#but more beleg content...

[thegreatstrongbow]

Torn between wanting to read the Unfinished Tales version of CoH and not physically being able to stand the suffering

[doodle-pops]

˖ ࣪ .You Don’t Give Them Attention (They Get Jealous)˖ ࣪ .

Headcanon: Curufin, Amrod, Galdor, Beleg, Gwindor

A/N: Just giant needy puppies who can’t go five seconds without your attention. Not that we don’t mind. Enjoy!!

︶꒦꒷Curufin꒷꒦︶

Strolling into the room with his usual confidence and composure, his steps faltered slightly when he noticed you curled up on the couch, entirely absorbed in a book. You don’t even glance up as he enters, too engrossed in the story to notice his presence. Curufin stood there for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the scene—the book, the pile of plush animals surrounding you, and the contented purring of your pet nestled against your side.

With a sharp clearing of his throat, expecting you to at least acknowledge him, you only hummed in response, prompting his lips form a slight pout. Not one to be ignored, Curufin walked over and deliberately sat beside you, close enough that his leg pressed against yours. Still, you didn’t look up.

“Is that book more interesting than me, melda?” he asked his tone light but with an edge of playful jealousy.

You glanced at him, offering a smile of acknowledgement before returning to your book. And Curufin’s eyes narrowed further as he watched you, clearly not satisfied with the lack of attention. With a huff, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest in an exaggerated display of annoyance.

“So you’re going to ignore me?” After a few minutes, he sighs dramatically. “I see how it is. I’ve been replaced by a book, a collection of stuffed animals, and a cat.” He makes a show of turning away from you, his lips still pursed in a mock pout.

Amused by his antics, you finally set the book down, turning to him with a smile. “Oh, don’t be such a sore baby,” you teased and pulled him close. With ease, you watched his pout dissolved into a satisfied smirk as you cuddled against him, your attention now fully on him.

“Much better,” he murmured, kissing your temple as he relaxed into your embrace.

︶꒦꒷Amrod꒷꒦︶

The moment he walked into the room, his heart which was set on spending some time with you, sank. His playful smile, ready to tease you or suggest a fun activity, shifted when he spotted you sitting on the floor with your pet, brushing its fur with gentle, loving strokes. A few of your stuffed animals were scattered around, while you were humming softly, clearly in your own little world.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his smile fading into a pout as he realised that your attention was wholly occupied. Shifting from foot to foot, he waited for you to notice him, but you were too focused on your pet to look up.

“Focused on the dog, are we?” Amrod says, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a definite note of jealousy in his voice. You glanced up with a bright smile, but before you can respond, your pet nuzzled you, and your attention was immediately drawn back to it.

Not one to miss out on the opportunity to be dramatic, he flopped down onto the couch with a theatrical sigh. “So this is the way that it is now,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. “Replaced by a pet and stuffed animals. And here I thought I was your favourite. Guess I’ll just disappear far, far away…”

You couldn’t resist a giggle at his pouting, setting your pet aside and crawling over to him. “You’ll always be my favourite,” you assured him, snuggling up against his side.

Easily, his pout softened into a grin as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “Good,” he murmured, resting his head against yours. “Because I wasn’t planning on sharing you with anyone—not even your fluffy friends.”

︶꒦꒷Galdor꒷꒦︶

Galdor had spent the better part of the day trying to catch your attention, but you were completely absorbed in your new project—a delicate tapestry you were weaving with intricate elven patterns. The colours danced across the fabric under your skilled hands, and you were so engrossed in your work that you hardly noticed when Galdor entered the room.

At first, he watched you in silence, admiring the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way your fingers moved so deftly over the loom. But as the hours passed, Galdor couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He was used to having your attention, to hearing your laugh and seeing your smile directed at him. Now, all of that was being lavished on a piece of cloth.

“Am I to be replaced by a tapestry?” Galdor finally asked, his voice carrying a playful lilt but with an underlying pout. You looked up, surprised to find him standing there, his arms crossed and a slight frown on his handsome face.

“Galdor, I didn’t see you come in,” you said, laughing softly as you set your work aside. But Galdor wasn’t satisfied with just a smile. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’ve been ignoring me all day,” he murmured, a touch of exaggeration in his voice. “I’m starting to think you love that tapestry more than me.”

You turned in his arms, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Never,” you assured him, laughing as you saw the corners of his lips finally curve into a smile. “But you’re much more distracting than a tapestry, that I’ll have no choice but to continue ignoring you to finish it up.”

Without missing a single beat, he whined, “Absolutely not.”

︶꒦꒷Beleg꒷꒦︶

Patiently waiting for you to finish your latest project—a beautifully carved wooden figure of an animal native to Beleriand—Beleg sat still and silent. Your hands moved with precision and focus, every stroke of the knife revealing the shape beneath the wood. Beleg admired your skill, but as the hours dragged on and your attention remained entirely on the carving, he started to feel a little neglected.

He tried to distract himself, sharpening his arrows, organizing his gear and making conversation, which failed as it resulted in you ignoring him halfway through it. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore as he wandered over to where you were sitting, casually leaning against the table, his arms folded.

“Do you plan on spending the entire day with that piece of wood?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the slight pout in his voice. You looked up, surprised to find him so close, and grinned.

“It’s almost done,” you replied, not noticing the way his shoulders slumped and his lips quivered slightly at your response. Beleg sighed dramatically, moving to sit beside you, his presence warm and comforting.

“Perhaps I should start carving something too,” he mused aloud, “though I doubt it would keep me as entertained as yours has kept you.”

You finally set the carving aside and turned to face him, realising just how much you’d been absorbed in your work. “Beleg, are you jealous of a block of wood?” you teased, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face.

Beleg gave you a lopsided grin, his earlier pout forgotten. “Only when it steals you away from me,” he admitted softly. You laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and Beleg’s smile widened. “I suppose I can forgive you, this time.”

“You’re such a jealous, big baby, Beleg.”

“Hey! I have all the right to be!”

︶꒦꒷Gwindor꒷꒦︶

Gwindor had always been a patient elf, but today, that patience was wearing thin. You had been spending the better part of the afternoon in the garden, tending to your beloved plants with a devotion that left little room for anything—or anyone—else.

At first, Gwindor had simply watched you from a distance, admiring the way the sunlight caught in your hair and the gentle way you handled each leaf and blossom. He knew how much you loved your plants, and normally, he found it endearing. But today, he couldn’t help but feel a bit left out.

You were crouched down, carefully pruning a particularly stubborn shrub, when you felt a presence behind you. Before you could turn around, a soft voice broke the silence.

“Are the plants truly so fascinating?” Gwindor asked, his tone laced with a hint of playful reproach.

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there, arms crossed, his usually bright eyes now clouded with something akin to a pout. It was rare to see Gwindor in such a mood, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“They are,” you replied teasingly, turning back to your work. “They require a lot of attention.”

“And what of me?” he pressed, stepping closer. “Do I not require attention as well?”

