#but glorfindel week might be an excuse?

[a-tehta]

Writing Patterns “Tag” Game

Rules: post the last sentence from your 10 most recently posted fics (less if you don't have 10 is also fine).

Nobody tagged me, and I hereby tag EVERYONE WHO READS THIS. I decided to do this because I remember doing very similar analyses on LJ ten years ago. (I am going to do opening lines in the near future, be warned.) Buuuut.... if anyone ends up doing this because of my post, perhaps they could tag me *then*? I would be very interested in seeing others' patterns.

So have I learned anything here? Hmm. I guess I really like ending close-third-person fics with dialogue, or failing that, internal monologue. Not a surprise, since I find those easy to write, but “zooming out” at the end is also a very valid technique I might try using more, for variety.

......

The Glorfindel/Ecthelion ficlet I posted in June:

“I want to surprise you, as you have surprised me. For that, I will need time. And inspiration. And, clearly, witnesses.”

to sleep perchance to dream:

“Do you need me to take the rear-guard again?”

Fall of Gondolin, Balrog POV:

And so did all his hopes.

The Merchant of Valinor (Chapter Three):

No, I shall join Lord Findaráto, who has riches but no business sense, and who has leave to enter Doriath, a kingdom closed to low-born Telerin merchants.

The (He)art Recalls: Doing both chapters because I think these lines are a call-and-response pair, in a way!

Chapter One: “I am sure you will like each other,” said Laurefindil.

Chapter Two:  So, in all, it really did seem that Laurefindil had been right, about most things.

A New New Home:

“One moment.” Egalmoth uncorked the bottle. “Before we begin, let us drink a toast to our new new home.”

The Origin of Love: How can those two be compelled to love each other, if not for the enchantment of the forest, starlight, and nightingales?

A Rude Reunion: It had been the right thing to do, he was sure. The virtuous thing to do. So why did he feel like a cad and a coward?

Endurance (Reprise):

“Good thing you remember that endurance Song so well.”

Endurance:

And Laurefindil felt himself smile, and keep smiling, as he raced back towards his duty. He had a report to deliver, jokes to make. Not to mention, perhaps, a few words to share about camp morale, and the importance of art. Or artists. 

[welcomingdisaster]

i don't have the excuse of polls this time, but i kept turning this post over in my head, and i need to get it out of my system. so, to accompany the finwean post, here the careers non-finweans have in my urban fantasy au

doriath gang:

thingol: naval captain turned movie producer, owner of a major recording studio, activist

melian: minor royalty, professional witch

luthien: professional dancer, occasional model, actress, & singer-songwriter, had leaked art-project music trend number one on the charts several times

beleg: professional archer, host of a moderately successful wilderness survival tv show

mablung: bodyguard with a mysterious past

daeron: former warlock, historian; turned down a lucrative recording deal to pursue a PhD in linguistics

edain:

hurin: security guard at a museum

morwen: forensic botany

(turin: screaming tantrums because his grilled cheese was cut into squares instead of triangles, the wrong shape for a grilled cheese)

beren: ex-convict, owner of a wild-life rescue

amlach: unsuccessful private detective

andreth: receptionist and back-up tour guide at a museum

huor: employed at turgon's mountain resort

(tuor: mad cool skateboard tricks & knowing all the transformers)

haleth: martial arts instructor

amanyar:

ingwë: minor royalty, ex-army captain, landowner

ingwë: minor royalty, has a law degree

amarië: poet, playwright, experimental artist

gondolin gang:

glorfindel: ex professional athlete, one of the original investors in turgon's resort, part-time management

ecthelion: classical musician, management at turgon's resort to pay the bills

salgant: head chef at turgon's resort

(voronwe: teen lifeguard & rafting instructor seasonally in the summers)

misc & forgotten in the previous post:

edrahil: former soldier, former stunt double, finrod's long-suffering best friend and magician's assistant

cirdan: president of a small island nation

findis: trust-fund baby coasting through the power of good investments. has a combination gelato shop & yoga studio that might bring in modern if she opened it more than 3 days a week

lalwen: divorce attorney, stand-up comedian on the side

elenwe: infectious diseases specialist

eldalote: zoo vet

[elamarth-calmagol]

Headcanon Advent Calendar Day 20

Now back to canon character headcanons.

Aragorn/Estel

Name(s): I’m not going to list out all his names.

Appearance: 6’6’’, thin, tan skin, brown hair with some gray, gray eyes

Age: 87, I think; originally lived in Rivendell from age 2 to 21

Heritage: Dúnadan

Aragorn/Estel was brought to Rivendell with his mother Gilraen by Elladan and Elrohir after Arathorn's death.  (I'm not sure if it's canonical that the twins brought them, but it seems likely.)  Unlike the other Dúnedain chieftains, Aragorn was only a toddler at the time, aged two.  Also, most other chieftains did not come with their mothers.  Aragorn and Gilraen seemed much more like a pair of ordinary Dúnedain who had come for shelter rather than the heir to Gondor and his mother.  It wasn't so unusual for Elrond to act as a father to orphaned or homeless children who came to Rivendell, either.  Only Elrond, his sons, Glorfindel (who is his closest confidant) and possibly Galadriel knew who he was.

However, other Men of the Angle might have recognized them, so Elrond carefully avoided any other Dúnedain staying for more than a few weeks.  If anyone noticed this, they would not connect it to the two of them, and if they did, they would probably have taken it to mean that Gilraen had been abused or attacked and was afraid of her people.

Estel was a very active and curious child, which caused both Gilraen and Elrond a lot of grief.  He was very smart, though, and a great student if you could keep his attention.  He didn't have any playmates and learned to get along with the adults, which also made him wiser than his years.  (Elanna was the only other child in the entire valley throughout his time there.  She was a preteen when he arrived and still pretty out of control: running away, stealing food, etc.  But the real reason they weren't allowed to play is that she might have figured something out about him that she shouldn't know.)  Unlike other chieftains, he also grew up very Elvish, which Gilraen tried to counteract.  He still thinks of Rivendell as home and comes back whenever he can excuse the trip.  (With the intention of seeing Arwen, too, of course…)

Note: While almost all of the canon characters don't have an Artbreeder/ dress up doll version for my headcanons, several of them do have a little head I use to reference hair/skin/eye color.

[earthling55]

Drowning in Fears (Glorfindel)

You are a human, and even after years of being together, your fears and insecurities over your being a human and in a relationship with the legendary Glorfindel still surface as strong as ever.

Warnings: depression, some blood but nothing major.

Word count: 1k

Glorfindel frowned as he observed the crowd of dancers. You were missing...again. He could hardly believe you'd go out of your way to disregard his request a third time. He quickly turns, avoiding the scorching looks from elleths who still look to him with longing.

He walks the familiar path through Rivendell's garden. By now he knows where you'll be. And he's right. Up ahead, he can just make out your figure sitting on the swinging bench. Silently, he takes a seat next to you.

'What are you doing out here, Melda? Hmm.' He asks. His arm comes to rest over your shoulders protectively. You stare out into the distance, unanswering.

Glorfindel's brow creases with worry. This has happened before, the silence. The secluding yourself from society and the people who care for you.

But it has never lasted this long.

//////////////////

Two weeks later and nothing has changed. The worry has begun to get to Glorfindel. His hair doesn't shine as bright. The lightness he has always carried around him seems to dim.

Deciding that this has gone on too long, he seeks you out.

You're in your chambers. You've been sleeping a lot, but you still appear exhausted. Your hair has grown brittle and thin, your face is gaunt, and your under-eye bags seem to be permanently painted on.

