftly carried his body away.

Legolas shouted an order, and the Elves readied themselves for battle. But there wouldn't be one just yet, despite the death of that Elf. The lead orc-- a nasty, pale gray orc with swollen eyes and a protruding mouth, tall and thick, his forehead covered in scars-- stepped off of his warg, which was bigger than the rest.

He came about halfway before stopping. "A truce?" One of the Elves asked-- Common was probably hard to speak for orcs, so they resorted to it to keep from being understood. It made sense.

Legolas didn't take his eyes off of the orc, but shook his head. "That is Bolg, spawn of Azog the Defiler. He would not make any truce with us, nor would any other orc. They are beyond reason, and think only of blood and death." Bolg... Azog... Now you really knew these names... But why?

"Albai," The orc snarled; his voice was deep. "Dorzog ajog lum trov!"

"Emme uva!" Legolas cried. "Sin nor yara ana Aran Thranduil!"

Thranduil... You knew that name. But the fact that they were conversing in orcish and Elvish was astounding. One must've came from the other, and you were just going to assume that it was the orcish that came from Elvish.

Bolg's already disgusting face scrunched up into a frown. "Vol lat diig!" The orc raised an arm; you recognized the movement as a signal to fire. The Elves scrambled around wildly yet gracefully to avoid the arrows, but you barely moved; an arrow got you right in the bare part of your upper arm, and another grazed your ear. Still, you didn't move, praying for one to hit you in the head or heart or something. You hardly felt the pain.

As the battle took place around you, you zoned out. You caught glimpses of a bloodied Elven corpse, or a dismembered orc, and of course, blood was everywhere. The river ran red. You just wished it would end...

A grunt nearby brought you out of your trance.

It was Blue-Eyes, being pinned down by a warg's paw on his chest, another on his left arm. He flipped the dagger in his good hand and stabbed it violently into the warg's shoulder. The beast howled in agony, but only pushed down harder; Legolas's eyes widened as he realized the knife was stuck. The warg snarled, and opened its jaws, savoring the taste of fear before it would bite down...

None of this is his fault. He shouldn't have to die.

The warg had dismissed you as unthreatening. One of the Elves lay dead on the rocks nearby, a longblade in her hand as she stared with unseeing eyes to the sky, mouth agape. You snatched the weapon from her already-stiffening grasp. It was heavy. But it was sharp as hell.

In two leaps, you'd reached the warg, which looked to you in confusion, then recognition, with a growl. You brought the sword down, slicing deep into the creature's face. It wailed in an echo of a voice, and released Legolas, pawing at the wound; Legolas whipped his bow out like an OP follower and shot that dog point blank.

You let go of the hilt, stunned. Blue-Eyes inclined his head. "You have my deepest thanks, [Y/N.]. You saved my life."

You just nodded in shock.

Legolas raced back into the battle, leaving you to your own. Another horn blew, this one like the one the Elf that'd been shot first had blown. A barrage of arrows flew from the trees, felling every orc and warg in seconds. Some grazed you, but none touched any of the surviving Elves.

A she-Elf in a dark green tunic, carrying a longbow, loped out of the woods with her comrades. She was beautiful, with red hair so long it went past her waist. "Legolas!" She cried, and he responded in Elvish; again, you couldn't understand what they were saying, and it was really starting to piss you off.

"[Y/N]," Blue-Eyes called to you, and you belatedly looked up. He and the ginger were approaching you sollemnly. "This is Tauriel, Captain of the Guard. She will take you back to the palace and explain what happened here." Ah... Death at last.

"Tauriel," Legolas turned to her; something shone in his eyes. You recognized his spark, but not hers, but the thought quickly left your head when you registered what he was saying. "Tell my father that they saved my life."

"What?" Tauriel looked impressed, and bowed her head to you. "You have my thanks, mellon."

"Perhaps he will spare them from execution in repayment," Legolas pointed out, and Tauriel made an 'o' face.

She bowed respectfully. "I will make sure of it, my prince."

Wut.

Oh, right. Blue-Eye's dad was Lord Fabulous, king of these Elves. Of course that'd make him a prince. Prince Legolas Gr... Of the Wood... Rea... The thought was like an echo. You couldn't catch it.

Legolas nodded to you, and Tauriel lead you away from the carnage of the river battlefield.

~time skip~

"Saving my son does not grant you my utmost favor," Lord Fabulous glared down at you like you were a nasty piece of gum he'd stepped on in flip-flops. "But it does warrant some form of reward. I am sure you wish for your execution to be cancelled?"

On autopilot, you nodded. You didn't want to die, but you didn't want to live. You just wished you'd never have existed in the first place, that way none of this would've happened.

Lord Fabulous Elvenking snorted, like he was hoping you'd just ask for cake before you were beheaded. "Of course. Take them to their cell."

Tauriel wasn't as rough as Legolas, or even any of the guards had been, but she still held you firmly. "Would you like a change of clothes? I could also arrange for a washbasin to be brought to you."

You just nodded. Couldn't you just dissipate? But, if it'd taken nineteen years for this wish to come true, then it'd take another nineteen years for you to disappear. You were an Elf now, so that should pass in one painful blink of an eye...

"I am sorry that you could not find the portal," Tauriel told you as she locked the door to your cell. "I will have the guards bring you something to eat at once."