You could hear the slight pout in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. Setting down your shears, you finally turned to face him fully. He was so close now that you could see the soft furrow in his brow and the slight downturn of his lips.

“You’re jealous of the plants?” you asked, barely suppressing a giggle.

Gwindor didn’t answer immediately, instead dropping his gaze to the ground. “Perhaps,” he muttered, looking more like a scolded child than the proud warrior you knew him to be.

Unable to resist any longer, you reached out and gently cupped his cheek, drawing his gaze back to yours. “You have nothing to worry about,” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You’ll always have my attention.”

Gwindor’s pout melted away, replaced by a warm, contented smile. “Good,” he murmured, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Because I thought I had to perform a circus of tricks to get your attention.”

Masterlist

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[ladysternchen]

You know, I'm quite glad that we're getting the fanon vs canon concerning Elu Thingol and the Sindar in general into focus a bit. When I first came to Tumblr, it felt to me as though I were just about the only one who cared about him (which of course was never the case, but I at least had no-one to talk to about my elf).

But there's a stale note to it- that it seems there must be more fighting, and hardened fronts, more never-ending discussions that always burn down to one thing- do we accept canon or not.

And really, I don't want to go down that road anymore. I really don't want to spend so much time quoting and explaining and re-reading to make sure I get my argumentation right only to have the other side say stuff like 'yeah, true, but I still get a different vibe so I'm gonna ignore canon and keep hating'

And while I really want to emphasise that there is nothing (!) whatsoever wrong with feeling a story, feeling characters and liking or disliking them (yes, happens to me, too. Canonically, Aredhel has done absolutely nothing wrong, and yet I really dislike her), basing actual character-bashing on these 'vibes' is a problem. Excluding people who defend their favourite characters with CANON from discussions. Making up yet more hateful fanon. Accusing people of certain political beliefs because they like the Sindar (and yeah, I did delete a lot of what I've written here. It just... this makes me so so is angry, but starting to insult people is not what I want for this post, so I deleted, and sat on my fingers until I was able to pick up civil tones again).

But I can't change it. I can't change what other people think, and who knows, maybe I'm no more right than they are. Maybe there is no right. Maybe we could accept that this fandom is vast enough for ALL OF US?

So dear fellow Sindar-stans, let's stop arguing and fill Tumblr instead with the content you want to see. Share your headcanons, write your fanfictions, draw and share your fan art.

Let's discuss it all, dive deep. Comment on the works you like, ask for things to be written. Yeah, I have an obsession with character death, I find grief and mourning an incredibly beautiful thing to write and read about, and as I kill off my favourite characters in general, Elu Thingol's death is my prime motive. (who would have guessed, ey? 🤣) And I'd love to read it from time to time, rather than always write it myself. But that is my very specific hyper fixation and understandably not everyone's cup of tea. But give me all those tender moments of love and friendship and loyalty. Give me the conversations between Elwë, Olwë and Elmo on the journey, give me Daeron's backstory, give me Mablung and Beleg standing unwavering behind their king. Give me drunk Elu and Melian and HER found family. Give me an insight into Nimloth's head. Give me loving reaper-like comics with Elurín and Eluréd and Námo Mandos. And hell, yes, all you talented artists out there, give me some spicy Elu and Melian, please? Give me an insight into all those tender moments. Give me the moment of their reunion, and please please please will anyone draw the moment that Elwë stumbled into Olwë's arms on legs that would not yet carry him (lol, ok, that's too specific. But I have that weird hc that Elves that are released from Mandos need some time to get accustomed to their body again, like a butterfly needs to dry after it emerges from its cocoon).

Ok, now I waffled enough, but will we try that, please? Spread some love instead of discord? That belongs to Bauglir after all.

[theoppositeofprofound]

Assigning First Age humans favorite foods for reasons

Bëor/Balan: Holds a traveller’s fondness and fear towards the humble mushroom; he counts himself lucky that Nargothrond is so vigorous in fungiculture.

Haleth: Though she’s eaten orc (before the elves got all hysterical about it) she doesn’t like it. As an older woman she gets a taste for dried hawthorn and very piquant rowan wine.

Marach: Grains are a new indulgence, he was never much of a farmer while on the march. In Estolad he finds a love of barley cakes.

Adanel: Raises ducks for gizzards

Imlach: Turnips in mountain goat butter. Like elves, he’s not “lactose tolerant” but cold climate girls make do.

Andreth: Innovated heavily in the field of Jellies, combining old advice from her teachers and elf lore to finalize the perfect crabapple jam.

Bregor: Lake trout with bitter orange.

Beril: Trained truffle hounds and valued her prizes highly.

Emeldir: Roast pig, fattened and butchered in autumn. As the main coordinator, she takes pride in the finished product and lets herself have a bit of crackling when it’s done.

Barahir: Is impressively lactose tolerant and enjoys an early, soft cheese, baked till its gooey.

Beren: In the dark woods, birds without a brood that year would spit crop milk into his mouth. It isn’t the taste he misses but the sense someone was one his side. Also hot drinks—after years being hunted it’s nice to have the security to build a fire.

Húrin: Lamb with a a certain blend of spices, the recipe reportedly over the mountains by his ancestors. No one uses cumin like Hador’s people.

Huor: The elves of Gondolin kept snail—he’s never been able to recapture the crisp, woody taste of their eggs.

Morwen: Dove, roasted, maybe a little more raw than is advisable but she trusts her butchery.

Rian: Nectar from the woodbine that blooms late in spring

Ulfang: Fresh wild-strawberries; his sons would bring him handfuls of them when they were small.

Bór: He likes a fermented milk, somewhere between kumis and filmjölk, but he’ll also drink milk raw just to flex on Maedhros’ kin.

Aerin: Even before she was tasked with feeding great numbers in the shadow of famine, she had a fondness for the humble onion.

Tuor: Bumblebee honey, dug out of the ground right at the coming of winter, when the bees are dying and don’t need it anymore.

Túrin: A pine nut/bear fat/mandrake pemmican Beleg taught him. None of his friends handle the alkaloid content as well as he does. He likes raw potatoes too.

Nienor: Used to catch the snakes that came to prey on her mother’s birds and make them into soup. As Níniel she eats crabapples before they can be jellied.

Dior: Little minnows found in the cold streams of Doriath and around the island of his birth. Also, eel.

Brandir: Roast chestnuts—he uses his cane to crack them open to the delight of children.

Eärendil: Enjoys shark as a child, before Morgoth’s seeping rot builds up dangerously in local bioaccumulators. Likes fennel in Sirion and the sea buckthorn that grows near his lady’s tower across the waves.

Elros: Seafood is a steady source of protein for an establishing society. Once they have the stores to use their sheep for meat as well as wool though? He’s your king for mutton in almond milk.

[maironsbigboobs]

!! if you’re still accepting kiss prompts, how about beleg/mablung for 26- on a scar, please? 💖❤️💖❤️

26. on a scar

 “Does it hurt, still?”

