#but the elves ship is more significant?

[twyrrinren]

I was thinking funny thoughts like "the shipping wars should be banned in the dungeon meshi fandom because there's only one ship (the elves' one), and it's not fair (they're on the island though, there should be more ships!!)," but then I realized that Senshi would absolutely devastated after watching The Terror

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

I ship Adar with most main characters, but I honestly believe he could have developed an incredibly significant relationship with Celebrimbor.

Because as cruel and manipulative as Sauron was to Galadriel, he didn't torture her in the same way he did Celebrimbor (and I don't mean the arrows). He did a bit of mind fuckery with the whole vision of her brother. But with Celebrimbor, he trapped him in a mind palace and fucked his mind up so badly that Celebrimbor was completely oblivious not only to what was going on in Eregion, but to the state of his own health and cleanliness.

And I think Sauron definitely did similar things to Adar.

Adar genuinely empathizes with Celebrimbor, but he decides to start to seduce Celebrimbor to torment Sauron. Not that he plans on pretending to feel more than he does; he's attracted to him, but not in love and doesn't plan on lying about that. But he wants to piss off Sauron.

Only he realizes Celebrimbor is much too fragile for a relationship of that type, so he backs off and offers friendship instead.

The two know/knew many of the same elves.

And somewhere along the way, Adar begins serving as something of a therapist for his ex's exes.

But he and Celebrimbor become very close and eventually get together.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Headcanon Crafts for Everyone I Missed Last Time:

Idril: a sculptor. She worked with every kind of stone imaginable, and often went looking for new material in Gondolin’s mines with Maeglin. (Look my Maeglin head canons are complicated but they should get to be friends the narrative has hurt them too much already) She actually preferred not to make elvish figures, instead focusing on strangely beautiful stone landscapes and various animal-like figures. She was actually responsible for Middle-Earth’s version of the gargoyle, having carved several to stand guard over Gondolin. Several elves swore that the statues moved, but she never addressed those rumors. She also liked to paint her work with bright colors, which would’ve been seen as odd back in Valinor, but fit right in in First Age Middle-Earth.

Maeglin: a smith, but his craft was more in-line with Avarin practice than Noldor practice; with much less focus on the idea of making gems and heavier focus on understanding natural geology and the properties of various gems and metals. He knew the mines of Gondolin better than anyone, and wrote plenty about the the earth under the earth. His work also had fairly significant Dwarfish influences. He liked to make mechanically complex pieces, with moving parts or even some internal gear work.

Finduilas: a hunter. Her and her father were both nature people, just in very different ways. She was silent, with all the grace of a dancer, and quick enough to outrun most of what she hunted. She preferred to go after more aggressive animals– wild boar, wolves, bears, even wargs– and leave the deer and rabbits be. She was born in Beleriand, and had never met the Valar, but sometimes, privately, offered up prayers to Orome. She liked to imagine she could’ve been in his hunt, if things had turned out a bit differently.

Celebrimbor: a smith, in the very traditional Noldor sense. Gemworker, specialized in jewelry, made various famously beautiful pieces, etc. Was never quite happy sticking to hairpins and necklaces. Longed to try his hand at imbuing his work with real power, but always talked himself out of it. A whole binder of concepts for works of power sat locked away in a chest in his workshop for centuries. He never talked to anyone about it. He was as ashamed of his feelings for his craft as he was of his feelings for his family. By the end of his life, he’d made peace with only one of those things.

Earendil: a mariner? Alright, he was definitely a mariner, and he loved the ship life– he even built a few boats of his own, in a similar fantastic style to Turgon’s architecture– but he also had a longstanding fascination with the natural world, and filled volumes and volumes of journals with information on various plants, animals, and minerals. But natural lore isn’t a recognized Noldor craft, since it involves learning but doesn’t really produce tangible results. Still, it was a passion he got from afternoons spent learning about geology with “Uncle Mole,” and one he shared with Elrond. Researching the beauty and wonder of nature gave Earendil something to do with his immortal life, and was a big part of the reason Elrond chose to be immortal at all.