You laid down on your cot, curled up, and closed your eyes. You heard the guard come and deliver the food, then leave quietly, but you still didn't move. You didn't move when Tauriel brought you clothes and a bucket of water and rags, you didn't move when Blue-Eyes came to thank you again, you didn't move when a rat came and took your cheese. You just laid there, staring and feeling dead on the inside.

You refused to eat or drink for the next few days. You slept, mostly. When you were awake, you were crying silently. You dreamed of your family. You grieved. Your muscles cramped from sleeping in one position for days. Your stomach felt like it was going to eat you alive. Your mouth was as dry as sandpaper. A hollow ache had settled in the core of your torso, between your heart and lungs; a pulsing orb of sadness, regret, and the wish to disappear. A couple of times, you passed out from hunger while laying down. But you were an Elf, so it'd be hard for you to starve.

You kept count of the days by the cycle of guards exchanging meals. Every tray held different things for different mealtimes: fruits and bread for breakfast, cheese and bread for lunch, and a thick vegetable soup for dinner. About nine days went by before anyone came to check on you, and by that point, you were hysterical on the inside. On the outside, you were catatonic.

And you reeked, because you hadn't had a shower in like, awhile.

After two battles.

So you weren't at your best.

"My guards tell me you refuse to sustain yourself." It was Blue-Eyes. "Do you realize how much of an offense that is to his majesty? He allows you to live, and yet you seek death out deliberately."

You said nothing. Hell, your eyes didn't even move. With a sigh, Blue-Eyes moved to your bedside. "Ah, I see you have also refused to bathe..." You didn't crack a smile. Even on the inside, you hardly felt a twinge of amusement. You felt... Empty.

Legolas surprised you by placing a hand on your cheek. "You miss them, don't you?"

Tears welled in your eyes. Dammit stop making me have feels. Ah, but feels you had, my friend, and you started bawling into your pillow. Legolas shushed you, and petted your head and told you it would be alright. You don't know how long you cried, but at one point, Legolas and Tauriel switched places, even though she clearly didn't want to and sucked at emotional talking.

When it was Legolas's turn again, you'd finally gotten to the nearly-finished state of hyperactive wheezing. "How long were you holding that in, I wonder?" You still didn't answer. He gave you a sympathetic smile. "You saved my life. Let me help you save yours. Get up. You will eat, even if I must force it down your throat, and once you're full, you'll bathe. After, I will take you for a tour of Mirkwood. You'll be living here, now... I suppose it's only right you learn how to navigate your homeland."

Finally, it clicked.

"Wh...What did you say...?" Your voice was hoarse from underuse and crying, but it still worked.

Legolas gave you a concerned look, like that much crying might've damaged your hearing. "I said I will take you for a tour of Mirkwood--"

You sat up; too fast, but you sat up. Your sugar dropped. But you had to know. "Mirkwood... Where is that?"

Legolas frowned. "East of the Misty Mountains, west of Erebor, home to the dwarves and the King Under the Mountain. North of Ithilien, Gondor, and northeast to Lothlorien, Ithilien, and Rohan."

Oh fuck.

"Wh-what is this place called? In general? Collectively? Like, the whole continent?"

Legolas seemed to finally realize that you were crazy. "Middle-Earth."

Oh hell.

"Holy shit..."

"What is it?"

You couldn't remember it clearly. Hell, you could hardly remember it at all. But what you did remember finally made sense. Tolkien's fantasy masterpiece that no one can surpass... The Hobbit... Lord of The Rings... The Fellowship... Smaug, Thorin, Bilbo... Aragorn, Arwen... Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel... Oh gods, Legolas! "I-I... The books... Oh, gods..."

"Mellon...?"

You promptly fell face-first off the bed before any half-assed explanation could be given to poor Golden Boy.

"[Y/N]?!"

...

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

And there are many paths to tread...

Through shadow, to the edge of night...

Until the stars are all alight...

Mist and shadow...

Cloud and shade...

All shall fade...

All shall...

...Fade...

Tag List: @tesserphantom @thedragonghostofmordor

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years

Text

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 4

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in the fantasy world you had no recollection of, your memory was jogged after weeks of depression: this land was Middle-Earth. A council of wizards and Elves was summoned, and Thranduil expressed his wishes of wanting you gone. Elrond agreed to take you in and Gandalf was excited to share in his adventures with someone who knew nothing of the world, quite like a Hobbit, but you wanted to stay in Mirkwood, with Legolas and Tauriel, of which you'd made friends with. Legolas leaves in three days to locate the orcs who enroach upon Mirkwood's northern flank, and the council sees this as a chance for you to prove your worth. If you fail, you are to leave Mirkwood...

Chapter No.: Chapter 4

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I want to thank all my readers for their feedback, likes, and reblogs! I'm only on Chapter 4 and all of you combined have made me feel really good about my writing. I've gotta admit, I was a little scared of going through with this multi-chapter fic at first, because while a few people really liked and enjoyed my stories on DeviantArt, they never got the reception The Art of Being an Eldar has. I just thought my writing sucked for the most part. Thank you all so much!

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

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words. Rating: Teen (14+) for now

"You what?"

Apparently Leggy didn't comprehend the concept of being accompanied by a suddenly Elvish human from another dimension.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you repeated, "I said, I'm coming with you when you leave for your orc-hunting mission."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "And who gave you permission to do this?"

"The council, that's who. So suck it up buttercup, I'm coming with your sorry ass."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Very well. Tell me, aside from randomly swinging a sword, do you know anything about weaponry?"