It makes you feel even worse than before. You had convinced yourself you were at least average in looks - maybe even beautiful. But now? Now, you were horrendous. You avoided mirrors like the plague. Whenever you happened to catch your eyes in them, they would mock you. Bring any fear and insecurity you've ever had up to the surface. Now with air to breathe, they grew and festered, stronger than ever before.

If you couldn't even look at yourself, how could anyone else? How could Glorfindel?

You can't take it anymore. Bringing your fist up, you throw it with all your might against the floor length mirror.

It cracks, shattering into a million shards that stare up at you, pointing out all of your flaws. There's a shard for every fault, every failing, every insecurity you've ever had.

Tears blur your vision. The only voices you can hear are telling you to do something. To pick up each shard and crush them...and you listen.

The pain is shearing, all-consuming, filling every bone in your body.

Dark spots speckle your vision, and it takes everything in you time stumble over to the bed.

That's where you stay. You don't know for how long.

Your own body weight seems to weigh you down. You know you can breathe fine, yet you still feel like you might be drowning.

That's how Glorfindel finds you. Alone. A sobbing mess surrounded by blood. It speckles everything, leaving a trail from the shards of broken glass to the pristine sheets you're currently laying on.

He's quick to get Elrond. Thankfully, the cuts aren't deep, just everywhere. The tiny specs of glass puncturing almost every inch of your hands from where you crushed them.

Glorfindel himself spends hours helping the healers pick out every piece before bandaging your hands carefully.

/////////////////

It's dark when you finally wake.

Thinking you're alone, you sob out helplessly at the situation you've got yourself stuck in. Your hands are pleasantly numb, the cool balms lathering them work to help you avoid the reality of what you've done.

A shadow across from you frightens you into stifling your cries. Except it's not a shadow, it's Glorfindel.

You immediately shut up and turn the other way, scared to look at him, to see whatever his reaction is to your pathetic excuse of a self......

What's worse is that your Glorfindel knows how to keep a stoic face. But his eyes, his eyes betray him, and you're terrified of what you might see in them.

The tears still streaming down your cheeks, you're eyes search the wall in front of you wildly as you hear him rise and move to where you can see him.

He sits down on the bed, strong hand coming out to rub your shoulder comfortingly. It's a different kind of weight from the one still pushing down on your chest. It's comforting, rooting you like an anchor to the promise of a brighter future.

'Take your time,' Glorfindel starts out, his voice wavering slightly, a clear sign he's been crying. You turn slightly and can just about make out the tear stains marring his otherwise perfect cheeks.

'And when you are ready, I will be here. But right here, I'm not going anywhere and neither is my love for you.'

He lets out a long sigh. 'I didn't see how bad it was getting and for that, I will never forgive myself. I am sorry Melda.'

You attempt to sit up at that. It's not his fault. How could he think that it's his fault? Your precious Glorfindel, your literal ray of sunshine, crying? Because of you? You feel even worse at the thought and a new wave of tears careens over your eyes and down your cheeks.

It catches Glorfindel's attention, and he moves forward to dry them off with his thumbs.

'Melda,' he cries, and the pain in his voice only works to make you cry more.

'Talk to me, please. Tell me what's wrong. Let me be there for you. I long to be there for you.'

'You do?' You question out, voice barely above a whisper.

'But what...what about..?' A hiccup interrupts your though, and a watery chuckle blurts out of both of you at that.

'Why?' You finally manage to get out.

'Why do you care? Why do you bother yourself with me?'

‘Why would I care? You’re my wife. The love of my life, not to mention my best friend.’

He peppers your face with kisses, mumbling in between them.

‘How could you think I didn’t care?’

Well, that an unexpected dark turn. ...and if you can relate to how the reader's feeling, know that you're not alone. It's get better.

Also, I kind felt as if I could have ended it better. If you agree, let me know and I’ll see what I can come up with. By the way, if you want to send in requests, feel free! More inspiration is always great;)

[doodle-pops]

Y/n: so you're friends with the valar?

Glorfindel: yeah, when I was dead, in the human perception of death, I spend a lot of my time with them

Y/n: do you promise not to judge me?

Glorfindel: my love I could never judge you, what is it that's on your mind?

Y/n: do you think you could ask Manwe a chicken for me? *does foggy eyes*

Glorfindel: but if you wish for a chicken I can get you one right now, I do not need to go to Manwe...but I'm not gonna lie it would be a good excuse to visit and say hello hmm I'll see what I can do my darling

{3 weeks later}

Glorfindel: Y/N!! I'm home honey. Y/n?

*come down the stars*

Y/n: hi baby! How was your visit?

Glorfindel: It was good! And look *pulls out a chicken from behind his back* I got you a chicken!

Glorfindel: I bought them but I asked Manwe of he could bless and he did :D

Y/n: blessed the chic-

Chicken: Hi, my name is KFC short for Kyle Florian Campbell

Y/n: You talk?! Can I put you on my arms?

KFC: Yes

Y/n: *holding KFC close* We're gonna be best friends :]

*goes around the house showing KFC everything*

*a birds comes flying in and sits on Glorfy shoulder*

Birdy: Manwe said "Welcome to 'I love my wife club' "

Glorfindel: *smiles*

Ngl I wish I had a talking emotional support chicken

-👻

A talking chicken named KFC. You want that bird to be eaten...poor birb. Manwe sweetie I'm sorry you have to bless a chicken that might get eaten accidentally lmao

[arofili]

fic writer tag game!!

i was tagged by @meztliel, thanks so much!!

AO3 name: starlightwalking

Fandoms: mostly Tolkien, my current main WIPs are Hobbit and LOTR fics, but i’m definitely mostly writing for the Silm these days, just lots of oneshots. i also dabble in Les Mis (at least once a year for Barricade Day!) and TAZ :)

Number of fics: 179??? how??? and i’m only gonna have more!! i’m not even done with B2MeM20 yet!!

Fic I spent the most time on: oh geez. that’s a tough one. this fic that i just posted, a Measse/Thuringwethil oneshot, i started in 2015?? but i left it sitting for 5 years, so i don’t think that counts. and i guess this drabble comp would be the next candidate, i started it in May 2016 and i last updated it in December 2019, but it’s...a drabble compilation, not an actual fic. so i think i actually spent the most time on my current WIPs, “Moonlight” and “Roads Go On,” both originally posted in May 2018 (jesus i was still in HIGH SCHOOL) and updated.....last year...... really i just haven’t had time to work on them, rip, though i think about them constantly. that’s what happens when you’re not in high school anymore i suppose....

Fic I spent the least time on: i mean, something from that drabble comp, probably. Or a B2MeM ficlet. probably this Glorfindel fic? I only remember writing it because I know it was written in a hurry at like 2am and my friend Moth @thishazeleyeddemon loved it and I was like “wow weird considering how little effort I put into it!”

Longest fic: Currently my post-BotFA Tauriel fic “Beneath the Stars” coming in at 49k! RGO and Moonlight both promise to be longer, but that would require me actually finishing either of them... but I love BtS so much that I’m glad it’s up there, it was a real labor of love <3

Shortest fic: “The Lay of Nienor” which I just wrote this past month! it’s only 238 words long - but it’s in verse, so that’s pretty respectable!

Most hits: My first BotFA fix it fic, “A Merrier Place,” with 5544 hits - to no one’s surprise by my chagrin. That was one of my first forays into Hobbit fic and I wrote it shortly after the movie came out, when people were most in need of a fix it AU. So I don’t blame them, really - but as I’m sort of setting out to rewrite my thoughts on what actually would’ve happened in an Everyone Lives AU in my current fic “Moonlight,” I wish people would pay more attention to that...