Gil-Galad: a king. No, really, he’d been the high-king of the Noldor since he was a child, and hadn’t really had time for trivialities like “finding a life purpose” or “having fun.” He was too busy learning how to stay alive in late stage Beleriand (read: hell) and learning to rule the least cooperative group of elves imaginable. He wanted to be a painter, and while he found enough practice time to get good at his chosen craft; because of how long detailed paintings can take, he almost never had time to actually make anything. He tried not to let it bother him too much. He didn’t always succeed at that.

Elrond: in a bit of a weird spot. Elrond is most associated with lore and healing; but, as discussed, “lore” isn’t considered a craft. And, well. Healing had to be Elrond’s craft, right? He’d been doing it since he was seven, and just about the only person in Amon Ereb who could still use healing powers. And it was good work, and it was rewarding, even if it often left him feeling so burned out and worried that he forgot to eat or sleep. It took him a long time to admit to himself that healing for him was what fighting was to many other elves: a necessity. Truth be told, he’d rather be gardener, working with the earth to create a place of peace and beauty. Also, Elrond is basically a nature spirit. So. It was something he began to explore in the peace of the early Second Age. He found that his Ainuric powers had all sorts of interesting effects on plant life. He also learned how to breed new varieties of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Still, he never really considered that it could be a proper craft for him. At least, not until he first saw the valley that would one day become Rivendell.

Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the House of Finarfin.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Another request please! Elendil fled the Numenor capital and it is finally reunited again with his significant one, who fled a couple of weeks before and headed west and is safe by Aranion's side. I need the feels and the need when those two get together again.

Hope you enjoy it!!!! Lots of love!

The Banks of Edhellond

The docks of Edhellond stretch out before you, shrouded in the morning mist, as you linger, searching the horizon with an anxious heart. It’s early, and the few Elves who remain pass by with silent glances, sensing the tension radiating from you and knowing better than to disturb. Every morning, you’ve stood in this same spot, waiting for any sign of the ships from Númenor, hoping against hope for any word of Elendil.

He’d pushed you to sail weeks ago, insisting you leave before the storm of Pharazôn’s rise swept through Númenor. He’d held your hands tight by the shore, reluctant to let go even as his words pressed you to leave. “Find Anárion. I will follow,” he’d promised, his voice calm but his gaze clouded with unspoken fears. “You’ll be safe, and that is all that matters.”

The memory of his strength and resolve haunts you, but you remember your own hesitation even more clearly. You had argued, had nearly begged to stay by his side, but Elendil had held firm. And now, here you are, far from him, far from the land that had been your home, surrounded by the white-stoned Elven architecture of Edhellond. The early dawn feels colder without him beside you.

Your gaze drifts over the water, the endless, blue-gray expanse empty save for the fog clinging to the horizon. Each small movement—a ripple on the waves, a gull dipping low to the surface—makes your heart leap, only for hope to drop again into the hollow ache in your chest.

“Nothing today, then?” comes a familiar voice. Turning, you see Anárion approaching from a nearby pier, his expression sympathetic but shadowed by his own fears. He’s spent his days here, too, quietly joining you in this ritual of waiting, though he says little of his own concerns. Even so, he never asks you to abandon your vigil, sensing that it’s all that keeps you tethered to the present.

You shake your head, words caught in your throat. “I keep thinking… maybe he won’t make it out of Númenor. That I’ll never see him again.”

Anárion places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “My father is strong. He knows the sea better than anyone. He’ll come.”

You want to believe him, nodding though doubt clings to you like the morning mist. “He promised. But with Pharazôn…” Your voice falters. “I fear even promises may fall short.”

Anárion looks out over the water, his jaw tight. “Then we’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

And so you do. Another day, then another, each one stretching endlessly, a rhythm of hope that turns to disappointment as the days bleed together. Yet you return each morning, keeping your vigil, while Anárion watches from the shadows, lending you his silent strength.