On the sand of Alqualondë, all was still. Mablung’s skin glistened with saltwater as he lay across Beleg’s lap, a quiet moment after his evening swim. Beleg, as usual, had declined the invitation to join him in the water, but he always enjoyed the view he got from the beach.

“Hm?” Mablung’s brow furrowed, his attention drawn back from his daydreams.

“This.” Beleg ran his fingers over the scar on Mablung’s chest. The jagged mark of an axe wound between his ribs, a stark, pale reminder of how he had died. Beleg’s eyes were often drawn to it, in these moments, and he always felt a touch of guilt - he knew Mablung would rather be ogled for more pleasant reasons. But Beleg did not have to wonder why he had chosen to keep it in this new life; he knew how such little things could soothe the burden of memory. “Does it hurt?”

Mablung shivered. “Not particularly. A little sensitive, at worst.” he answered with a hint of a smile, “But if I say yes, will you kiss it better?”

Better - this was better, this second life in the gentle bliss of Valinor. Sometimes the stillness grated on him, but Mablung’s presence washed those feelings away.

Beleg played along, bending to press a feather-light kiss to the scar. Mablung sighed, a quiet, content sound that Beleg wished he could bottle and keep forever. He kissed along the path of the scar, and Mablung relaxed across his thighs, soft and malleable as sand. Beleg smiled against him, worshipful.

The sun sank over the Sea, and they were at peace. 

[niennawept]

MAEGLIN AND AREDHEL IN DORIATH PLEASE

Okay - this one is a little wild so forgive me. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it, lest I snap and start writing it. [Not Written Yet Fics]

So this came to me when I was thinking about how Eol is a kinsman of Thingol and how Thingol does seem to have a soft spot for children in need.

I will warn you before going on that this does feature more nuanced headcanons about Eol than are widely popular in the fandom. If you would rather not read that - I don't blame you. My reading is based on the idea that the Silm narrative was written by Pengolodh and he's ... not unbiased given the Fall of Gondolin.

The only abuse here is restricting people's freedom to leave Nan Elmoth. Aredhel and Eol married each other without any form of coercion on his part (but they are in a freaky magic forest that likes to play matchmaker). It was way too hasty - they had a kid to try to save the marriage and we all know that doesn't end well. It was just a bad match. They wanted different things out of life and over time, Eol subtly got worse and worse about his terror of the outside world. His insistence that they do not leave because it is not safe. People are out to get them et cetera.

I feel like that needed saying before I go on - or the rest might not make sense.

So Aredhel and Maeglin go to Doriath because at some point in their marriage Aredhel told Eol enough about Gondolin that he figured out its location.

She worries that if they fled that way, he'd find them and bring them back.

Maeglin is still not fully grown. He doesn't have great fondness for sunlight either.

He's a little scrawny and pale and he's never played with other children - but after a rocky patch, he does find a niche with the rest of the Doriathrim.

He is a bit disappointed that he doesn't get to see the famed city of Gondolin (or at least, as famous as it is in his little mind) and "Uncle" Thingol does not seem as cool as the Uncle Turgon he was promised, but he does dote on the boy.

He still makes friends with the dwarves. His father taught him to respect them and although he doesn't completely understand everything his father did - that doesn't seem like a bad thing

Aredhel has a more difficult adjustment. She's a Noldo and she's on thin ice for her family's role in the kinslaying. It's fair to say she's tolerated rather than embraced.

Kinship rites among the Sindar dictate that she be treated like the King's "niece" - but it's very strained.

Meanwhile in Gondolin, Eol is captured trying to enter the valley and put to stern questioning. When they learn of the way he kept Aredhel from leaving, he's thrown into a prison cell.

(he receives a court order for mandatory counseling, since he doesn't seem to get what he did wrong)

A short while later, Galadriel returns and her presence eases some of that tension. Her close relationship with Melian sheds some light on the whole Nan Elmoth situation.

Aredhel learns of the ancient magic there that draws people together - often in ways that even Melian does not understand.

Maeglin grows up. Aredhel dons hunting leathers for the first time in many years and walks in the forest with Beleg and Mablung and Nellas. For a time, they are all content

Then disaster child Turin turns up and Maeglin feels a strange kind of kinship with the boy. He aids him how he can, even giving him a weapon he forged. (when has that ever gone wrong?)

Maeglin gets a front row seat to a "there but for the grace of the Valar go I" situation when everything with Turin goes south.

We check in on Eol - he's ... better. Taking him out of Nan Elmoth seems to have cleared his mind a bit. He still doesn't like the Noldor, doubly so since they're holding him in Gondolin, but he's earned his way out of prison. (He's still closely watched - out on parole)

Then the -uh-Nauglamír situation happens and Maeglin leaves without fighting anyone - dwarf or elf. That won't right the situation with the Silmaril and it won't bring Thingol back.

Aredhel is loathe to leave the marchwardens to deal with this - but Maeglin is still her kid, so she chooses to go with him - but it's a difficult decision.

That's about as far as I've gotten. I do think there's some kind of reunion (Maeglin and Aredhel with Eol) but I don't see them being a big happy family so much as people who have ties to each other and who are trying to sort through what went wrong years ago.

I think it ends on a hopeful note. Not everything is forgiven. Nothing is forgotten, but maybe they can coexist.

Like I said, it's messy (partially because it's a little autobiographical in places, there's a reason I feel so badly for Maeglin) - but I think about it from time to time.

[serregon]

a little preview of another piece for @dorcuartholweek, just Beleg being cute and passionate about flowers

Beleg then spent the next hour or who-knows-how-long rambling on and on about his wonderful new findings in Valinor. How the fruits and vegetables tasted to his Beleriand tongue, how he prepared them in exotic new dishes mixed with a Doriathrim flair. He spoke of fauna, of the lovely species of insects with translucent wings who flocked to him as if he were one of their own, and of the deer who ran with him when he joined Lady Nessa on her journeys through his neck of the woods. They did not fear him, he said, and they would eat berries from his own hands. He spoke of the flora and their meanings in the language of flowers, both that of the Sindar and that of the tongues of Valinor, and how he arranged them in bilingual bouquets expressing poetry that he would be thrilled to explain in further detail.

All while he spoke, Túrin listened with few comments. Though the content of his unending rambles was new, this side of Beleg was familiar, and Túrin recalled all the times he would listen with eager ears. Frankly, Túrin retained little of the knowledge he would have gained from Beleg’s words on the birds and beasts and blossoms, but gaining knowledge was never the point. Beleg spoke about his passions with great enthusiasm, his face lighting up like the stars. When Túrin would encourage him to speak about one of his particular areas of interests, Beleg flashed a bright smile, a smile that Túrin cherished more than anything else.

“Oh, but you must be hungry, listening to me babble on for so long,” said Beleg.

“It’s alright,” said Túrin. “I like hearing you speaking about your passions.”