You raised an eyebrow. Shit, you'd have to fight? "No, but I can say a mouthful of greetings in Elvish."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Nin ista, Sairen, but words are not mightier than fighting skill in battle."

You scoffed. "I can think of a pretty famous phrase from my world that totally contradicts that..."

Legolas shook his head as he sauntered past you, down the stairs of the bridge you'd found him on. The sounds of his bows and knife sheaths clanking together as he walked relaxed you. "Of course you do, mellon." He paused to look at you. "Are you not coming? We leave in three days. If you are intent on coming with me, surely you cannot believe I will let you go without even so much as learning the proper way to stab an opponent?"

You made a face, but followed him anyway. "I know how to stab."

"How, then?" He gestured to you pointedly and crossed his arms.

"Um..." You mimed the gesture you'd probably use while stabbing an orc in the guts. "Like... This? With a twist?"

"That may work if your enemy has the weak skin and flesh of a human, or even on an Elf," He pointed out, "But we are fighting orcs, Sairen. Their hide is as thick as that of a boar, and their flesh is equally so." With a flourish, he flipped out one of his long knives. He paused in handing it to you. "I am not letting you keep this, mellon. My mother gave them to me."

You froze in reaching for the weapon. "You have a mother?"

Legolas chuckled at your wide-eyed expression. "You thought I did not?"

You stiffened before hurriedly turning away. "No! Of course not! Why would you think that?!"

Legolas laughed as he followed you. "Well, I do have one. She has been away on the other end of the palace-city. I should introduce you to her."

"Is she as fabulous as your dad?" You ran the tip of your index finger along your eyebrows. "And maybe even with the same super dark eyebrows?"

Legolas smiled. "No, no. She is perfectly beautiful."

"So you're saying your dad's not?"

"What?"

"Nothing." You waved a hand. "Where's the training grounds again?"

Legolas grinned evilly. "Well, your training begins now, Sairen. See if you can actually get to said training grounds without killing yourself on that blade."

Your jaw fell. "Are you fucking kidding me?! That's child's play! Don't you think I already know how to not do that?!"

"That is a double negative sentence, but no, I do not believe you already know this skill." Blue-Eyes shot you another grin. "Besides, we are not taking the average path to the training grounds. They are outside of the palace, after all. We will go out and around, on the hardest path imaginable. For a human, they would be entirely impassable."

You stared up at him dumbly. "Uh... Do... Do you even realize I spent the last nineteen years of my life around people with the mindset of shit water I might die because I'm a-- I was a-- human? Also, I was never agile. I won't be able to make it over a log, if it's big enough."

Blue-Eyes gave you a disapproving look. "Do the humans of your world never traverse nature?"

You pretended to think about that

"Hm... Let me see... Uhm... Yeah, nope, pretty much never, unless you're one of those super outdoorsey kinds of people, and the true ones of those are rare. For instance, most usually wear really tight clothes and walk through parks with stone paths and everything primped to perfect condition so that nobody even gets grazed by a dandelion, and everything's sprayed to keep the bugs away and animals are limited to squirrels and bunnies, then they wanna act like they just walked the fuckin' Sahara Desert without water. Real outdoor people are rare. Steve Irwin? Real. Bear Grylls? Real. Josh Gates? Real. Hell, when I was a very tiny little girl I used to watch a kid's show with two brothers who pretty much lived in the jungle. But out of everybody, those are the ones I can think of right off the top of my head. Them, and the few tribal races still out there."

Blue-Eyes made a surprised face. "Well... I am glad you got a chance to experience what real life is like."

"Thank you, Blue-Eyes." You'd reached the front gates of the palace, which were opened by a couple of those ninja Elf guys. You and Legolas walked on through, and into the forest, with its pink and amber leaves, down here, nullified into black and gray, piling up in the muck of the forest floor.

You'd been surprised when you'd seen this part of Mirkwood. Apparently, only the northern half was unaffected, but the rest of the once-spectacular Greenwood the Great was now victim to a strange plague, orc attacks from the north, and giant spider infestations from the south, from an ancient ruin called Dol Goldur. Animals no longer lived here, the rivers had mostly gone thick with filth, and the trees rotted and groaned in agony. The forest would confuse you, threaten to swallow you up and make you lose your way...

If you weren't an Elf.

Luckily for you and ol' Leggy, the two of you were Elves, and he had been raised here. If you stuck close to him, you'd be fine, even if the forest did manage to confuse you. He could hardly remember a time when the slow-acting plague hadn't been part of some region of the forest, and Tauriel had told you that he was 2, 371 years old. That was a long time for a forest to be sick.

"What even caused Mirkwood to get sick? Do you even know?"

"It is a nameless malice," Blue-Eyes replied, stopping all show-offy on a thick, low-hanging bough that precariously hung over a small gorge. "The darkness stems from Dol Goldur. Now, there are rumors; rumors of a necromancer, who resides in the ruins of that ancient fort."

"Necromancer?" That hardly sounded good. In anything where it was used, necromancer usually meant one who raises dead. "That doesn't sound good. Have you investigated it?"

"Of course not," Blue-Eyes gave you an odd look, like you'd just suggested he drink out of the toilet or something. You struggled to get up the side of a log he'd just casually hopped onto. "Why should we? They are merely rumors, and the forest has been sick for a long, long while. Still... This darkness unsettles me, as it does to all Sindar whom reside here."