Then, on the twelfth dawn, a faint light breaks over the water, and you see it—a lone shape on the horizon, tiny and nearly indiscernible against the backdrop of sky and sea but unmistakably there. A ship, struggling through the mist toward Edhellond.

Your heart races, and before you can think, you’re running down the docks, breath caught in your throat as you keep your eyes fixed on the distant figure, terrified that if you look away, it will vanish and you’ll be left with nothing but hope once more.

The minutes stretch like hours as the ship draws closer, revealing the familiar sails and a lone figure standing tall at the prow. You don’t need to see his face to know it’s him—Elendil, solid and unyielding against the morning light.

When the ship finally pulls up to the dock, you’re there, breathless, as Elendil steps onto the worn boards. His face is weary, eyes shadowed from nights of uncertainty and loss, yet they soften the instant they find you. A shuddering breath escapes him, relief unraveling in his gaze as he reaches for you, as though he’s unable to bear even the last step that separates you.

“Elendil,” you breathe, your voice breaking, and in a heartbeat, you’re in his arms, clinging to him with every ounce of strength you have left. His hands slide around you, one tangled in your hair, the other pressing against your back, as though he could never hold you close enough. 

His face is buried in your hair, his shoulders shuddering as he whispers, “You waited… you waited…”

“Of course I did,” you choke out, tears burning in your eyes. “I thought—I thought you might never come.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand lifting to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a tear. “I would tear down every kingdom, cross every sea,” he says, his voice rough with conviction, “if it meant getting back to you.”

Your laugh is half a sob, your hands clutching his tunic, desperate to keep him near. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Elendil.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, gentle and steady. “I swear to you. I’ll never let you go again.”

In the dawn light, you stay locked in his embrace, the uncertainty of the world around you fading to nothing, leaving only the two of you in this precious, fleeting moment. For now, here in his arms, you are home, and everything else—thrones, usurpers, distant shores—falls away, leaving only the promise of his love, a promise that will endure as long as he draws breath.

As you stand there, wrapped in Elendil’s arms, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you, punctuated by a familiar, exaggerated sigh.

“Oh, for the love of the Valar, if you two could keep these disgusting displays of affection to yourselves, I’d appreciate it.”

You turn to see Anárion standing a few paces away, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. He tries to look disapproving, but there’s a glimmer of relief in his eyes as he takes in his father’s safe return. Elendil’s hand slips from your waist, but he pulls you to his side, his smile as unbothered as ever.

“Anárion,” he greets, his voice warm despite the weariness that still clings to him. “I had hoped you’d be here.”

“Yes, well,” Anárion steps closer, his gaze flicking between you and Elendil. “You’ve been away long enough that someone had to keep her spirits up. Waiting all day, sighing by the docks…” His smirk softens. “And I suppose I missed you too, Father.”

Elendil reaches out, placing a steady hand on his son’s shoulder, and they share a look that conveys more than any words. Relief, pride, and an understanding of what they’ve both risked to be here, in Edhellond, safe, for now.

You can’t help but smile, touched by the warmth between them. “I’ll try not to embarrass you too much, Anárion,” you say, teasing. “But I won’t make any promises.”

Anárion rolls his eyes, his smirk returning. “That’s all I ask.”

With a shared laugh, the three of you make your way down the docks, toward the heart of Edhellond, the mist parting around you like a gentle curtain. And in this fleeting moment, with Elendil’s hand in yours and Anárion by your side, the world feels as close to whole as it can.

[neyafromfrance95]

It's annoying how suddenly these sexist lorebros demand the appearance of Celeborn and Celebrian when no one cared about them before these incels decided that they hate "Guy-ladriel."

i had another person in my asks tell me that i shouldn't be writing why i don't want to see celeborn in trop bc shipping wars are bad, but i don't think that people who are demanding celeborn's introduction are genuine shippers or fans, almost all of them just hate galadriel and want celeborn to come in and "tame" her.

and i'm not "hating" on celeborn by simply explaining why i don't want galadriel's marriage phase in trop. which i will summarize for the last time:

i think celeborn & celebrian are nice but npc. which is ok! they have their place in the story - the background family of galadriel's (and elrond's) that is just there without impacting her journey that much.