“Aye, but I can continue to speak inside the house, where you can listen with meats and breads, and wine or tea, whichever you’d fancy.”

[lycheesodas]

hello again! one more Beleg Mablung headcanon :)

In the first year or two of the First Age, on Mablung's desk in Menegroth, he keeps a small pinned note that he replaces with a new one every morning. Same content, updating the numbers every day. For example, one day it reads:

"Today is the 547th Sunrise. 362th since Beleg went to the border."

A few days later: "551th Sunrise. 4th since Beleg came back."

Aww I love this!! Now I’m thinking of Mablung with a daily planner that he decorates with dried flowers that Beleg brings home 🥹

Thank you for sending these in, they really brighten my day 💛

[tolkien-feels]

For ask game, maybe Luthien?

Not to sound like Beren but I will take any opportunity to talk about Luthien

Sexuality Headcanon: Okay so I've spent a really long time thinking about it in the past, actually! My headcanon is that for most of her life, she identifies as gray-aroace. In walks Beren and with literal magical interference from God she basically speedruns forming an emotional connection with him, and then she's like "Ohhhh okay what I had thought was rarely-experienced sexual attraction was just aesthetic attraction, THIS is what people are talking about when they say someone is hot. I get it now." which is a lot like being demi, but does it count as demi if you can instantly develop an emotional bond? Papers could be written about it

Gender Headcanon: Something akin to demigirl. She finds her gender is very tied to her nature as half-maia. She feels like her gender is the same as Melian's, but Melian's gender is quite difficult to grasp even for her. In the binary of Arda, she definitely feels much more like a woman than like a man, but the binary doesn't really accurately describe how she identifies tbh

A ship I have with said character: Beren of course. Sometimes, unrequited Daeron but I'm super picky about how it's done. I can be convinced to ship her with Galadriel but I don't usually spend a lot of time thinking about it

A BROTP I have with said character: DAERON A THOUSAND TIMES DAERON. Her mom and dad but that's pretty obvious. I have a whole set of headcanons in my mind about how she and Finrod are friends, actually. Mablung and Beleg, too.

A NOTP I have with said character: Actually, every ship I don't actively ship 😅

A random headcanon: She holds people's hands a lot. Whenever she wants someone to pay attention to what she's saying (which is most of the time) she instinctively holds their hand.

General Opinion over said character: Well, I love her, but that shouldn't surprise anyone who's ever seen me scream about her. I don't enjoy girlboss!Luthien but other than that, it's pretty difficult to find Luthien content I am not willing to at least check out, because I am very interested in her as a character

[swordoaths]

@thegreatstrongbow continued from [x]

    Her eyes were lifted toward the sky where the highest branches and rustling leaves framed small sections of stars. Each frame had a story-- each one she drank in as if it would be the last thing she would ever see. Here, seated atop a sturdy bow, Tauriel found belonging--- a sense of oneness where the silver light of the stars and the umber of the forest joined together. Often she came here, but not always with company. But Beleg’s presence felt of the forest; therefore, she, too, found contentment seated near him.

    At first, Tauriel only nodded, her gaze still turned upward. But as the breeze picked up, it guided her her view, tilting her chin downward to eye level with the tree boughs and finally to Beleg. She lifted a brow as she regarded him, feeling something much more ancient than she--- of kindred, times, and places from which the Silvan had long since disassociated. 

   “Sometimes, I have gone to the edge of the forest at night,” Tauriel broke her silence. “To see what lies beyond, though it is not our way. Other lands--- other forests than this.” Turning toward the trees, she continued.  “You have seen them. What are they like?”  

[doodle-pops]

「 ✦Discovering You Writing Fanfiction About Them✦ 」

Headcanon: Curufin, Turgon, Finarfin, Egalmoth, Beleg, Gwindor

A/N: I had a ball of a time writing this one. Please enjoy the crack and humour I’ve written.

「 ✦Curufin✦ 」

Always curious about the little notebook you kept so closely guarded, and how you manically laughed as you acribbled across the page, Curufin had his mind set on being a little mouse. You had never been secretive, exactly, but you were always quick to close it whenever he walked into the room. So one day, when you were out gathering herbs, Curufin’s curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the notebook, casually flipping through the pages. At first, he was intrigued. Then his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

“By the Valar…” he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the words on the page. The story depicted him—Curufin the Cunning, the master of craft, the sharp-witted son of Fëanor—as a bumbling, lovesick fool who couldn’t tell a forge from a farm. And was he really wearing a flower crown while spouting poetry about how beautiful your eyes were compared to the “gleaming stars of Elbereth”?

When you returned, finding him sitting at the table with your notebook open in front of him, his expression was a mixture of horror and disbelief, not far off from yours at his discovery. “Care to explain this?” he asked, his voice strained as he tapped a finger on the offending passage.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his expression. “You weren’t supposed to see that!”

Curufin pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. “You’ve turned me into some kind of…lovestruck poet! And what is this nonsense about me trying to bake bread for you and burning down half the kitchen? I’m a master craftsman, not some…incompetent oaf!”

“Have you ever seen yourself in the kitchen making the simplest of things,” you teased, leaning over to read the part that had him so outraged. “I thought you’d enjoy it!”

“Enjoy it? You have a cruel sense of humour. Change this, please!" Curufin pleaded, his voice almost panicked. The thought of anyone—especially his brothers—reading such a portrayal was too much to bear. “I have a reputation, you know. This—this will ruin me!”

You shook your head, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "Well…I can always write about you being a brooding, melodramatic anti-hero who monologues about his dark, tragic past while throwing in some utterly cringe-worthy lines like, “No one understands the deep abyss of my soul, not even my beloved.”

“Absolutely not! Furthermore, that suspiciously sounds like you’ve already written it,” he accused as his fingers flipped the pages, searching for the story.

Setting your basket of herbs down, you chuckled, “Maybe, however, this one stays. Besides, no one else is going to read it…unless you keep making such a fuss about it."

Curufin groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “This is not right!”

“If you continue to complain, I’ll write you more tragic than you already are,” you replied, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He gave you a withering look but couldn’t stay angry. “At least give me a heroic death or something…not this ridiculous baking disaster. I have standards!”

You laughed again, knowing full well that no amount of pleading would make you change a word. Curufin could only shake his head, muttering to himself as he walked away, “A flower crown… really?”

「 ✦Turgon✦ 」

When he discovered that you had been writing stories about him, his curiosity was piqued. He imagined grand epics or tales of his wisdom, but when he found the actual content, his reaction was...less than pleased.

He sat across from you in your shared chambers, holding the offending parchment as if it were some dark relic. “You wrote this about me?” he asked, his voice incredulous. You could see his composure faltering as he glanced down at the text once more. “I’m a tyrant who imprisons wayward poets and forces them to compose odes to my magnificence? And what is this about me turning into a dragon at night?”

You tried to stifle your laughter but failed miserably. “It’s just a story, Turgon. You’re the tragic anti-hero who loses his mind and his kingdom.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Tragic anti-hero? I’m a lunatic in this! And why on earth would I turn into a dragon? My ancestors never had anything to do with dragons!”