"Dude, then maybe you should check the fuckin ruins," You mumbled, but he ignored you and continued hopping around from flowertop to flowertop. You just trampled noisily and clumsily along behind him. "Don't you guys like, live for light? So shouldn't you see if the ruins really do have a necromancer now? Especially since this dark ooze comes from it?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head. "King Thranduil does not wish for time to be wasted on rumors when we have other matters to deal with."

"Oh, so you mean he's too busy having everybody vote on which crown of berries goes best with his eyebrows."

"What?"

"Nothing. You Elves are just stupid."

Legolas grinned. "Well, humans are equally intellectually challenged."

You paused in chasing after him, stunned. He turned to face you when he didn’t hear you following. "Did you seriously just do that?"

"Do what?"

"You literally just used big words to sound smart." You laughed theatrically. "Oh! Pardon me, fine companion, I meant to implicate that you utilize gargantuan idioms to fabricate intelligence."

He smiled slightly as you finally made it up beside him. "I suppose you are not so daft," He relented teasingly, "Otherwise you would not even have those words in your vocabulary."

You made a face and rolled your eyes. "Whatever, blondie."

The training grounds were closer than you remembered, even taking the roundabout route. Along the way, though, you'd fallen into a bog, got your face scratched up by evil tree branches, and tumbled head-over-heels down a steep ravine, getting battered and bruised all over your body.

Apparently Middle-Earth-- Mirkwood specifically-- was prone to give previously non-Elvish members of other worlds injuries.

You made quite a show; barreling through a thorn bush and landing flat on your face right on the edge of the training grounds. You heard all the Elves turn their weapons on you, in case you were an orc, but then they seen your sorry ass, and Leggy casually coming down the steep ridge as if it was just a flight of stairs.

"Mae govannen," Said Legolas cheerfully to the Elves. Casually, he picked up his knife, which you'd thrown away from you halfway down so you didn't impale yourself at any point during the fall. Still, it'd skittered down alongside you. "Sairen, it seems you've failed this test."

"I dropped it on the goddamn border..."

"Nevertheless," Blue-Eyes ignored your response. "We are here now, and forfeiting other forms of training for the sake of redoing one failed task is pointless. You will learn as much as you can here, until I say we stop."

You finally moved, trying to at least sit up on your elbows. "It's only noon. We've got till nightfall, yeah? I can do that. No problem."

Legolas grinned down at you. "Mellon, you are of the Eldar now. You are stronger than before and do not need sleep unless you wish to dream."

"I don't what?!"

"Elves do not sleep unless we have been injured and need to heal," He replied, and grabbed you by the underarms to help you up. "We are stronger and more resilient than the race of Men. You are no longer imprisoned by the necessities of the human body."

Instant headrush slammed into you. "Apparently not all human body shit..."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you speak of?"

"Headrush, dammit."

"Oh," He grew amused. "Do you mean the Blackness? Unfortunately, that befalls us all."

You glared daggers at him.

Another Elf approached, with a slender face and long brown hair. "My lord, most of the training grounds are taken up. You may yet have mine, if you wish so."

Legolas smiled. "Ah, my thanks. [Y/N], this is one of the Elves that accompanied Lord Elrond here, Lindir."

You extended your hand. "Nice to meet you."

Both Blue-Eyes and Lindir looked at your hand in confusion. Lindir, with a glance to Legolas, slowly tried to hand you his bow. With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you realized they didn't even understand what a handshake was. "No no no, sorry; that's called a handshake. It's what two people do when they meet each other where I come from. I didn't mean to confuse you. SO." You bowed in the Elvish way. "Mae govannen, Lindir of House Elrond."

Lindir and Blue-Eyes smiled. Lindir returned your bow. "Mae govannen, [Y/N] of House Thranduil."

"Lindir will be accompanying us to trace the orcs, and Erestor of Rivendell," Said Legolas, "As will another of our own house, Elros; I believe you have met him already. He was the Elf who lead you to the councilroom. From Lothlorien is a friend of mine, Haldir, and of course, with the other Elven Lords aiding us, Mithrandir feels he should send his own aid as well..."

Lindir's eyes widened. "Do not tell me..."

Blue-Eyes nodded seriously. "He is sending Naughrim to accompany us."

"Naughrim?" You asked. Of all names, that didn't sound familiar. "Who's that? Somebody not well-liked among Elves?"

Blue-Eyes fought a smile. Lindir answered you. "Mellon, Naughrim is our tongue for dwarves."

Your mouth formed an 'o' in recognition. "Ohhhh, now I get it. Elves and dwarves hate each other for no explainable reason. Got it. Who's he sending?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head in exasperation. "They are all of Erebor. Balin and Dwalin, two are named, and of the other, he is the most insufferable of dwarves; Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. Mithrandir believes that this will be a good experience for him as it is for us, but he refuses to come himself. He's all but forcing the situation."

You looked from Blue-Eyes to Lindir and back. "How can he force you? Dwarves and Elves are both stubborn beyond all reason, and none of you seem to take him seriously."

Legolas shook his head and pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, Dwalin is as good a tracker as any, and Ada is not permitting many of the Sindar on this journey for the reason that we are merely meant to find where the yrch dwell, and go no further. We will need all the aide we can find, even if it is in the form of unwilling dwarves. As for them, he has promised treasure, the details of which I know not; I can only hope it is not any of ours he has promised them." He smiled at you. "Shall we?"