the cast is already too large for a 8 episode format and it *is* affecting the individual character storylines in a limiting way. it's clearly challenging for them to properly pay attention to each character's development/storyline. introducing more characters that aren't that neccessary to begin with would simply get in the way of existing relationship developments and water them down.

there is so much possibility to explore that which has not been touched upon before (galadriel's relationship with the darkness, sauron, even elrond and other elves)! why retell the same story over and over again instead?

and even if folks want to see other characters from tolkien, there are much more interesting and significant characters so why not push for them? it's obvious that the incelbros want to tradwife galadriel to fit their fantasy of the divine feminine or some shit. like from the very start of the show these people have been going "galadriel doesn't make sense! what about celeborn? what about celebrian?" when trop was clearly not intending to tell a story of "domestic" galadriel. but naaah, when we see a female character have an audacity to hold a sword and run around, we gotta domesticate her asap!

anyways, i really want to be done talking about celeborn, please release me from him, it's getting tiring, let's move onnn!

[eerna]

You stated that you used to ship rayllum and didnt like the way there arc went ahead in season 3 so how did you envision there arc going ahead and do you think that they should of been built up a whole lot more before getting together in season 3 ?

Just to be clear: when s3 first dropped, I was absolutely ecstatic about them getting together!! My take was "I know it is rushed but I DON'T CARE because they are ADORABLE!!" It wasn't until s4 dropped that I lost the rose tinted glasses and could no longer enjoy them.

As for how I would fix it... man, I can't really fix it without rewriting the entire show. You can't have good romance if the characters aren't good. You can't have good characters if the world they're in doesn't make any sense. Technically there is nothing wrong with a couple getting together 27 episodes into the show, but THIS couple would require significant rewrites to make it emotionally rewarding. So I guess the broad strokes without changing too much are: keep Rayla emotionally distant and morally flexible regarding all the Moonshadow Elves culture things (murder, social exclusion, rejection of individualist worth, emotional connections), let Callum be the emotionally mature one and morally inflexible until dark magic is brought into the game, make the elven culture VS dark magic their point of friction and make them both wrong and right at the same time (this is imperative), let them grow closer and for Rayla to discover the wonders of being loved as a person and not in a transactional way/as a part of the collective, keep her crush unrequited in s3 so that Callum feels awkward rejecting her considering he's her emotional anchor, the arc where she leaves has to happen in the show itself and should be about Rayla making a decision completely powered by her character development ("I can't lose the one person who truly and honestly loves me for me, so I'm gonna leave him behind" when in the beginning of the show she would scoff at such a weakness). The annoying thing with TDP heroes is that they don't have any wrong ideas or beliefs that could be changed. Which is why I am making Callum NOT instinctively underatand dark magic is bad (he has never done it because he doesn't know how, but sees nothing wrong with using it because he knows it saved humanity many times before) and Rayla NOT instinctively understand murder is bad (she has never committed it, but she is willing to, which also makes her seem like a more dangerous person). So basically arc 1 would revolve around them learning lessons from each other and seeing the world in a different light, and then separating on a weird note. I tried writing ideas past this point, but it became less "broad strokes" and more "rewriting the entirety of arc 2"

[miiishra]

I've thought about it a lot, but I finally figured out why Oko being retconned to have arrived on Eldraine thirteen years before The Wildered Quest bothers me so much: it completely downplays the significance of his relationship with Rowan.

And I don't mean that from a shipping prospective either.

In TWQ, when Oko arrives he knows nothing of Eldraine. After rescuing a pair of dumb kids, he charms Rowan into spilling everything she knows about Eldraine to him. And she knows a LOT. I was not being facetious when I said she basically became Oko's personal Wikipedia on everything Eldraine: Not only is Rowan very well versed on Eldraine history and political culture, she is enthusiastic and proud about it (this also goes into Rowan actually being more than just a barely passing C-student at Strixhaven who should have been placed in Lorehold but that's another post).