You shrugged, an innocent smile playing on your lips. “Artistic license?”

Turgon groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is not how people should see me! I’m not some unhinged ruler obsessed with power and—wait, do I really speak in third person in every single chapter?” He flipped through the pages, his eyes widening with every line. “Turgon commands! Turgon decrees! Turgon is displeased!”

“It adds to the drama,” you teased, leaning back and crossing your arms. “And the readers seem to enjoy it. If you want, I can merge it with another idea where you have a penchant for over-the-top declarations and an obsession with your own reflection.”

“I do not swoon at my reflections!” he whined.

“‘And lo, Turgon, the fairest of all Eldar, gazed upon his reflection, and the very heavens wept at his beauty…’” you mocked, lifting a hand to your forehead, pretending to swoon.

“No! I am not that vain! And who are these readers, and why do they enjoy such madness?” he demanded, looking genuinely baffled.

You chuckled. “Um…your Lords, especially Penlod. He’s impressed by my creativity,” you sheepishly muttered, “They find you entertaining. It’s just fiction, Turgon. People love a good villain.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “You read to my Lords that I’m a villain. I don’t even have a nefarious plan! And this duel with Fingolfin—why would I challenge my own father?!”

You reached over and patted his hand, still unable to wipe the smile off your face. “Maybe you need to lighten up a bit. It’s all in good fun.”

Turgon sighed, staring at the parchment like it was a betrayal of everything he stood for. “Can’t you at least make me less…absurd? A little more dignified?”

“Nope,” you said cheerfully, plucking the story from his hands. “That would ruin the whole point.”

He slumped in his chair, utterly defeated. “This is torture.”

“Of course it is,” you replied, grinning. “And the more you protest, the more inclined I’d be to release an even more ridiculous story.”

Turgon gave you a long, suffering look before burying his face in his hands. “As if this wasn’t already absurd…”

「 ✦Finarfin✦ 」

He had assumed you were writing poetry or perhaps a letter. Even the way you would double over your papers, laughing and snickering as your quill scribbled across the page, still never led him to imagine that you were penning elaborate tales about him. One evening, curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked over your shoulder as you wrote. Instantly, him eyes fell from his sockets as he read the words on the page.

“What… what is this?” he stammered, barely able to believe what he was seeing. In your story, Finarfin—noble and wise King of the Noldor—was portrayed as a dark, brooding figure who lived in a shadowy tower, plotting mysterious schemes and cursing his foes with ancient, forbidden magic.

You looked up at him with a grin, clearly unrepentant. “Oh, just a little something I’ve been working on.”

“Little? ”he repeated, aghast. “You’ve turned me into some kind of…evil sorcerer! And this dialogue! ‘The night shall swallow your soul, and darkness shall be your only companion’? I would never say that!”

You burst out laughing at the sheer horror in his voice. “But it’s fun! Besides, you’re kind of cool as a dark lord.”

Finarfin gave you a long, hard look, his hands on his hips. “I cannot allow this to stand. Change it! What if someone reads this? They’ll think I’ve gone mad!”

“You worry too much,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just fantasy. And besides, who’s going to read it? It’s not like I’m publishing it, or maybe I should. Think of the fortune I’d make….” You whispered more to yourself than him while rubbing your chin.

He sighed, clearly distressed. “This is so far from who I am! You’ve made me sound like some villain out of a children’s tale! Please, my love, I implore you…write something more…accurate.”

���Accurate?” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “Like what? The time you got lost in the gardens and refused to ask for directions?”

Finarfin’s face turned a delightful shade of pink, and he shook his head fervently. “No! Something dignified…perhaps a tale of wisdom or…or bravery?”

You smiled sweetly, patting his arm. “Ugh, too boring. No one would read that. I’m quite fond of Dark Lord Finarfin.”

Finarfin sighed in resignation, realising he wasn’t going to win this battle. “If this ever gets out…”

“You wouldn’t die,” you assured him, though the twinkle in your eye suggested you were thoroughly enjoying his discomfort.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. “You truly are incorrigible.”

“At least I’m talented, right?,” you said, kissing his cheek.

Finarfin laughed softly, wrapping an arm around you. “Indeed, for bizarre tales.”

「 ✦Egalmoth✦ 」

Known for his epitome of elegance and grace, a Lord whose charm and wit were unmatched, he was secretly thrilled when he found out that you had taken up the pen to write stories about him. That is, until he actually read what you had written.

He stormed into the room, holding the pages as if they were an orcish weapon. “Is this your idea of a joke?” he asked, his usually calm and melodic voice now tinged with outrage.

You looked up from your work, biting back a smile. “What’s wrong, darling?”

Egalmoth’s eyes narrowed as he read aloud. “The Dark Lord Egalmoth, with his army of cursed skeletons, ruled Gondolin with an iron fist, forcing his subjects to worship him or face the wrath of his pet sphinx.” He looked up, his expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. “A sphinx, really?”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “I thought it was a nice touch. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“This is not dramatic! This is ridiculous! You’ve made me into a laughingstock! A…a parody of myself.” He waved the parchment at you. “Oh, woe is me, for I am but a poor, misunderstood Lord, doomed to be misrepresented for all eternity… I’m one of the most beloved lords in Gondolin!”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re proving my point. Plus, people love a good villain. And it’s not like you’re entirely like that, the evil part I meant.”

He groaned, dropping the parchment onto the table. “And what’s with the cursed skeletons? Where did they even come from? I’ve never dealt with necromancy in my life!”

“Artistic license,” you said with a wink.

Egalmoth threw his hands up in the air before pointing them at you. “There’s artistic license, and then there’s…whatever this is!” He picked up the pages again, flipping through them. “And what is this about me challenging Glorfindel to a duel over a hat?”

You grinned. “It’s an epic battle for the most fabulous headwear in all of Gondolin. Glorfindel’s hat has feathers, and yours is made of a kaleidoscope of gemstones. The stakes couldn’t be higher.”

Egalmoth stared at you, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words. “This…this is madness. Utter madness. I would never duel someone over a hat!”

“But think of the drama!” you insisted, laughing as you reached for the parchment. “It’s all in good fun. You can be the dark, brooding anti-hero.”

“I don’t want to be a dark, brooding anti-hero,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “And what about this scene where I banish Tuor for using the wrong fork at dinner? I would never do that!”

You shrugged, grinning mischievously. “You might, if it was your favourite fork.”

He stared at you in disbelief. “Please, for the love of Eru, change this. I beg you.”

“Fine then,” you said cheerfully, tucking the parchment away. “I’ll write a story where you you’re portrayed as a flamboyant and melodramatic Lord, prone to fainting at the slightest inconvenience and speaking in overly poetic riddles. But know that the more you protest, the more outrageous it will become.”