Most kudos: My TRSB19 Gigolas fic, “Love and Fear,” coming in with 155 kudos! this fic features art from @ginogollum and honestly, it deserves that love! (though, I think it does say a lot about what fandom wants that my only romo!gigolas fic has the most kudos of anything i’ve written, and all my qp!gigolas fics are much lower down the list... though perhaps I’m being unfair, considering my qp!Domadry fic “Wedding Blues” has the second-most kudos at 147.)

Most comment threads: My other TRSB19 fic, the Feanorian Redemption/Rebirth story “ATATYA” - that’s 71 comment threads and 147 total comments including replies!!! :) that makes me very very happy, because I wrote the 45,000 words of that fic in like...two weeks, about? it was INTENSE. and i’m very proud of that story, it’s got a lot of headcanons that I stand by, and I reference it frequently!

Most bookmarks: I added this category bc it felt weird it wasn’t here. Again, this prize goes to “Love and Fear” with 43 bookmarks!! woah :o second place is “A Merrier Place” with 35, and then the first fic I haven’t already mentioned is “The Naming Dame,” a HTTYD book fic with 30 bookmarks! I really should go back and update that fic, considering I wrote it before the last book came out and there’s new relevant information...

Total word count: I also added this one because I wanna brag!! I currently have 739,961 words archived on AO3 - holy shit!! adding the ~253k words I didn’t transfer over from FFN, that’s nearly a million words of fic! by the time i finish B2MeM I might push past that threshhold!!!!! that’s so exciting!!!! (fun fact about me: before Tolkien, my main fandom was...warrior cats...roughly 215k of that fic I left to gather dust on FFN is WC fic........)

Favourite fic I wrote: This isn’t fair, I can’t choose just one!! Ugh...well, if I must, I think it has to be “ATATYA”? This is subject to change, and “Beneath the Stars” is a close second, but “ATATYA” is my first real Silm longfic and I’m very proud of what I accomplished there, especially in such a short amount of time. Bonus: my favorite oneshot / favorite non-Tolkien fic is “and Love,” the aro Magnus fic I wrote for ASAW last year!

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I mean, I already talked about how “Moonlight” is kind of a rewrite of “A Merrier Place,” so...hm. Well, earlier today in an ask game I mentioned my fic “fell and fey” which is the Eol-living-in-a-fairy-tale fic I wrote just this past month. I started writing a longer, more poetic version of that fic that I’d like to return to and expand on someday, but I wanted to get that idea out of my head and B2MeM was a great excuse to do it, so I went with the shorter version instead - for now!

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on:

I’ve got a couple WIPs right now... here’s a snippet of ch8 of “Roads Go On” (which i PROMISE i will have up soon...i know i’ve been saying that for more than year but i MEAN IT this time...)

“What do you mean we can’t take the freeway?” Boromir snapped.

“My way or the highway, he means,” Gimli quipped. “And, uh...not the highway, I guess.”

Mithrandir shot Gimli a withering glare. Though he only smiled, some part of him shriveled up inside. A wizard’s evil eye was nothing to mess with.

I think I’ve already shared that snippet in a different tag game, so here’s one more for the road - this one’s from “Cause and Consequence,” my Halenthir baby OC fic. This snippet comes from a chapter that won’t be out for awhile (and might undergo some serious revamping before then), and it’s set right after the Nirnaeth, with my OC (Ryndil) about to confront their dad.

“This is no place for mortals,” Maglor said flatly. “You do know who we are, don’t you, Rýndil of Brethil?”

A shiver ran down their spine. Seven tall elf-lords, gaunt and scarred and bloody in the aftermath of a disastrous battle. Maedhros, the eldest, was a shell of the glorious figure he’d been on the battlefield; they weren’t sure if he was even awake, his eyes were so glassy and unfocused. Grief, they supposed. They’d heard the rumors about him and the High King, after all.

Maglor, leading in his place, trembling despite the firmness in his golden voice. Celegorm, bitter and angry and mean despite his fair features. Curufin, his dark shadow, flint in his eyes and venom on his tongue. Amrod and Amras, mirroring each other in their distrustful glares. And yet despite the blood and dirt and pain, a light shone from each of them. These were men to be feared, men to be worshipped.

And then there was him. Caranthir the Dark. Rýndil’s father, the blood flowing through their veins, the reason they were here in the first place. Gaunt and red-faced, the weary host of his defeated brothers, he had scarcely stopped moving about and making room for them since they arrived.

As much as Rýndil was of the Haladin, as much as they were the child of Haleth, they were bound to this family and people also.

there’s a lot of grief-stricken angry feanorian banter that comes after this (including some Maedhros characterization that i’m Very Proud Of), and honestly? i might just go ahead and post the whole excerpt if anyone wants to read it (it’s about 1.3k words) since I’m fairly sure I will be changing a lot of it anyway, even if it’s only for tone.

~

looking at these stats, i’m both kind of sad and kind of proud. like, i’m proud of myself for what i’ve written, and proud of the relationships i’ve forged with readers and writers on AO3, but i know lots and lots of folks who have waaayyy higher stats than me. i know considering i write a lot of gen and aro fic that i’ll never be a Big Name Fan, but that doesn’t stop me from being jealous... sigh...

anyway, this was very very fun!!! i tag @buffintruder @himrings @mushroomwriter @zealouswerewolfcollector @hennethgalad @absynthe--minded @stormxpadme @morifiinwe @raisingcain-onceagain annnd any other writer who sees this and wants to do it!! no pressure of course, only do it if you want to :)

(and LMK in replies if you’re interested in seeing more of that Ryndil snippet!!)

[paperdoe]

An Unexpected Friendship

(Disclaimer: A Lord of the Rings Online fic about a real in-game event. The Great Goblin had incapacitated Rho, but the lynx companion Lore Masters can summon still lived and killed the Goblin King, completing the quest for me :D. People familiar with the game may be confused about the timeline. For clarity, I skipped the Misty Mountains quest pack until I completed the Mines of Moria/Mirkwood storyline, then went back for quest and general deeds. I chose this Great Goblin instead of the world instance one, as the dynamics of the world instance would make a slightly different story than originally planned.)  He had never intended to adopt a wild animal. It went against his laws. 

So the wild animal adopted him.

Daerhovan tucked the lower half of his face into his scarf in an effort to fend of the biting winds howling down from the Misty Mountains. Though he walked across it’s snowy expanses with ease, cold and fatigue were beginning to catch up with him. The last of his rations had been given to those who were tired and wounded after the attack upon Dol Guldur. The giftee’s were concerned and tried to refuse, but Daerhovan insisted. His trek across the Misties would be swift. And he could feed off the land. 

Daerhovan had only wanted to return to Eriador, especially Angmar, to observe how the land was healing after the fall of Carn Dum’s Elite. He wanted to stop thinking about a certain dwarf who’s face and body had been slow to leave his mind. Daerhovan looked up, his keen eyes spotting a good vantage point in the form of a rocky precipice. From atop, hazy images of towering forests and the faint glow of sunlight heralded the location of the Vale of Imladris, though the elven settlement itself could not be seen. Daerhovan’s heart stirred at the prospect of a warm bed and proper food that didn’t consist of stunted roots and stinking Snowbeast meat. Nimbly, he scaled down the short cliffside, being careful to avoid loose rocks when he saw footprints. And blood. Relatively fresh. 

Curious, Daerhovan crouched to inspect the tracks. They were smaller than a sabre, and shallowerer depressions around the pads indicated thick fur. This was made by a Mountain Lynx, for sure. The blood must have been from its prey. 

But as Daerhovan moved forward to study it’s movements, something seemed off. It’s steps were deep, and it’s stride short. The animal had appeared to drag its belly through the snow on a couple of places throughout it’s trek. The blood increased as the tracks went on. 