Before you could follow, he walked off; you glanced to Lindir questioningly. "...Ada? Who's that?"

Lindir smiled softly. "It means father. He is referring to King Thranduil."

"Oh. Now I feel stupid."

"Do not, mellon, for the language of the Elves is not easily learned unless you were born speaking the tongue."

With a roll of your shoulders, which ached, you followed Leggy.

***

"Ow, goddamn it, and goddamn you, you stupidly perfect Elf."

At the end of the day, you'd been cut, pricked, whipped by a bowstring, nicked, dinged, and all kinds of other small injuries that added up to one big mess of drying blood and bruises.

Blue-Eyes had had you train deep into the night, until the silvery waning moon had all but left the star-filled sky. Now, as the sunrise approached, you both sat on two convenient boulders, and he bandaged your bloodied hands. In the eerie half-dawn light, he looked ethereal, and his pale hands and silver tunic sleeves compared to your now dark-with-blood-and-mud-and-bruises hands and black sleeves was a huge contrast. Your hands shook slightly, aching and stinging and pained on various sorts of levels, while his were perfectly steady as he wrapped them in soft green leaves.

"Stop shaking, mellon," Legolas told you gently.

"What was that?" Your head snapped up. "Are you feeling sorry for me? Don't feel sorry for me! This is nothing! I've been shot in the calf by an orcish arr--OW!"

The leaves had drawn too tight and released some kind of juice that stung like hell. His hands hovered over yours. "My apologies, but it draws out the infection."

"What infection?!"

"You are not yet used to your Elven body yet," Blue-Eyes replied, looking into your eyes. "Since you are the equivalent of a newborn, I would say you are very susceptible to infections, sickness, and injuries."

You looked off dramatically into the distance. "That explains why I can't stop fucking getting hurt..."

"That it does," He smiled at you, and something pulsed in your chest. Da fuck... You fought a flush. He stood, then held out his hand to you. "Shall we return to the palace? You may rest until sunhigh, and then we will continue your training." You took his hand, and he helped you up; you stumbled into his chest, and backed up quickly. He took no notice, but patted your shoulder before going to retrieve his bow and quiver. "You did well today, Sairen, even if you frightened off half of the other Sindar and Silvan training here."

You made a face. "Pfft. They just can't handle my awesomeness."

"If you say so, mellon," He said, and started to take the easy way back, to your relief. You followed closely behind him.

You looked up at the stars as you walked in silence for awhile, until finally, you broke it. Of course, you broke anything, really... "Where I come from, they say there's a star for every soul that's passed away."

Legolas glanced to you, then followed your gaze wistfully. "That is something our two worlds have in common."

"Scientifically," You added, "They're spheres of hot air and gaseous materials wound up tight by gravity that glow and put off heat, but the idea always felt nice to me... But where I come from... You also can't see the stars."

Blue-Eyes halted in his tracks as if you'd just said someone murdered his mother. "I... What? You can't see the stars?!" He actually looked genuinely horrified by that idea.

You shook your head. "No. Humans... They've polluted the atmosphere too much. Filled it with trash, and man-made lights and even remnants of smoke... You can't see them."

He watched you even as you watched the stars. "I've never seen them like this... They're beautiful." You could see bands of galaxies and clouds of distant nebulae, and the small silver fires glittered in the billions, even as the pink-orange glow of the beginning of dawn was starting to show in the east. You were in awe.

You jumped when Legolas took your hand. "What?"

He smiled at you. "Come with me. I will show you one of the best stargazing places in all of Mirkwood."

"Thranduil's pavilion?"

"Better."

"Whoa. Dude, count me in."

He lead you off of the trail, deep into the woods, through the easiest ways that probably were a pain for him, but he did it anyway. Finally, you stopped at the base of a massive tree, stretching so far up you couldn't see its top. Its trunk was pockmarked with holes and vines, and after slinging his bow onto his back, he threw you a smile over his smile. "Come, Sairen."

You couldn't help but smile back. You climbed, quickly, all the way up, past the canopy, into the uppermost branches of the tree, where the copper-gold leaves thinned out to allow for one thick branch to get a view of the night sky. The branch was thick enough across to allow for two or three people to sit side-by-side against the trunk, and Blue-Eyes sat quickly as he helped you up.

Here, no branches obscured any part of your field of view. You got a perfect view of the sunrise, and the starry sky. "Holy shit..."

You felt him put an arm around you, and you stiffened, just before he breathed in your ear, "I will not let you fall from this tree, Sairen. You've only just arrived in this world, and should another portal be below that is activated by a beautiful sunrise, I am loathe to let you go, for there is so much I want to show you..." The sun burst over the distant mountains beyond Erebor, sending fiery orange and red across the sky. "Such as this. Your world does not sound as if it could have any sunrise as wonderful as this one."

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest as you watched the sunrise, jaw slack. "No... Not like this."

Legolas smiled, and finally turned his focus to it himself. Your eyes slowly dragged off of the beautiful scenery to look at the Elf beside you, and the warm feeling worsened; your heart started fluttering. Eldar only fall in love once... Galadriel had warned you.

...Shit.

A blush crawled up your face, and you tried your hardest to focus on the sky rather than the Elvish princeling pressed close against your side.