Egalmoth groaned dramatically, leaning against the wall as if his life’s burdens had suddenly become too heavy. “You’re going to ruin my reputation, you know that?”

“Don’t worry,” you teased. “Your reputation in the fanfic world is already legendary.”

He looked at you, defeated but with a twinkle of humor in his eye. “Hmm, sure.”

「 ✦Beleg✦ 」

Being a curious elf had its perks, which meant getting into more trouble than he liked to admit. Like the day you were out gathering herbs and fruits and he stumbled upon a leather-bound journal tucked under your pillow. His natural curiosity got the better of him, and before he knew it, he was leafing through the pages, his eyes widening with each word he read.

When you returned, you found Beleg sitting cross-legged on the bed, your journal open in his lap, a look of pure disbelief on his usually composed face. "Is this…me?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement. You froze, immediately recognising the situation.

“Uh, maybe?” you replied, trying to gauge his reaction.

Beleg cleared his throat, reading aloud in an exaggerated tone, “‘Beleg Strongbow, the mighty and majestic warrior, paused mid-battle to admire his reflection in the river, his hair flowing like a golden waterfall as he struck a pose worthy of the Valar.’”

You cringed internally as he continued, “A pose worthy of the Valar, really? Do you truly think I spend my time in battle preening like a peacock?”

You couldn't help but laugh at his horrified expression. “It’s just for fun, Beleg. People enjoy reading about a more…dramatic version of you.”

He shot you a look that was both exasperated and pleading. “But this isn’t me! I don’t pose mid-battle! I certainly don’t spend hours grooming my hair—golden waterfall? My hair isn’t even golden!” He looked genuinely distressed as he skimmed through more of your work.

“Here’s another one!” he exclaimed, reading aloud, “‘Beleg, the bravest of all, leaped from the treetops, only to get tangled in the vines, dangling upside down as he tried to maintain his dignity.’” He paused, raising an eyebrow at you. “Tangled in vines? I’ve never been tangled in vines in my life!”

You tried to stifle your giggles, but they escaped anyway. “Come on, Beleg, it’s just a story! It’s supposed to be exaggerated.”

Beleg looked at you with wide, earnest eyes. “Please, change it. Just a little? Make me…less ridiculous?”

You shook your head, grinning. “Would you prefer if I wrote you off in a battle?”

His sighed halted as he stared at you in utter disbelief at your choice of changing the story. “How is that any better that before? And why would you kill me?”

“Because I’m the author and I can do whatever I want to the characters, and fhey can’t do a single thing about it,” you replied cheerfully, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “But look on the bright side, at least now people know you have a sense of humor!”

He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “A sense of humour! That’s the last thing people would recognise in these stories. But please don’t make me die—I’m too heroic to die. Write about me saving you like I always do.”

For the rest of the day, Beleg chastised you mercilessly, to not kill off his character in any of your stories you planned on writing about him in the near future. Begging to have an input the tales about him, so they would have to be as painfully awkward as you pen them.

「 ✦Gwindor✦ 」

Never the type to pry, but the sight of you giggling to yourself as you wrote in your journal piqued his curiosity. While you were out of the room, he couldn’t resist, opening your journal to a random page and beginning to read. What he found had him staring at the pages in utter disbelief.

According to your writings, Gwindor was some kind of brooding, tortured soul who wandered the forests at night, muttering dark prophecies to himself and scaring off woodland creatures with his gloomy presence. And the love letters! They were all sappy, over-the-top declarations that had Gwindor cringing. If he had any idea how you were portraying him, he might have refused to ever speak again.

When you came back, you found Gwindor standing there, journal in hand, looking at you with wide eyes. “What…is this?” he asked, holding up the open book, looking like he was reasy to cry.

You immediately knew what he was talking about and burst into laughter. “Oh, that? It’s just a little fanfiction,” you replied, trying to downplay it.

Gwindor’s jaw dropped. “A little fanfiction? You’ve turned me into a wandering spirit of doom! I don’t wander around muttering dark prophecies! And this love letter—” he pointed to a particularly sappy passage, “—isn’t this a bit much?”

You couldn’t stop laughing as Gwindor continued to stare at the journal, utterly appalled. “It’s for fun!” you said between giggles. “Besides, it’s not that far from reality.”

“Not that far?” Gwindor repeated, aghast. “I’ve never even written a love letter in my life that sounded like this!” He mimicked the overly poetic lines with an exaggerated, tragic tone, making you laugh even harder.

Gwindor groaned, closing the journal and giving you a pleading look. “Please, please change it. You’ve made me sound like a character from a bad romance novel!”

“So you think my writing and creativity are bad then?” you asked with a straight face, watching as he fumbled around for the right words.

“Not for me,” he said, giving you a look that was almost comically serious. “At least let me have some dignity in your stories.”

“But it’s so entertaining!” you teased, reaching for the journal, but Gwindor held it back. You shook your head, grinning. “Plus, that’s too boring! Gwindor, the brooding, tortured soul stays.”

Gwindor sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “You’re going to ruin my reputation!”

You walked over and kissed his cheek, laughing at his mock misery. “Don’t worry, love. Your secret’s safe with me—and whoever reads the fanfiction.”

Gwindor gave you a long-suffering look, but his lips were twitching with the effort not to laugh. “You owe me for this, you know.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Threatening the author who can turn your character into anything they want it to be, now?”

Sheepishly grinning, he pulled you close. “Yes. I’m threatening you to write me not broody and dark. I’m a nice elf who doesn’t wander the forest at night.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No promises, Gwindor. No promises.”

Masterlist

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[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Part Two- Revealed

Even in his wildest dreams, Mablung would not have dared hope for the chance to share one more kiss with Elu, a kiss without hiding and most of all, a kiss to which they could both consent, that was not not a desperate, heart-wrenching farewell. As their lips touched, however, the scene of that last time played again before his eyes, keen and cruel, and Mablung drew back sobbing, turning his face away in despair.

“Oh Mablung…” 

Elu merely breathed those words, his concern very apparent, with his hand still resting on Mablung’s cheek. 

“I…” Mablung began, but words failed him. And after all, how could he ever explain to Elu that it was the memory of their last kiss that so upset him now? He could not even voice it within his own head. 

“I cannot bear to say.” he managed at last, tears now cascading down his face.

There was a curious look on Elu’s face as he gently made Mablung look up.

“I think you don’t need to say it. I think I know.”

“How?”

Mablung felt deeply shaken. He had chosen to bury this memory, and Lord Námo himself had given him leave to do so. Nobody knew of that kiss, not even Melian. Then how…

“I know that it was you who found me.” Elu went on “And by your reaction, I think I can guess what you did there, in the smithy, when you were alone with my body and had nothing to lose, but a farewell to gain.”

Mablung could not look away from Elu’s light-grey eyes, and he thought he would drown in his gaze, and be quite content to do so.