If Oko had already been on Eldraine, then he could have gotten all of this information from Alyse or the Locthwain elves or pretty much anywhere. Considering the Wilds considers itself at odds with the Realm, I'm sure such info would not be close guarded secrets. This, in turn, makes his needling of Rowan not only unnecessary, but redundant.

But there's a deeper issue here.

It takes away an extra layer of guilt that Rowan had a direct hand in helping Oko plunge her plane into chaos and kill her own father. Sure, it can be argued that Oko would have gotten this information from anywhere, but he didn't, he got it from her. And that makes Rowan's personal drama much juicier, as well as her drive to restore Eldraine to its former glory. Her naivete and misjudgment nearly destroyed the Realm, and now she feels a personal responsibility to prevent it from happening again.

It just makes Rowan's slow descent into madness that much more impactful, I think. Like her desperation to fix things makes more sense. The events of TWQ were deeply traumatizing for her, and more so if she feels this degree of personal responsibility.

What Oko did was not her fault. The Phyrexian Invasion and the Wicked Slumber were also not her fault. But she doesn't see it that way. If she feels that she was the catalyst of bringing her home to ruin, that would absolutely fray at the edges of her sanity bit by bit.

[lassieposting]

Lassie's Fic Prompts: Tolkien Edition

Usually I haunt mutuals or the prompt channels of Discord communities but the Tolkien ones are all massive and I have anxiety, so I'm gonna shove them in the tag instead! Fic concepts from your friendly local prompt goblin, because god knows my ass will never get around to writing them. This post will get updated as ideas occur to me. Tags are mostly to help express The Vibe™. Anyway feel free to come talk to me about this shit I have feelings.

Bagginshield

T+ || Fluffy || Post-Canon, Reunion Fic

When the ringbearers arrive in the Blessed Realm, as a reward for the great peril they have suffered on behalf of all of Middle Earth, they are granted a single boon by the Valar.

Bilbo Baggins knows that elves, dwarves and men go to different realms after death. But Mahal's halls are vast and grand, and he is only a very small Hobbit. Surely room can be found for a single burglar in the dwarven afterlife?

Barduil

G+ || Angsty || Post-Canon, Loss, Closure, Bonus Points For Bard's Memorial Surviving To Be Unearthed In The Modern Day

Before leaving Middle Earth, Thranduil pays a final visit to the memorial he had carved for Bard.

Saurondriel

T+ || || Debates & Bickering, Sauron Drawing Parallels Between His Life & 'Halbrand's', Sauron As A Calming Influence On Morgoth's Genocidal Tendencies, Galadriel's Black & White Thinking, Small Moments Of Goodness

Halbrand takes Galadriel out to eat with his first week's wages from the forge in Armenelos, but the puppetry performance going on in the plaza - in which she is the heroine and he one of the villains - proves a distraction from their definitely-not-a-date.

When Halbrand admits that he's never seen the Sauron/Morgoth duo portrayed as utterly evil before, coming as he does from a land of their allies, Galadriel asks him what kind of stories the Southlanders tell. Sensing an opportunity to humanise himself in her mind, Halbrand dredges up some painful memories to introduce her to Mairon, Melkor and the path to hell paved with twisted love and good intentions.

T+ || Comedy || 5+1 Fic, Sauron Doing His Best, He's Not Spectacular At Being A Human But He's Trying, Galadriel Is Suspicious But Doesn't Know Enough About Humans To Call Him Out, Entirely Normal Mannish Behaviour™, Galadriel Will See A Guy Leave Scorchmarks On The Bedsheets When He Comes & Be Like 'It's Fine They Probably All Do That'

Halbrand is quite possibly the most realistic fana Sauron has ever created. He's designed to be so believably human he'll fly completely under the radar. But ultimately, a disguise is only ever as good as the actor wearing it. Halbrand is a fire spirit piloting an exquisitely crafted meat suit, and Sauron's idea of Totally Normal Mannish Behaviour is sometimes...slightly off base.