“Poor thing…’ The elf murmured. Obviously the animal had not caught prey, but was heavily wounded and exhausted. Distracted from his original quest, Daerhovan carefully followed the struggling animal’s journey. It did not take long for him to find it’s end. And it’s end it was indeed. 

A clump of thick ruddy fur was half buried by snow drifts. A rumble of sympathy sounded from within Daerhovan as he gently touched the spotted fur of the dead lynx. What had happened to it? His pondering was cut short as a thin wail sounded from the pile of rocks in front of him. Daerhovan practically leaped to it, spotting an opening from within the pile. The wailing persisted. Peeking inside, he could see a small scrap of fur in the gloom. This lynx must have been a mother, and this must be her cub.

Without thinking, he peered more closely at the inside the den, seeing only one cub, and reached a hand inside the hole, carefully feeling around for the animal. Locating its neck scruff; Daerhovan gently transferred it out of the den and immediately into the warmth of his cloak. The vale was not far. He could make it before the cub succumbed to the cold. In the back of his mind he knew was doing something against his nature. It had always been his belief to let nature live it’s dance of life and death without his interference. So why had he taken a cub, doomed to die without it’s mother’s care? He had seen newborn animals die before. As harsh as the statement sounded, why was this one any different?

These thoughts raced through his mind as Daerhovan swiftly descended from the Mountains. He kept his distance from the Snow beasts and lurkers, making the tail end of the trek uneventful. Daerhovan hoped that Gloin’s camp would be occupied, alas for his luck, the occupants must have moved somewhere else. Grumbling, he checked on the cub; still clinging to life, but barely. He had to quicken his pace. 

As he made his way through the narrow pass towards the North Gate of Imladris, the cold relented it’s grip, and warm sunlight broke through. Red rooftops of elven settlements glinted. 

---

“Leaving already? You’ve barely arrived!”

Daerhovan grinned sheepishly at Maeglir. A high elf like that onto Glorfindel, who also resided in the valley. 

“She grows stronger each day. I want her to grow up beyond the valley.” 

Maeglir merely clicked his tongue in response, wandering over to inspect the cub, who was currently curled up in a nest of soft blankets. Daerhovan smiled warmly at her, stroking it’s short, tufted ears. Alright, she was adorable.

It had been nearly two months since he found his way into Imladris. More like stumbled in.

In a guest room offered to him by Elrond Half-elven himself; he spent days nursing the cub back from the brink of death. She had been cold, and starving. Sustenance had been difficult to come by at first, but another elf had eventually prepared a formula the cub could sustain herself on. The resident elves had been won over by it’s plight, and helped Daerhovan care for her. 

“But where would you go? You know how dangerous the wilderlands are outside of the Valley. Echad Candelleth, or even Thorenhad would be safer.”  Maeglir argued. Daerhovan grinned warmly at the half noldo. Though they didn’t consider themselves to be good friends, Maeglir still had a protective streak. Daerhovan met his deep blue gaze, indicating Maeglir’s Vanyar blood. “Centuries have I lived in the wilds. I can manage.” He looked down at the cub. “I don’t wish for Verya to be conditioned to the care of those who would only pamper her. She must remain wild.” Maeglir’s eyes thinned shrewdly at the Silvan elf. “You’ve given it a name? That contradicts your statement. You have subjected yourself to bond with it.” Maeglir huffed, excusing himself from the room. Confused mumblings of “Foolish” and “Much better places to raise infant animals” could be heard as the door creaked shut. 

Daerhovan chuckled lightly, turning his attention back to the cub. She looked so safe in her makeshift nest. Was it really wise to take her out of here? Maeglir might have been right about giving her a name ...But he didn’t know what else to call it. Besides, her name reflected the brave and relentless spirit she had displayed so far. He only found it fitting. 

---

Daerhovan already had a place in mind to look after Verya, until she could take care of herself. In the wilds of the High Moor; wild boards, bog guardians, giant flies, and bears prowled, but if the young lynx was to survive out here, she must know her place. His plan was to relocate her to a place nearby and stay with the feline as soon as she could take care of herself. He dared not take her farther west of the Bruinien Gorge, worried that her thick fur would cause her to overheat in the lowlands. 

He brought no horse with him as he and his feline companion trekked upward through the vale, towards the entrance of the Hidden Valley. He wondered if he should carry her up the climb, but Verya seemed to be holding up well. Their exercises around the Vale seemed to have made her legs sturdy enough to increase her stamina. Daerhovan looked up into the trees, mimicking the whistle of the loudest of the chirps of birds that could be heard. Calling it to him. Daerhovan held an arm up as a Stellars Jay answered his call, alighting on said arm. 

Would you scout the higher grounds for me, my friend? 

The bird twittered, and flew off into the forests. 

---

Large bears and boars prowled in the wilds, his feathered messenger relayed. Daerhovan sighed. He’d communed with such animals before, but both tended to be fiercely territorial; despite his assurances he would be out of their way. 

But perhaps there was one place..

---

He had found it once before. A little glade that marked the border between The Trollshaws and Eregion. He’d always been fond of the sights of the Misty Mountains in one direction, with towering trees in another. Grand, but quiet. 

Daerhovan looked down on his companion, beaming. “Welcome to your new home…”

---

Daerhovan rapped his staff against a boulder. Startled, the hare he had been after scampered away, and Daerhovan prayed it would head in Verya’s direction. The felid merely gave it a passing glance before twisting her neck to wash her back. Alright, so maybe hares were still too big for her. 

Days passed without any hunting progress from her, and he began to worry she was depending too much on him to take care of her. Daerhovan tried to keep his distance, quashing his anxiety about leaving the cub alone. 

He sat in the shade of a young oak, pondering what to do next. A flash of blue burst from the bushes across from him, a ruddy feline in hot pursuit. Daerhovan stood up in surprise as Verya gave a mighty leap, slapping down the bunting with one giant paw. She noticed the elf afterwards, and to him it seemed her blue eyes gleamed with triumph.

---

Weeks passed. Verya was beginning to master hunting on her own. Her biggest catches had been hares and the occasional turkey. As an adult she would be able to take on goats and possibly anything slightly bigger. She was also rapidly growing in size, and on the rare times Daerhovan had to carry her (usually when she got stuck in brambles) his arms would start to strain. Her physicality seemed to be adapting to this warmer environment, as he noticed her fur was slightly thinner, despite the fact it was mid Summer. He was worried at first that she may have taken ill, but her pelt was still glossy and well groomed. He still mostly kept his distance, observing her from afar. 

--

Weeks turned into months, and Verya was on the cusp of adulthood. Her weight and height had greatly increased, and she could tackle a man to the ground if she so wished. With a pang in his heart, Daerhovan realized it was almost time to leave her alone for good. His original plan of returning her the the Misties moot now as she adapted more and more to the climate of the Trollshaws. But there was one final test before Daerhovan was confident enough to leave her. 

For the most part she had hunted in the woods of the Trollshaws. But lately Verya had been wandering into the wilds of Eregion. Perhaps to seek out bigger prey? Daerhovan tracked her movements, surprised as she ventured further than she ever had inside the region. 

He finally caught up with her after a couple days since he first tracked the lynx. A freshly killed goat at her paws, jaws tugging on the last strips of meat. Surely she brought it down herself? Only one way to find out. Daerhovan clicked his tongue as he approached, alerting her to his presence. She whipped her head around, hackles raised, but relaxed when she recognized his scent. He spoke softly in his native tongue, praising her for the kill. Reassuring the lynx it was all hers while giving the carcass itself a wide berth. Glancing swiftly at her paws, he saw the goats fur still caught in the sharp claws, and he had his answer. She had passed the test. 