“This time, though…” 

Elu paused to tenderly grace Mablung’s lips with his, waiting for Mablung to react, to tell him without words whether or not he was comfortable. Mablung did not know what he wanted, nor what he would be able to bear. After a moment, Elu again drew back a little and continued:

“This time, I am kissing you, and I’m alive, and breathing, and my heart beats.”

Mablung sobbed helplessly as Elu took his hand and pressed his palm tightly to his chest, so that Mablung could feel his heartbeat beneath his fingers.

“And it is because of you that it does so.”

Mablung blinked, bewildered. As Elu went on, there was a quaver in his voice and tears shimmering in his eyes.

“You see, there would have been a way for Melian to be with me, even had I refused Lord Námo’s offer for good. Maiar, after all, need no bodies. Or at least Lord Námo assured me that we would find a solution everyone might live with. But you… I knew that all was taken care of, that Dior reigned over the Iathrim and called to Olwë as High-King. I knew that my people were looked after by them both, and by who better? Beleg left the Halls healed, saddened and grieving, but hale. Even Elmo went from Mandos free of the shadow of our bond. He could finally be himself. He doesn’t need me anymore. This hurt to admit, even if I was tremendously relieved.”

Elmo made a noise as if to protest, but Elu paid him no heed, continuing instead:

“So really, there was no point for me to leave Mandos. I cannot overcome my grief, I am not healed, as they put it. So really, it makes no difference for me where I mourn my children, and curse my own stupidity. 

But you, Mablung, you left the Halls on my bidding only. Even after all I made you go through, even after death, you left me in Mandos because I asked you to, because I didn’t want you to refuse life on my account. You were so loyal, so true that you once again put my will above your wellbeing. And I would not have been able to bear to be myself had I abandoned you after that. I knew nothing of the statute, I knew not that we would be allowed to be together. Even less did I know that my… my wonderful wife would be prepared to agree to it. I should have known of course, but it truly never crossed my mind. But I did know that you had always wanted to be by my side regardless. That was the reason for my return in the end. I love you, Mablung. I have always loved you and dearly missed you, and I will be eternally grateful to the Valar and all the elves -and  people pretending to be elves- who made it possible for us to now explore this love fully. Come here. It’s alright. I’m never going to leave you again.”

With those last words, Elu wrapped his arms around Mablung once more, and Mablung leaned his head against Elu’s shoulder. They both cried openly now, and Mablung was holding Elu so tightly he knew he must hurt him but he could not help it. And Elu returned the embrace, cradling Mablung, his lips pressed firmly to the top of his head.

“I think it is time for us to leave you two.” Melian said after what felt like ten thousand years and only a heartbeat at the same time. “Enjoy your time tonight, Mablung, as I don’t plan on giving up on Elu all too often. But tonight he is yours, and then we shall work this out together. I mean, I’d say I’ll join you, but that would feel remarkably like fucking my little brother, with is… weird.”

Elu laughed and pulled Melian into their embrace as well. Mablung grinned, too, and wondered if he’d actually like that or not. He had never in his life even thought of being intimate with a woman, but if there ever could be an exception to that, that exception surly must be Melian.

The feeling in Mablung’s stomach remarkably resembled nervousness as he and Elu were finally alone. So much was yet unsaid between them, and for so much Mablung had no words, so he instead busied himself with unrolling his cloak and unpacking his things.

“Are you hungry?” he asked over his shoulder, even though he himself had no mind whatsoever for food. 

It was no surprise therefore that Elu declined the offer, too. 

“Right. I let you off tonight, but you’ll eat breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Elu sighed exasperatedly but chuckled all the same, which made Mablung turn at last. He was still almost astounded to see him truly standing there, after he had so long ago ceased to hope. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, then Elu said tentatively.

“I don’t know how you feel, but my head is swimming with everything that happened today. What if we just lie down and watch the stars together, like we used to? Or we just keep staring awkwardly at each other. How is it that nobody explains how odd this is when one is still in Mandos? And…” he added as an afterthought “… the others’ expectations don’t help, either. Not at all. I’m really sorry, Mablung, for making this so incredibly awkward.”

Now it was Mablung’s turn to laugh as he sat down on his unfolded cloak, and he was quite relieved when Elu joined him after a moment. Mablung could hear him curse under his breath.

“Do you have a comb? Melian and I shared hers ever since I was released from the Halls, but obviously she has it with her now and…”

Mablung remembered that only too well, that awkward time after his reembodiment when he had lacked everything he had taken for granted in his first life- spare clothes, knife, comb, cup and bowl… it helped not, either, that the customs of Alqualondë were so very different from those of Menegroth. Coming to think of it, he had no idea where Elu planned to live from now on, or whether he had given any thought to it at all yet. All that could wait, though, and he contented himself for the moment with handing Elu his comb, and watch as he undid the two thin braids that had kept his hair out of his eyes, then started to comb through his silver tresses. Mablung could not restrain himself and reached out, running his fingers through Elu’s hair as well.

“I’ve always admired your hair, you know that?”

Elu only smiled, then handed the comb back and started to re-braid his hair, this time weaving it into only one large plait. Mablung could not take his eyes off him, that sight being so painfully familiar and dear to him that it moved him almost to tears. 

“I still need to braid it for the night. I… oh, it’s embarrassing, but I seem to have forgotten how to sleep with it open without lying on it. I never thought one could forget. It’s only now that I have one again that I realise what a nuisance a body is.”

Mablung remembered that feeling very well. He had felt so very clumsy during that first time, too.

“It’s not embarrassing. Every single reembodied elf had to deal with that, or at least every one who rebuild their body with their hair as long as yours. I never got how you ever could sleep with it open, anyway. That you could made you all the more marvellous to me, though.”

Whatever was the matter with him, Mablung wondered as he felt his cheeks burn. Talking like that had always been Beleg’s domain, not his, and most certainly not Elu’s, who looked just as embarrassed as Mablung felt. A strange recklessness had come over him, though. Tonight, he would leave nothing unsaid. Tonight, he would talk about everything that came into his mind. If he were to truly bond after four Ages of this world as a bachelor, then he could not leave anything in the dark.

He therefore reached out again, and tucked a strand of hair loose from Elu’s braid and twirled it around his finger.

“You will re-learn, beloved.” He said hoarsely “If you wish to.”

There was the smallest involuntary intake of breath at being addressed thus, Mablung noted, but still Elu did not challenge the term. Instead, he wordlessly reached for the comb again, and started to unbraid and comb Mablung’s hair. Mablung would never ever have thought the act of combing to be so intimate. He had been a warden, and keeping his hair neat and orderly a necessity, not a pleasure. And never could he have thought that getting his hair braided could actually make his groin stir. He did not react to the sensation, however. Whatever Melian’s words before, they were not there yet.

At last Elu laid down the comb and  leaned back against a mossy boulder, spreading his arms slightly as he did so. Mablung followed the invitation, shifting closer to Elu and laying his head upon the latter’s shoulder. 

“I don’t even have a name to call you by.” he whispered, tracing the fine features of Elu’s face with the tips of his fingers, still somewhat in disbelief that he truly could do that again. 