***

"Mae govannen, [Y/N] of the Woodland Realm," Greeted Lindir kindly as you approached the group of Elves gathering in front of the front gates.

"Mae govannen, Lindir of Rivendell," You replied with a smile. The Elvish greetings rolled off your tongue easily now. After the sunrise you and Blue-Eyes had watched together, you'd spent the last two days training at obscene hours and resting. Now, finally, the group of Elves leaving to track the orcs were gathering-- there were only about fifty in total, of which there were those wearing Woodland garments, the red-and-gold of Lothlorien, and the greens, purples, and browns of Rivendell. Apparently Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond didn't agree with Thranduil sending what would've only been a dozen to track some very dangerous orcs.

You heard several of them muttering to each other about Naughrim, something all of them had in common.

You swung your light traveling pack off of your shoulders and by your feet, scanning the crowd for a certain platinum-blonde head-- unfortunately, most of the Elves from Lothlorien had blonde hair. You looked at Lindir. "Where's Legolas?"

Lindir glanced around. "He is on his way, I am sure. After all, it is he and Haldir whom are leading this journey."

You nodded. "I've never packed for something like this before... I hope I didn't pack anything weird or forget something."

Lindir looked confused, then recognition flashed across his face. "Oh. Forgive me, I had forgotten you do not have this experience. Tell me, what did you pack?"

You shifted your weight nervously, and lowered your voice. "Uhh... Two extra pairs of clothes in case these get ruined, some extra food, even though I've noticed I don't have to eat as much as before, and some water. Then there's these," You gestured to your back, where a quiver and longbow hung from your back. You felt its weight all too strongly, and that of the sword on your hip and the knives on your thighs. "And some of those special leaves that're used for bandages."

Lindir smiled and placed a hand on your shoulder. "Mellon, you have packed what we all have, and lightly, as well."

You smiled. "Thanks. Just consider yourself lucky that I don't know how to read Elvish, or I would've packed a book or two to keep me company."

Lindir chuckled and stepped back. "Well, for now, I am glad of it. On this journey you will learn much, hopefully, and by the time we return, you may be able to speak more of Elvish. It is harder to learn to read it, I have heard, much harder."

You ran a finger over your chin in thought. "I wonder if Thranduil would let me go to Dale or Laketown to get some books in English..."

"Forgive me," Lindir looked confused. "I do not know what that is."

You realized what you'd said a second too late. "Oh! Sorry. Where I come from, Common is just referred to as English."

"Oh, I see now. I am sure he would, and if he does not yet, then perhaps one of the Woodland Elves could bring some back for you. What of Legolas? Are you not friends?"

You blushed. "Yeah, I hope so. I've never been very good at making friends, though. Nobody's ever really liked me." You realized Lindir was staring at you with an absolutely terrified expression. Your own eyes widened in alarm, and you frantically patted your face. "What?! Is there something on my face?!"

Lindir shook his head. "I-I am not sure. Your skin has suddenly gone red, as if burned. Are you ill?"

"Uhhh..."

You were spared the embarrassment of explaining blushing by all the Elves gathered suddenly gasping and bowing in the direction of the stairs. Lindir saw the cause before you did, and his jaw fell. "By all the Valar..." He bowed deeply, and you followed his motion, but not before catching a glimpse of who it was. Thranduil, of course, and Legolas, following a she-Elf in a tunic that looked as if it were made of starlight itself, with flowing white hair and alabaster skin.

"Ui!" Shouted Thranduil irritably. "Ni telima lume, autauva!"

You leaned closer to Lindir. "What did he say?"

"He is forbidding her to join us," He answered quickly.

The she-Elf whipped around, generating a power almost as strong as Galadriel's. Legolas stepped forward. "Amal... Mecin."

She shook her head. "Yon, venno, nin carindo ier nin indo. Alye uva pusta ni."

"What did she say about pasta?" You whispered.

"Sh!" Lindir said quickly.

The woman looked at Thranduil and Legolas lovingly, before approaching Thranduil and placing both hands on his face. Thranduil closed his eyes in regret, and the woman kissed him; you looked away, embarrassed. That was the Elvenqueen.

That was Legolas's mother.

"Melinyel, Thranduil, alye ista si."

Thranduil sighed. "Melinyel, mela... Mecin ea girthonwed."

With that, Legolas reluctantly took his mother's hand and lead her down the stairs. They disappeared in the crowd, until you heard the Elvenqueen's voice. "Rise, all of you." Unsure, the Elves rose one-by-one. "Which of you hail from far places, whom rescued my son Legolas Greenleaf from the fate of an early death?"

The Eldar glanced to one another, realized it wasn't their neighbor, and slowly, like somebody who'd gotten called out in class, you were being stared at, and a path was made between you and her majesty, while Legolas stood beside her.

You swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. Lindir patted your shoulder. "You have been summoned, mellon. Go, I will make sure your pack does not get swapped with someone else's."

You tried to look and walk confidently, but you were terrified. She was beautiful and indimidating, and you had to admit, you were definitely intimidated. When you reached her, you bowed as deeply and respectfully as you could, a fist over your heart. "Elen sila lumenn omentielvo, your majesty." You didn't know what else to say. What you'd said to Galadriel and Celeborn was the most respectful thing you knew in Elvish, and you'd never been in the presence of royalty.