---

The landscape gleamed with silver light as the full moon traveled slowly over indigo skies partially obscured by the dark shadows of towering pines and mountains. In the gloom of the forest, Daerhovan worked swiftly yet quietly as he packed his essentials into his satchel. Verya had returned to the glade after her hunt, and last time he checked, was sleeping soundly in a den she had found, an old badger set fortified by tree roots. It was as good as anytime to leave now. He hated to admit it, but he was dreading the parting. The little glade felt like home almost, and he had grown very fond of the lynx. (Which he had dreaded in the first place, but it couldn't be helped). Looking back at her den, a pang in his heart almost convinced him to stay for a few days more. Why did this feel wrong?

No, she must not grow accustomed to people. He tried to convince himself. With a heavy sigh, he turned back from the glade, through Giant Valley, until he found the Great East Road again. Planning to visit Imladris once more before heading north into Angmar. 

---

“Tell the council your report, Nogmeldir.” Elrond’s clear voice rang throughout the hall. 

The haggard looking elf nodded, clearing his throat. “I talked with those camped atop Vindurhal, and braved the blizzards to the half buried dwarven settlement of Hrimbarg. Elf, man, and dwarf alike confirmed reports of increased activity within and around Goblin Town.”

“Did you find out any reason why this would be?” Glorfindel chimed in, his hard grip on the armchair betraying his seemingly calm demeanor. 

Nogmeldir nodded vigorously. “I was getting to that. They’re rumours, mostly, but it’s said a Great Goblin has once again taken the throne. I found Gloin of Erebor camped close to the lower entrance, and he confirms the goblins have become more aggressive. People have gone missing, with trails of blood and scraps of clothes leading to the mountain they reside in.” The scout gingerly pulled a ratty scrap of cloth from within his satchel. “And there was this.” His voice was soft, but grave as he passed the cloth to Elrond.

Daerhovan, who had also been called to the council shortly after his return to Imladris, peered at the cloth curiously. “Is that writing upon it?” 

Elrond nodded. “Indeed. They are orders to fortify the outer ramparts.” Penetrating grey eyes fixed on Daerhovan. “Telphindor, you mentioned curious workings near Goblin Town on your first trek through the mountains some months before. Do you believe these are the outer ramparts mentioned?” 

Daerhovan thought back to that time, a little before the downfall of Mordirith. He had been sent to the Misty Mountains to scout the water sources to see if reports that they were being poisoned were true. (Which indeed they were, though the perpetrator was unknown.) More concerning news from person to person had brought him to the High Pass. During one venture, he had found the goblins preparing black powder for fire pots. And what seemed like newly constructed bridges and tents of crude goblin-make swathed throughout the peaks and gullies. “I do.” Daerhovan answered tentatively, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention on him. “The goblin forces seemed more organized. And I could see what appeared to be couriers running to and fro from the mountain to the camps.”

Elrond nodded grimly. “Yes, I remember your report. I had thought Angmar was involved.” The lord of Imladris leaned on one shoulder, brow furrowing in deep thought and concern. “Now...now I wonder if there has been another Great Goblin all along.” 

Glorfindel stood, his countenance imposing. “I wonder that too. But now I believe they were indeed in league with Angmar. But since their downfall the Great Goblin could be trying to finish what they started in the Mountains. Whatever that was. And assuming these rumors are true.”

“Then I deem it is necessary to investigate them.” Elrond responded heavily, his gaze sweeping across those present. “One of you must venture into the High Pass. And into Goblin-Town itself.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the council. Daerhovan noticed those present twiddling their thumbs and looking grave. He knew Elrond, Glorfindel, or Elrond’s sons themselves would go if they could, but he was aware that other pressing matters kept them here. Nogmeldir looked exhausted and cold, as if the chill of the mountains was reluctant to let go of him. Others looked too afraid to venture into the heights. Daerhovan sighed inwardly. It was going to have to be him, once again. “I will go. If it pleases the council.” 

The oppressing silence was broken with breaths of relief and approving murmurs. Elrond smiled, though Daerhovan thought he looked apologetic. “You do indeed know these mountains, Telphindor. I could not think of a better choice. It is decided then. You will scout Goblin Town to confirm these reports. May Elbereth look down kindly upon you.” 

---

The Galladhrim elf leaned over the bannister on the balcony to gaze out across the Hidden Valley. The red tiles of the rooftops appeared washed with silver from the moonlight. Silhouettes of tree tops swayed lazily in the breeze. Daerhovan let his eyes sweep the top of the ridge that bordered the High Moorlands. Was Verya doing alright? Had she established her territory? Did she have enough prey and water to sustain herself on? Footsteps announced Elrond’s arrival from behind, drawing Daerhovan away from his musings. 

“I have sent word to Gloin by way of a raven. He will be expecting you in three days time, at the least. From Nogmeldir’s report, he has moved his camp near to the base of the main entrance of Goblin Town. Practically in plain sight.” Elrond said, incredulous. 

Daerhovan couldn’t help but chuckle at Gloin’s choice of location. That seemed like him, alright. “Lets just hope his presence is intimidating enough for goblins to stay put. They must associate him with Glamdring and Orcrist. Despite the fact he never wielded them.” Elrond nodded, staring at Daerhovan with a serious expression. “You remember the mission?” Daerhovan nodded. “Enter Goblin Town, find evidence of a king, and get out.” Elrond murmurd agreement. “Avoid conflict as much as you can. If any goblin sees you, dispatch them immediately. If they manage to sound the alarm, I fear you will not make it out alive.”

“I won’t become goblin fodder.” Daerhovan smiled, trying not to betray his nervousness. 

“Please don’t.” Elrond smiled in return, placing a reassuring hand on the other elf’s shoulder “Has that lynx you found established a foothold for herself?” Daerhovan shrugged, resting his head in one hand ,watching the moonlight flicker like dancing lights in the nearby river. “I believe she has. I just hope I taught her enough.” Elrond followed his gaze, and Daerhovan thought he saw the elf lord’s eyes widen. In what emotion he couldn't discern. The Lord of the Valley gave Daerhovan a knowing look before leaving the balcony. “Perhaps your paths have yet to intertwine.” He winked as he left. Leaving a confused Daerhovan to ponder his cryptic words. 

---

The alpine winds howled down from the lofty peaks that pierced the gray sky. Though Daerhovan couldn't make out said peaks even with his elven sight. The relentless winds brought barrages of snowflakes swirling around him and his mountain goat mount, blinding them to their surroundings. Maggie bleated anxiously, letting Daerhovan know she didn’t know which way to turn. The elf gently patted her neck, speaking elvish words of reassurance. The gray furred animal was a gift to him from both fellow elf and dwarf during the Iron Garrison’s reclamation of Moria. Though he let her wander free in the mountains she had been born in. Calling to her when needed, and today she was truly needed. Her name was mannish in origin, and Daerhovan stuck with it, finding the sound of it rather cute. The elf squinted into the blizzard, trying to make out shapes amidst the wall of snow. He did his best to quash his own anxiety, less Maggie’s own grow. Cautiously, he urged her forward. As they traveled a large rocky outcrop in the middle of the landscape rose from the snow, offering the promise of shelter. This would be as good a camp as any right now, until the storm cleared. Daerhovan set out his sleeping roll, anxious of starting a fire, never mind the fact that a flame couldn’t last long in this weather. Nickering softly, he called Maggie over. She might smell like...well, goat. But at least they could share each other’s warmeth. 

---

Harsh bleats of fear and anger roused Daerhovan with a start. Instantly he got to his feet, seeing Maggie rearing and stomping towards something yet hidden from him. “Ai! What causes you fear?” He called to her in the special language he reserved for beasts, as taught to him by Radagast. Danger past snowdrift. Smell of blood. The words of the goat came to his mind as clear as day. Daerhovan quirked a brow. Smell of blood? Had a predator been stalking them? Daerhovan creeped forward, staff in hand, but ready to reach for his sword if need be. “Who goes there?” He called, repeating the command in beast tongue. A ruddy head with ice blue eyes and black tufted ears poked from behind the drift, slowly climbing out to reveal herself fully. Verya tilted her head, appraising him.