Galadriel is beginning to suspect the truth: her new significant annoyance is many things, but human is not one of them. But that's a terrifying prospect. And - and she hasn't spent all that much time around the race of Men herself, really. She's used to other elves. So it's probably fine. It's totally fine. Men are just Like That, is all.

AKA, five times Galadriel notices Halbrand's weird-as-fuck Maia traits/behaviours, but deliberately excuses them as Just Human Stuff because she doesn't want to deal with who and what he really is.

And one time where she already knows who and what he is. Many years into their marriage, Galadriel is mostly accustomed to her king's more unusual quirks. But sometimes, Mairon can be so human it almost breaks her heart.

T+ || Future Fic || Redemption Arc, Sort Of, Ainur Family Drama, Where Is Celeborn? Who Knows, Sauron Slouching Less Into The Light Of Goodness & More Into The Mist Of Moral Ambiguity, For Galadriel™, Dagor Dagorath

At the close of the Third Age, the last of Arda's elves take ship for Valinor, leaving Middle Earth - and the disembodied spirit of its former Dark Lord - to the race of Men. For thousands upon thousands of years, the Undying Lands enjoy a hard-won peace.

But when Morgoth manages to escape the Void, that peace is shattered, and with Valinor itself under threat, Ossë is dispatched to the world left behind to find the one soul who knows the enemy as well as Morgoth knows himself. He tracks Sauron to the deep south, where he's managed to claw back a physical form and has been living out his powerless exile as Hal Brand, old-timey blacksmith to the local ranchers.

When Ossë appears on his doorstep with news of Morgoth's escape, offering clemency in exchange for information, Sauron suspects a trap, and turns the offer down, intending to go into hiding rather than face his old master's rage at what's become of his dark kingdom and faithful servants. To sweeten the pot, Ossë leverages Sauron's greatest regret: the knowledge that Galadriel is in Valinor, and the implication that she'd like to see her old enemy again. Unable to resist the opportunity to reconcile with her, Sauron agrees to finally go home and share what he knows of Morgoth's plans and likely next moves with the Valar.

But with age-old grudges and rivalries causing trouble in Valinor, and Morgoth determined to retrieve his wayward lieutenant at any cost, can Sauron really turn back from the darkness long enough to hand victory to the Valar in the Last Battle?

T+ || Hurt/Comfort || Trauma, Nightmares, Identity Reveal, Sauron Has Seen Some Shit, He Probably Has Impressive Telepathy Defenses Most Of The Time But Shh, He Loves Her & He Wants To Be The Person She Thinks He Is,

Fighting for his life on the road to Eregion, Halbrand slowly succumbs to a murky world of fever dreams and infection-addled hallucinations. Trying to ease his restless sleep, Galadriel reaches out to to touch his mind...and finds herself dragged into a disjointed maelstrom of her most hated enemy's worst moments and greatest fears: Morgoth's bitter rage, the judgment of the Valar, the agony of bleeding out in the snow at Adar's feet, the inevitable pain of her own rejection if ever he's discovered.

Too weak to repel her or even really realise what he's sharing, Sauron lets her in, taking comfort from her presence. Presented with an opportunity she never thought she'd have - to look through the mind of her enemy unhindered - Galadriel stays her hand long enough to look for closure, for confirmation that he is the monster she's been hunting, that he's been manipulating her all along. Instead, she might just find something worth saving.

T+ || AU || Enemies To Lovers To Enemies To Friends To Lovers Again, Yelling At Sauron As Therapy, Halbrand!Mairon, Probably Because He Feels The Most Himself With Her Or Something, Aulë Knows Whats Up, He 100% Lets Slip On Purpose, Healing

After the destruction of the One Ring, what's left of Sauron's spirit is rounded up by the Valar and imprisoned in Valinor.

Galadriel does not find peace in the Undying Lands. After everything she has seen and done, she struggles to settle back into the realm of winterless spring. When a slip of the tongue from Aulë gives her the location of Sauron's prison, her restless nighttime wanderings begin to take her there to see him.