"You come from another world," She looked down at you indifferently, and you suddenly felt very small and very weak with everybody's eyes on you. This was nothing like Thranduil's fabulously indifferent look. "Yet still, you saved my son's life. After, you make the presumption that you can live and walk among us as one of us, freely, unburdened, merely because you came here by happenstance and you were allowed the reward of living. Do you feel as if this is the correct course of action for you to take?"

You glanced to Legolas, absolutely horrified. "Y-your majesty..." Your hot-headed tongue, a lot more toned down, popped into existence. "I saved your son's life because he didn't deserve to die. I was given the freedom to live, and to repay that, I mean to make the most of my time here by helping in whatever ways that I can. King Thranduil has given me the chance to prove myself worthy of living here by allowing me to join in hunting for the orcs. If I fail, I will leave Mirkwood, and go with Lord Elrond to Rivendell."

Legolas's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, before going back to their normal selves; he looked to you with almost a sadness, but you couldn't figure out why. Elvenqueen smiled, as if proud. "Then you are not what the rumours of your world have made you out to be. You are humble and grateful, qualities I did not expect from one of this Earth. You possess a unique personality, [Y/N]. Tell me, who are your parents, so that I may refer to you properly?"

"I have no father," You said quickly, relieved that she was just trying to scare you. "None I care to speak about. But I do have a mother, who I love very much. Her name is [M/N]."

Elvenqueen smiled. "Very well, [Y/N], child of [M/N]. Here, we, all of us, have a secondary name, such as my son; Legolas Greenleaf. During this journey, you may earn your own."

You smiled back, relieved beyond relief that she'd decided not to kick your ass for existing. "My thanks, your majesty."

She sailed away regally, and Legolas shot you a glare. "Why did you not tell me you would be leaving us?" He demanded.

You balked. "I-I said if I failed..."

"And you are most likely to do so," He snapped, sending your heart and soul plummeting to roughly the center of Middle-Earth. Without another word, he followed his mother.

"Mellon?" Said Lindir from behind. You turned around; He held his bag and yours, which you gratefully took from him.

"Thanks," You said, but your eyes followed Legolas's back as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Is everything alright?"

"Just fine," You shrugged. You were used to being abandoned.

Lindir looked doubtful. "Very well, if you say so. May I introduce you to those you will be most judged by?"

"Sure."

He took you through the crowd, to the guy who helped you find the councilroom. "Ah, [Y/N]. Mae govannen."

You bowed your head and returned the greeting to Elros in a monotone voice. "So your name is Elros?"

"Yes," He replied. "Son of Elrond."

If you were taking a drink of water, you'd've spewed it everywhere. "Huh? But isn't Rivdendell like, waaay over the Misty Mountains?"

Elros chuckled. "Yes, but those of the Eldar cannot always remain in one place. We yearn for far places, and even farther shores. Long years I have spent in the halls of my father, but I left for Mirkwood when my sister, Arwen Evenstar, left for Lothlorien, to spend a time with our mother's mother, Galadriel."

Your eyes were wide. "Galadriel is a grandma?! Your grandma?!"

Lindir and Elros looked at each other in amusement. "Elves," Said Lindir, "Live forever, so long as we are not killed by injury, or the wounds of the heart."

"Wounds of the heart?" You echoed.

"When love remains unrequited, it is sometimes too much to bear," Replied Elros, "And the victim suffers long before dying of a broken heart. Oftentimes, it is when a wife perishes during childbirth, or when war or battle takes the life of a beloved, and their souls pass into the Halls of Mandos. I still worry for my father, even though my mother has long since passed due to child-sickness."

Your eyes widened. "I'm so sorry."

Elros raised a hand. "She is at peace now. She resides in the halls where her mother lives, and many of my kin who have long since passed on."

"Is Elrond gonna be okay?" Now you were worried. You didn't even know the guy (Even though you probably knew him before your amnesia.) but you didn't want him to die of heartbreak. He was being nice to you, and offering you a place to live if Thranduil decided to be more of an ass.

"He is strong," Lindir assured you, and partially Elros. "He is stout of heart and fierce of soul. He will live long yet, that I can assure you with the utmost certainty."

Together, Lindir and Elros took you to where another dark-haired Elf in the Rivendell attire spoke with a Lothlorien Elf in red-and-gold armor. White hair was braided away from his stern face. Elros said something in Elvish, getting their attention, and they both bowed to you. "[Y/N], child of [M/N], may I introduce you to Erestor, Chief Counselman of Elrond, and Haldir of Lothlorien."

"Mae govannen," They both said.

Haldir regarded you warily. "I have heard you come from far lands, one beyond even Arda."

You tried not to look stupid. "Arda?"

"This world upon which we live," Haldir clarified.

"Oh!" Now you knew what they were talking about. "You mean this whole planet? Mine never had a cool name; Earth, that's it, with a bunch of different countries on it. Are there countries besides Middle-Earth here?"

Erestor chuckled. "Yes. There is Beleriand, just the remains of it, to the farthest west. Also in the west lie the Gray Havens, and across the Sea are the Undying Lands of Aman, far from Endor-- that is to say, collectively, Middle-Earth and Beleriand."

"Oh, cool! Where I come from, nowhere has cool names anymore, except for maybe Dubai, Greece, and Rome. In the past, there were hardly ever cool places, except for Egypt and Babylon."

The four Elves around you glanced to each other in amusement, as if you were a child just learning new things; and you pretty much were...