Daerhovan stared open mouthed at the feline, relaxing his stance. “Verya! How came you to be here?” He crouched, studying her. She looked well enough. Her fur had thickened, her body was larger. She looked as a grown lynx should. He was glad for that. But how did he not notice the lynx had been following him? He remembered that small detail of Elrond’s knowing look from back in the valley. Had he seen Verya then? Daerhovan sighed, rubbing his temples. It wasn’t a good sign if she intended to follow him. Sternly, he jabbed a finger southwards. “Go home. You were not supposed to follow.” 

Verya gave no sign that she understood him. (his comprehension of feline and canine speak left something to be desired still) A different tactic would have to be used. Baring his teeth, he thrusted his head as close to Verya’s as he dared, snarling in her face. (Thank Eru his friends weren’t here to witness his more beastial manners…) Her tufted ears flattened against her skull as she backed up from him, and he thought she finally looked unsure. He just hoped his display was enough to convince her to turn around and stay away from him. With a long, final look at the elf, Verya trotted off into the white wilderness. That familiar pang of regret stung his heart. Surely it was right to send her away? She was wild. She had to remain so. Even if Daerhovan had to put the fear of people into her mind. The more she feared people, the less was her likelihood of being skinned by an opportunistic poacher for her valuable pelt.  

Daerhovan returned to Maggie, stroking her muzzle. He could sense the animals relief, and she began to calm down. A quick study of the landscape revealed that the storm had passed, and the sun shone, albeit weakly, through the mist. Daerhovan realized he was in the middle of the Northern High Pass. The distant walls rising up to form a bowl shaped valley. Peering northward, Daerhovan thought he could recognize the mountain where Goblin Town made their home. The blizzard had delayed his journey, time was of the essence now. 

---

Daerhovan pushed Maggie onward through the snowy expanse. Hoping to hope that Gloin and his party of other dwarves would still be where Elrond and Nogmeldir said they would. If the goblins had taken them...Daerhovan banished the thought. The mountain loomed higher now. It was a majestic sight, but Daerhovan knew it’s walls were riddled with traps and hidden passages. He grudgingly admired the goblins skills of stealth and booby trapping. His study of the mountain was cut short as Maggie stopped, rearing where she stood. Daerhovan gripped her neck fur, fighting to stay on her back. Danger! The feline returns! Her words rang through his mind. Daerhovan hopped off Maggie, peering behind him into the whiteness. Sure enough, Verya leapt out of the drift she had been hiding behind. He stood still as she began to stalk towards him, caution lined in every smooth movement of her body. He could hear Maggie screeching in panic, her instincts torn between staying with her master and fleeing from the smell of blood upon the lynx’s fur. In the end the latter won, and she turned tail to flee. Daerhovan spun around, calling after her sternly.

Verya paused, gauging the elfs reaction. She padded even closer ,until she was near enough to but her head against Daerhovan’s leg. Purring, she rubbed her jaw along his kneecap, then stood on tiptoe as she wound her body around his shins. Daerhovan groaned. The lynx had more of an attachment to him than he wanted. And now she had scared off his ride. 

“GO!” He shouted, startling Verya. His voice ringing throughout the valley. She assumed a stance to prepare to flee, but still met Daerhovan’s gaze. Ice blue into pale green. Daerhovan’s frustration felt ready to spill over. “Go back!” He shouted once again, taking a step forward, trying to look imposing. His tone of voice seemed to get through to Verya this time, and she bounded away. But not before looking back once again before she vanished over the hill. Daerhovan breathed out a sigh, digging his fingers through his hair. Looking around he saw no sign of his mount. No matter, Gloin’s camp couldnt be far now. 

---

“There’s Elrond’s help! Figured you would be delayed in the storm.” Gloin’s voice called to him through the archway of stone that lead to the mountain’s entrance. Daerhovan raised a hand in greeting, seeing a familiar goat standing among them. Surprise lit his eyes. “Maggie!” He rushed over, studying her body for any sign of harm. “Of course he greets the beast first.” Gloin grumbled. “More like she found us. Why did she beat you here?” The old dwarf inquired gruffly. Daerhovan paid no heed to his question until after he was sure Maggie hadn’t come to harm, satisfied when he saw nothing, he answered; “She was spooked by a lynx while I was dismounted. Though she fears for nothing, as lynxes are too small to take down goats of her size.” 

“A lynx eh? The boys and I will take care of it for her. If it shows it’s snarling face here.” One of Gloin’s companions promised. 

“No!” Daerhovan exclaimed. The dwarves stared at him in confusion. “No...Please don’t harm her. Just scare her off if you have to.” Gloin merely shrugged. Daerhovan looked up at the Mountain’s Throat, yawning before them nearby. No less creepy than the first time he stumbled upon it weeks before “Any news?” He asked. 

Gloin shook his head. “All’s been quiet lately. But by my beard I know something more than usual goblin activity stirs within.” He replied, rubbing his chin. “Your mission as described by Elrond doesn’t make much sense to me. I prefer to find out head on, if you know what I mean.” Gloin huffed. 

Daerhovan shrugged. “Better to keep the goblins in the dark about our plans, I suppose.” He stroked the pommel of his sword, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. Gloin side eyed him grimly. “Then do what you came here to do. And don’t lose your pretty head.” 

---

Peeking as far as he dared over a crumbling wall, Daerhovan cursed inwardly at the sight of many goblins blocking his path. Thanks to his skills of stealth he was deep, deep into Goblin Town. Currently he was hiding inside a small alleyway of a long forgotten dwarf structure embedded into the stone. A broken wall the only thing between him and the enemy past it. Down the hallway of ragged stone yawned yet another tunnel. Though Daerhovan’s elven eyesight could see it opened up into a more spacious cavern within. But how in Elbereth could he get past the goblins in this hall? Perhaps a rock thrown far from his position to distract them...No. He would be spotted for sure. From what he saw, the hall was in want of more hiding places. Maybe it was time to turn back. He had evidence of some sort of ruling head, after all.

His trek through the shabby hole the goblins called a town had proven fruitful as he lay in other hiding places for goblins to pass through. Reports of the enemy forces being more organized rang true. Even more surprising was the presence of orcs. Orders that had been haphazardly tucked into belts were littered on the stone floors, though he was unable to decipher most of them. But they were always signed with the signature of a name that was rough on the tongue. Could whoever be giving these orders be here? Or were they from afar? Daerhovan stared longingly at the tunnel. (Or at least, where he thought the tunnel was from behind the wall.) His mind blanking on what to do next. It felt wrong somehow to turn around. All his instincts seemed to be telling him his answers were close. 

His mind tumbled with these fruitless thoughts until a sharp voice cracked the air like a whip. Daerhovan ducked further, heart racing, fearing he had been discovered. Whoever had shouted spoke in a language he couldn’t understand. A dialect of Black Speech no doubt. Grumblings echoed throughout the cavern, followed by the shuffling of feet heading away from him. Still as stone, he waited. The sounds becoming muted, as if they were being blocked by something. Holding his breath, Daerhovan peek over the wall again, finding the room...empty? It seemed like a jest. Surely the goblins were lying in wait for him in some hidden nook he couldn’t see. Or maybe he had just come at the right time. Straining his hearing, the pitter-patter of goblin feet grew ever fainter. The sounds floating from the adjacent tunnel to his right. Hardly believing his luck, the opportunity was now present, and Daerhovan couldn’t waste anymore seconds. 