Elu smiled wryly.

“Call me however you want. I don’t know myself. It will be Elwë in the end, I think. Elmo mostly goes with this, and Lord Námo called me that, and Olwë obviously does… Melian keeps with Elu. I promise I’ll answer to both.”

Mablung couldn’t help but notice how resigned Elu sounded. Was it that he was just weary of the endless discussions about his person in general, or because he did not even have a say in his own name?

“It bothers you.” he therefore stated calmly.

“No. I just… I don’t know who I am anymore. Truth be told, I don’t know if I ever knew.”

“I can imagine. And maybe you truly need to discover that anew. But Elwë you are still, my -our- star, named for the beauty of your eyes, or so Círdan claims, and your aunt. Do you know that your descendants still carry your star in their name?”

Elu nodded, too moved to talk properly.

“No crown this time.” he managed to rasp.

“No crown.” Mablung suddenly laughed. “Why is it that I seem to mourn that fact more than you?”

“Because I am relieved, to be completely honest. I think I feel free for the first time in my  entire life. I was always a little bitter about it. Born a prince, born to one day rule. I wonder if that was all everyone saw, what Enel saw when my parents presented him with me. Did he bless me, or the person I was supposed to become? A boy, right? An heir to the ancient line, a reason to rejoice before he had even seen me. I never strived to be loved by everyone, but… but if loved, I wanted to be loved for who I am, not for what I was born.”

Elu had talked himself into angry tears, leaving Mablung to wonder how long he had locked those feelings in his heart.

"Olwë should have been the firstborn, he is -and always was- so much better at all that.”

Mablung graced Elu’s brow slightly.

“It’s alright. Your family loves you for who you are and Melian and I love you for who you are- even if it always moved something in me to call you my king. But you be you now, you earned that. Still a circlet you will wear- I will make you wear one, and if it is one of flowers.”

“I am king no more, Mablung.”

“But you were. You said you needed to know who you are. Then you cannot deny who you were.”

Again Mablung caressed Elu’s face, tracing his jawline and the tips of his ears.

“Let us get ready for the night. I am exhausted, and you must be, too. I remember those first days and weeks after returning from Mandos to be tiring to say the least. Uh, the not remembering. I found that the worst.”

“What do you mean?”

Mablung frowned slightly.

“When I was released from the Halls, all was… strange. I could remember my past life, but it seemed then to be so far away, like a dream I once had. Obviously I could not recall my time in Mandos, though that was not blank either. But surely you must feel the same? Everyone I know who’s been re-embodied does.”

“I do remember Mandos. Quite clearly.”

For a moment, Mablung just felt utterly stunned. Then he chuckled.

“Honestly, you can’t do anything like a normal elf, can you?”

Elu grinned wryly and shrugged, but he still remained sitting with his arms around his knees. Mablung let him be, and rid himself instead of his clothes before lying down on the soft moss. It was a marvellous thing, really, how here in Lórien there would be no moisture creeping up from the earth, not like it had been in Ennor. Instead, the undergrowth seemed to be welcoming a weary traveller, eager to make a bed for them, for a while. 

[welcomingdisaster]

Maedhros, Celebrian and Turin for the character bingo thingy if you want!

hii!! here are my thoughts

maedhros:

all time best character ever written!! very many facets and character nuances & a lot of different eras you can write him in. many many mistakes and a LOT of issues!! integral to SO many different plots. presence is felt even after his death. love him dearly!!

i think the fandom IS too nice to him. i feel like i read a lot of canon divergent fanfic/meta set towards the end of his life that shies away from having maedhros just fucking stab people. i think there are definitely points in his life where he was a very responsible older brother/the most reasonable feanorian but i also do think a lot of portrayals ignore his decline into violence and madness. (sidenote: dark!mae writing coming... hopefully soon. if i can manage it. the wip's been a wip for a looong time.).

unrelated controversial take; the more i think about it the more i prefer a maedhros that has a complicated relationship with having a prosthetic and often does not wear one. i kiiinda wanna write more exploring his relationship to his missing hand throughout his life.

celebrian:

i like most fandom portrayals i have seen!! geeky celebrian supremacy, here for elrond getting PEGGED, etc etc

LOVE fic exploring her choice to sail and her slow recovery.

she's not a character i tend to seek out content for but i love to see her when she pops up!

turin:

honestly i enjoy him but i'm much more invested in the characters around his story than him specifically! most of my love goes to finduilas, gwindor, beleg, morwen, and nienor.

that being said i think his relationships with all those people are very juicy & fun & i enjoy them a lot <3

[onthesandsofdreams]

The Captains [13/?]

Pairing: Beleg x Mablung Summary: "Your heartbeat is very loud." Words: 269 Notes: A series of short (100 to 500 words) stories Tagging: @lycheesodas​

Read @ AO3

Beleg and Mablung were laying together in the grass beneath the stars. A quiet moment for them. One of those rare moments where they could be found in the same place at the same time.

Beleg had rested his head on Mablung's chest, closing his eyes and letting the strong heartbeat lull him. "Your heartbeat is very loud."

"Is it?" Mablung asked him.

"Yes." Beleg replied. "But I like it. It makes this moment all the more real. A reminder of your solid presence. It's nice."

Mablung smiled, even if Beleg could not see him do so. "It might also be because I am happy. Content in a way I had not been in a very long while."

"Truly? How so?"

"Because you are here. Because you are with me."

Mablung's words were spoken in a tone so soft, that had Beleg not been an elf and his hearing not been as sharp as it was, he would have missed it. But he did not missed the way Mablung's heart sped up, and that gave him the meaning behind his longtime friend's words. He smiled. "I am content too, here, by your side Mablung. You make me happy."

"And you make me happy, Beleg. Because I have fallen in love with you. And being away from you is... hard. I understand our duties to Doriath, its people and our monarchs, but I am greedy and I wish I did not have to part from you."

Beleg smiled, "And I have fallen for you also, Mablung. And I want you to know that you have my heart and soul. Forever."

[solmarillion]

turleg or galadriel/melian for ship bingo!!

SCREAMING ABOUT TURIN/BELEG FOREVER why do these two not have more content??? they are literally canon

galadriel/melian isn't really my thing since it's got too much of a student/teacher vibe and as a teacher myself it kinda makes me uncomfy but i can see why people like it. i just don't think the "love" they had was romantic

[thegreatstrongbow]

Dearest Beleg, I am entranced by your night dark hair and the precision with which you aim your bow. Your smile is enchanting and your laugh is to me like a rolling thunder in the distance as you're tucked safely in bed. I long to know the feeling of your scars beneath my fingertips and of your lips on mine. Aulë could not craft a more beautiful man. I hope one day the dreams I have of knowing your embrace will be something more but for now, knowing these words will meet your eye, I am content. Yours always, anon

"I am charmed, stranger. Should you ever wish to make your words come true, you will find I am easily wooed with a nice dinner and a low cut shirt."