"Haldir," Said a familiar voice, and you perked up as Blue-Eyes stepped through the crowd. Your heart sank as he completely avoided your gaze. Damn, you should be used to this kinda shit by now. One small thing and someone abandons you. "We go to meet the dwarves. You have told your party, yes?"

"Of course, mellon."

"As have I," Added Erestor as Blue-Eyes went to ask. "None of us may like this, but it the word of a Maiar, of which the Noldor still yet revere. Worry not, Legolas."

Blue-Eyes nodded, glanced to you, and walked back through the suddenly-departing crowd as the doors opened. You hefted up your bag further onto your shoulder. "Mmkay, Lindir?" You fell into step with the purple-clad Elf.

"What is it?"

"Questions. Lots of them. What the hell is a Mayan and a No-door?"

Lindir chuckled. "Maiar, and Noldor. The Noldor are the oldest of the Elves. The Maiar are wizards, servants of the Valar; such as Saruman, Mithrandir, and Radagast."

"They met gods?"

"Yes," Said Lindir doubtfully, eyeing you. "Do the people of your world not know of their gods?"

You scoffed dryly. "You kidding me? Almost everybody believes in some bearded guy in white floating through existence and pointing to a random spot, then saying 'Let there be light!' Bam, universe created. Others have much more gruesome stories; like in Norse, Odin and his two brothers cut up a giant to create the world. Then there was Egyptian, where two godly people representing the earth and sky consummated and BAM, universe created again. They all say the gods came from the sky, which others believe to be aliens-- people from other planets entirely-- but I've always been an atheist."

"And what does that mean?"

"That I don't believe a goddamn word of any of that 'god' shit."

"You should not speak of them so, for they hear all."

"Yuck. Let's hope they don't find somebody on their wedding night."

Lindir's eyes bugged out of his head. "That was... Sudden."

You grinned. "I'm like that. Get used to it, Lindy."

He frowned. "My name is Lindir."

"I know that," You laughed. "It's a nickname. It's a sign of friendship."

Lindir smiled. "Oh. Then we are friends, then?"

"Sure! I've never been friends with so many people before!" You looked ahead excitedly, waving when you seen Legolas glaring at you. So what if he was pissed? You'd make him un-pissed.

Lindir gave you a sad look. "But you have only befriended Legolas and myself."

"And Tauriel."

"Still, that is only three people." He looked genuinely confused. "Do the people of your world not believe in friendship either?"

You sighed. "Not really. They're more interested in betrayal. Me, personally, I've had it all. Betrayal, death, abandonment... I've gone through some shitty times, that's for sure. One catastrophe after the next. One painful step at a time through it. I've been through hell and back, been shattered like glass and looked death in the eye, and somehow, I'm still standing. Sometimes it feels like I've lived a thousand lifetimes in only nineteen years." You gave him a sideways smile before looking back ahead of you, trying to block all of the flashbacks...

Lindir regarded you with newfound admiration. "I can... See it, in your eyes. I believe all of us can. The things that you have endured are marked on your stride, and not many could recover from what you have recently gone through so quickly. A human with your strength is... Unheard of."

You laughed. "Yeah, 'cause now I'm an Elf!"

Lindir laughed too then, as did a few other Elves and she-Elves near to you-- as you walked out of the doors of Mirkwood's palace, you got this strange, tingly sensation in your core... The odd feeling of people laughing with you, not at you. The feeling of not being judged. Of people realizing you've been through hell. Of people not automatically striking you onto their enemy list because you're different.

As you moved into the north, the light filtering through the leaves was golden, and everything seemed at once surreal and ethereal. But aside from those two feelings, you felt one stronger than any other. You smiled as you looked around at your new friends in this new world, which still felt so familiar. You were happier than you'd ever been. Even though you'd miss your family, you were glad the portal had been closed.

And there are many paths to tread...

Through shadow, to the edge of night...

Until the stars are all alight...

You passed Blue-Eyes, who'd climbed a tree to scout, and when he seen your awestruck, childlike expression, even he, who was currently pissed at you, couldn't help but smile at down at you. You smiled back. That warm feeling returned.

Finally, I'm where I belong.

I'm...

I’m...home.

Tag List: @tesserphantom @thedragonghostofmordor @hauntedsiriel @reclusive-chicken-nugget @naryamirie @legolasdeserveslove @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @sagabriar @brushwood-souls @taurlel

If anybody wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Extra Notes: Elvish is SO FUCKING HARD. And yes I put the Elvenqueen in this. And dwarves are inbound. Don't guess the plotline, just DON'T.

Fun Facts: In Old Nordic mythology, there was a forest known as Mirkwood. There was also a dwarf called Durin, who created the line of the most power dwarfs, some of which, just to name a few, were Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dvalin, Balin, Oin, Oakenshield, and Gandalf. There were also many types of Elves-- Ljosalfar were the Light Elves, and Dokkalfar were the Dark Elves. In general, Elves were known as Alfar, and they lived in Alfheimr, "The Land of the Elves." Supposedly, Alfheimr had shining trees of silver and gold, like Lothlorien. Also, there was a dragon called Fafnir, a cursed fire-drake, coppery-red, who laid atop a mound of gold and guarded his wrongfully-taken treasure with his life. The original owner of this treasure was a dwarf, reduced to a husk of his former self, called Andvari, who, out of all of this treasure, loved most a golden ring, inscribed with runes. He cursed this ring, so that all who wore it would soon come into misfortune...

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