He crept out from behind his refuge, soundlessly stalking towards the tunnel ahead, but not before peering around the other passage to make sure other goblins weren’t keeping watch. With the coast clear, Daerhovan disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel. 

The cavern loomed into view, seemingly empty to his eyes. He paused to hear for any signs of life. But all was quiet. Stepping inside, he could see a vast pit in the center of a room. A thin, rickety bridge spanning across. Up ahead a crude looking seat made from bones and ratty leather stood out. Perhaps a throne for a king? Daerhovan didn’t have time to process the sights when wild laughter suddenly rang throughout the room. Heart in his throat, Daerhovan turned to flee, bumping into a strong orc blocking his path. Goblins swarmed into the room from unseen passageways. His hand had just reached the hilt of his sword when a blow from behind him forced him to his knees. Another blow making the world go dark...

Shrill voices pierced through the fog of his mind as Daerhovan came to. 

“Kill him!”

“Skin him alive!”

“Hang him from the rafters!” 

His senses quickly came back into focus as he realized where he was. Goblins thronged around him in a semi circle. Daerhovan yelped in pain as the hair nearest to his forehead was yanked upward, forcing his head back. A massive, wicked looking goblin met his gaze, sneering in triumph. “I’ve known many fools in my life, elf.” He spat. “But they pale in comparison to you!” A vicious kick to his face sent him rolling over to one side. The Great Goblin planted his foot on the cheek he struck. “Many have dared to slink through my halls! Few have managed to reach my throne. I’ll give you that much!” Daerhovan struggled to sit up, sure that his fear was almost palpable to the goblins around him. But he kept his face calm, glaring at the Goblin king as he finished his little tirade. “Many kings have there been in the past But none so cruel or merciless as I! For I am Ashûrz The Savage!” He crowed, a wild light dancing in his yellow eyes. His subjects shrieked their approval. 

Quick as a snake, the goblin King snatched Daerhovan’s collar, bringing the elf’s face close to his. Daerhovan’s stomach heaved from his hot, rancid breath. “You’ll make a worthy feast for my beasts and I. And then your skeleton can join the rest of my trophies.” The goblin gestured to a series of cruel cages hanging from the roof of the cavern. Daerhovan felt a flood of revulsion and horror as he made out corpses within them. Some had remains of gristle still hanging from their bones. His fear intensified, Daerhovan drove his fist into the Goblin King’s jaw. Howling, the goblin let go of the elf’s collar, rubbing the spot his fist had struck. Snarling, Ashûrz screeched into the crowd. “My sword! Bring my sword!’ One of his subjects nearest to the throne lugged the weapon over, Ashûrz grabbed it hastily, rushing at Daerhovan with a cry. Daerhovan looked about wildy for his own weapons. Spotting his own sword a few yards away, he leapt towards it, The aches of his body becoming unnoticeable as adrenaline surged through his veins. Instead of rushing to stop him, the crowd of goblins backed away, choosing to cheer on their king as he strove with the elf intruder. Ashûrz jabbed his sword recklessly at Daerhovan without any hint of masterful swordsmanship. But he was lightning fast, and Daerhovan found himself on the defensive as he struggled to parry away the king’s thrusts. He couldn’t stifle a cry of pain as the tip of Ashurz’s sword cut through the fabric of his upper arm, the tip ripping more than cloth. His staff! He needed his staff. Where had it gone? With it he could do so much more than delay his demise with his sword. 

With a maniacal shout of glee, the Great Goblin swung his shabby sword in a swinging motion towards Daerhovan’s neck, aiming to behead the elf. Daerhovan managed to duck quickly, but the tip caught his brow. Blood flooded the elfs’ vision, his surroundings disappearing under the red wave. No matter how many times he tried to wipe it from his eyes, the blood kept coming. One arm hung limp from it’s injury, the other was occupied by his sword. He couldn't use anything to stem the wound’s flow without unarming himself. The goblin laughed again at his enemy’s plight, and struck again. Daerhovan feebly fended off the attacks, using his hearing to judge where the sword was coming at, rather than sight. With a strength he didn’t think the goblin possesed, the mongrel knocked his sword aside with his own weapon. Daerhovan’s heart sank as he heard his life-saver clattering some feet away from him. “Prepare the feasting fires, my subjects!” Bellowed the Goblin King. Daerhovan barely had time to process his surroundings as a yowl echoed throughout the room, followed by a cry of surprise from his foe. He could hear scuffling some feet away from him. Daerhovan hastily wiped the blood from his eyes, stemming the flow with one hand. 

The sword had dropped out of Ashûrz’s hands. The goblin himself thrashed on the floor as he fought to shove a ruddy, spotted furred animal raking its claws down his chest. 

“Verya?...” Daerhovan whispered, weak from his blood loss. “How did you?...” 

The Mountain Lynx twisted her head to look at him, as if making sure he was still alive. The goblin King took advantage of her brief hesitation, shoving the feline off. Madly, he crawled towards his sword. Blood poured from the claw wounds marring his chest and arms, but he seemed to take no notice as he thrusted his sword towards the lynx. Dodging nimbly, Verya bared her teeth, leaping forwards before Ashûrz could re-double his attack. Her fangs met his throat, sinking deeply into the rough skin. With a gurgling cry, Ashûrz clawed feebly at Verya, attempting to drag her off, but she held fast. Only when he sank to his knees, sword hand letting go of his weapon, did Verya unlatch herself. His throat torn open and choking on his own life force, Ashûrz slumped to the cold, stony ground. Dead within seconds. 

Triumphant cries transformed into screams of horror as the goblins processed the death of their king. Daerhovan tensed, as did Verya, expecting the goblins to swarm over them in vengeance. But without a leader the crowd seemed confused. Fierce shouts sounded from the tunnels behind. Daerhovan slumped forward. Hardly able to process what was happening as the goblins retreated, only to be cut down by a party of dwarves led by Gloin himself. He could feel Verya’s warm fur pressed against him as he blacked out for the second time today.  

---

Cold air filled his lungs as Daerhovan awoke. And though the frigid air bit the skin of his face, it was quite a welcome feeling. A “Mrrow” heralded Verya’s presence as she padded over, looking over Daerhovan’s face. Purring loudly, she rasped her bristled tongue over the elf's bruised cheek. Chuckling, he gently fender her off with his good arm. “Yes, yes I see you too. I’m awake now.” Grunting, he sat up to study his surroundings. He was in a stony hall. But the rock was masterfully carved, lined with the furs of animals and the geometric art of the dwarves embroidered on richly hued flags. A fire in the hearth near the end of the room struggled to maintain it’s flame in the cold, The place was quite a contrast to the dark, craggy hallways of Goblin Town. Wasn’t he just there?

It was as if his body was as slow to remember as his mind, for the aches and pains of his battle and beating from the Goblin King made themselves known. Daerhovan groaned as he examined his incapacitated arm, crudly bandaged with rags that were fastened with rope. Verya shifted closer, sniffing his wounded arm. Daerhovan could swear her feline face looked concerned. The door shifted open, bringing in more cold air. Daerhovan tightened the bed sheets around him more closely as Gloin ambled through. “Well if it isn’t the Goblin King slayer! And the elf! Glad to see you in one piece lad.” He strode over, looking apologetic. “Sorry about the bandaging. We’re low on healing supplies out here. Oh, and sorry about your staff. The goblins claimed it as a trophy, and your life was more of a priority.” 

Daerhovan gazed at Gloin quizzically, the fate of his staff quickly shoved to the back of his mind. “What happened? How did I get here?” He asked, skipping pleasantries. 

“Some of my men carried you out of the mountain while the rest of us cleaved a path through the goblins back to the entrance. There wasn’t much to cleave though, to be fair.: Gloin explained, trying in vain to strengthen the hearth fire. “We quickly bound your wounds once outside, and carried you on a makeshift stretcher to Hrimbarg. Thank Mahal your goat was still there to help.” Dropping the fire tongs with a curse, Gloin gave up on tending to the hearth. His attention landed on Verya, amusement dancing in his old eyes. “You’ve quite the loyal companion there, I must say. Refused to leave you alone along the whole way here. Heh, nevermind the fact that she slayed the Goblin King single pawed!” 

Daerhovan studied the lynx, still perched on the bed with him. Wonder filled him as he realized what she had done. “You saved my life?” He breathed, reaching a hand to stroke her ear. Purring, she leaned into his hand, rubbing her cheek against it. “Why?” 

Verya said nothing, as to be expected. She merely blinked up at him, bright eyes stark against the dimming room. Gloin sighed. “That hearth fire doesn't have much time left. We need to get you to Vindurhal, and then Rivendell.” Daerhovan nodded, testing his strength as he climbed out of bed. “I think I can make the journey.”

He rode atop Maggie, Gloin on his own goat in front of him, with Verya bringing up the rear. Atop the watch tower of Vindurhal he redressed his wound, before the party made for Gloin’s original camp in a small, abandoned dwarven fortress just above the Valley of Imladris. Daerhovan was allowed to regain his strength for a couple of days before his return to the Valley. He thanked Gloin and his men heartily for their part in getting him out of Goblin Town, and promised to repay them somehow. Gloin had waved a dismissive hand, reassuring him the death of Ashûrz was payment enough. Not satisfied, Daerhovan offered to let them use Maggie as a mount and beast of burden for at least one month before she was to be set free. They had conceded, trying to hide their grateful expressions. 

Now he was hiking through the steep ravines and canyons of the Misties as they descended into the Valley. The snow line gradually fading, allowing yellowed shoots of grass to push through the soil. Daerhovan could hear Verya padding behind him. Stopping, he turned to face her. Verya halted as well, looking up at Daerhovan curiously. Her head tilted as if she was asking. “Why have we stopped?”  She had never left his side since his rescue from Goblin Town. And it seemed she was sticking with that mindset. Daerhovan sighed. He couldn’t intimidate her again. He had a feeling she would come back eventually. Crouching down, Daerhovan attempted to speak with her in beast tongue. You must not follow. 

Verya chirped in response, though Daerhovan couldn’t decipher her meaning. No feelings and impressions formed in his mind. If she understood him she made no indication of it. Daerhovan huffed in amusement, shaking his head as he gently scratched the base of her ears. A wave of gratitude and affection swelled within him as he remembered what she had done to preserve his life. She hadn’t killed the Goblin King to protect herself, but for him. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to keep the lynx with him for awhile, It was obvious she wasn’t about to let him go either. He would report his adventure to Elrond. And then? He still intended to make for Angmar. Looking into Verya’s eyes, a faint impression began to form in his mind, a thought that didn’t feel like his own. 

I will follow. 

[feanor]

please give us the details, I'm so curious 👀

thank you for your interest! basically, i’ve kind of come up with some ideas for holidays that the elves in valinor might celebrate and then others that the noldor in beleriand might also celebrate in addition to the valinorean holidays.

The first holiday would be a celebration of the awakening of the first elves. I feel like it would be super important for everyone, considering the Awakening of the first elves is the root of their existence and everyone is descended from those first elves. It would be important to celebrate the beginning of life for their species. 

They’re not quite sure when the elves were actually awakened, as time wasn’t kept in Cuivenen the same way as it is in Valinor, with days, months and years. However, many have chosen spring as the season of life and growing, so spring becomes the time of celebration for the awakening, the beginning of life for the elves. 

The entire season of spring is a symbol to the elves, but it’s during the first week when the first flowers begin to bloom when the elves really celebrate the awakening. It’s a time to spend with family, particularly older and younger generations (parents, grandparents, children, but not quite so much siblings and cousins) and to take in the beauty of the world and of the society that’s been created thanks to those original 144 elves. It’s also a time to give gifts to older generations as a thanks for bringing them into the world to see the wonders of it, especially since elven couples usually have 3-4 kids max.

The second holiday is kind of like Valentine’s day, in that it’s a celebration of love and the unions between people in love. Obviously for elves, who find a partner and stay with them until the End (unless you’re Finwë), it’s a really big deal to fall in love and get married because it’s so serious. So they like to have a three-day period to celebrate all the marriages of people that they know and rejoice that they or their family or their friends have found someone they love and will spend the rest of their lives with. It’s also an excuse for elves to shower their s/o with love and gifts and cook their favourite meals for them because you love them. Also, it’s the time when elves might go to pray to whichever of the Valar (mostly Varda) or Eru that their love and relationship stays strong and passionnate until the next holiday, or the next major milestone, or until the End. This celebration takes place right on the cusp of summer and autumn, as autumn symbolises the beginning of death because all the plants are dying, so the elves want to show off their love for each other to renew its strength until the winter passes.

The third holiday is a celebration not unlike the first, but instead of celebration the awakening, it’s to celebrate the crossing of the elves across the sea to Valinor. Most elves take it as a time to count their blessings that they are in Valinor, safe from Melkor and with their families, warm, with plenty of food. Many take the opportunity to find the first elves (Finwë, Olwë, Miriel, probably Mahtan, you know.) and personally thank them for their sacrifice of giving up Cuivenen to give everyone a chance at a safer life. It’s also a week long thing, many choose to fast during the day(although since it’s not organised religion, it’s not necessary) to honour those who may have lacked food before the Great Voyage to the West.

There’s a couple of other minor holidays and festivals (mostly celebrating nature and the arts) but those are the three main ones that I’ve come up with for elves specifically in Valinor!

‘Meanwhile, when the Noldor arrive in Beleriand, there’s one other holiday that I’ve also come up with, and they stop celebrating the holiday for the Great Voyage because they are no longer in Valinor and no longer count their blessings.

The holiday that they replace the Great Voyage one with is a celebration of the rising of the sun and moon (mayim if you read this, I think this is the most important holiday for Glorfindel and Ecthelion). For them it becomes a symbol of hope; the return of the light makes them think that perhaps they are not doomed to fail, that perhaps the Valar are, in the end, on their side in the fight. They celebrate its rising in time with the arrival of Fingolfin’s host in Beleriand and obviously it’s a super big deal, the light at the end of the dark tunnel that was the Ice. It renews their belief that what they are doing is right and they take a few days every year they can to celebrate that renewal of hope and return of light. The dates of the holiday change from year to year because of battles but generally it’s celebrated midsummer, when the sun is at its brightest, and midwinter, when moon shines the longest. They are times to think about what has gone right, and to think of the best outcomes and decide to work to achieve those good outcomes while having faith that the intent of Eru is for good to prevail, even if there are great losses.

Thus concludes my thoughts on valinorean and exilic noldorin holidays. this was very long, i’m sorry, but i hope anyone who read this enjoyed!

[a-tehta]

Glorfindel Week: Day Four

My last (and belated) entry for @glorfindelweek is finally here! It was written with the Romance tag in mind., and it is about Glorfindel and Ecthelion dealing with the Doom of the Noldor by being a very normal couple.

I might have mentioned that I am a very slow writer. And that is my excuse for posting the Day Four fic on Day Seven. (It is also a little under-baked, in the sense that I would like to do at least one more round of rewrites. But there is no Day Eight. I will do the rewrites silently, later.) This whole week has been a very interesting experience, in the sense that I almost died I ended up producing 4k words of fresh content for it, at what is for me a breakneck speed. I would like to thank the organizers for making it happen, and setting up such open-ended prompts, and to any readers for reading.