Sometimes, she is incandescent with rage and betrayal, and she vents her age-old anger on him without expecting any answers. Sometimes, she comes for information, and her questions are cold, cruel, demanding things flung through the bars. Sometimes, she is just sad and tired, and her questions are quiet things passed between them as they sit either side of the door. At first, there is no fight left in him: he takes what she throws at him in defeated silence. But the more she visits - to berate him, to needle him, to call him names, to ask him why, to reminisce - the more he starts to respond to her. And as her anger finally begins to die out, and their time together is increasingly spent remembering, and talking, and getting to know one another anew, the more the broken, amorphous creature in the cell begins to resemble the Man she once thought she knew.

M+ || Shameless Smut || Romance, Sauron's Complicated Relationship With Sexuality, Service Top Galadriel, Maybe Grayspec Maiar, The Mortifying Ordeal Of Emotional Intimacy, He Thinks She Wants To Subjugate Her Enemy, She Actually Wants To Love Her Idiot

Millennia ago, Mairon learned the value of sex as a bargaining chip, and he's been using it to get what he wants from the Incarnates - and Melkor - ever since. It's become a well-honed staple of his negotiation toolkit, a performance so well-rehearsed he barely needs to think about it. It's almost unheard of for anyone to notice that he tends to zone out partway through.

Almost.

Halbrand's tendency to seduce his way out of the doghouse hasn't gone unnoticed by his new queen, and nor has the way his eyes glaze over just as things start to get interesting. She's beginning to wonder whether anyone ever actually told him that intimacy is supposed to be fun. Determined to keep him in the moment with her, she decides she'll just have to teach him that herself.

AKA, Galadriel notices that Halbrand tends to dissociate and put on the act he thinks she wants from him in the bedroom. Concerned, she makes it her mission to show him he's safe to relax and enjoy himself with her - and absolutely wrecks him to make her point.

T+ || Canon Divergence || Galadriel Says Yes, Ainur Family Drama, Mairon's Aulë-Shaped Daddy Issues, Arondir & Theo, Could Be 5+1, Angst & Fluff, Maybe Comedy, Lucifer-Style Therapeutic Breakthrough, Aulë & Mairon Have Different Love Languages/Communication Styles, Galadriel Eyeing Sauron Suspiciously: What Are You Scheming Now, Meanwhile Sauron To Arondir: IDK Man I Just Never Felt Like I Was Good Enough YK? Why Wasn't I Good Enough?, Arondir Just: Your Majesty Have You Considered Therapy

Galadriel names Bronwyn advisor to the newly-restored crown of the Southlands, which means the new king and queen start seeing a lot of her husband and child. Mairon seems fascinated by the little family, and the pseudo-paternal relationship developing between Arondir and Theo - suddenly, he's full of questions about family dynamics for humans and elves. Gradually, the advice of his new wife and friends helps Mairon realise a few things about his own relationship with Aulë.

Alternatively, five times watching Arondir and Theo interact recontextualises a memory for Mairon, and one time he makes a parenting choice with Celebrían and saltily realises Aulë had a point in doing the same thing to him

T+ || Time Travel/Time Loop || Sauron Fucks Up The Timeline, Then Tries To Fix It Without Killing Finrod, Bonus Points If Halbrand Finds He Begrudgingly Likes Finrod, Alternate Meeting, Maybe She's Still A Soldier But Doesn't Remember Him, Maybe He Has To Go Back To Valinor To Even Meet Her, IDK Lots Of Options

The thing about Galadriel's rejection is that it all goes back to the death of her brother.

Either by his own power, or by the power of a Vala who wants to teach him a lesson, Sauron finds himself transported back to shortly before everything fell apart, and realises that, as Halbrand, he has an opportunity to fix everything...by breaking Finrod Felagund out of his own dungeon.

But he's surrounded by dangers, not least of which is his own former self, and time travel is tricky. Saving Felagund's life may have unexpected consequences - without her quest for vengeance, would he ever have met Galadriel at all?

T+ || Canon Divergence || Body-Sharing, The Equivalent Of Having Your Shitty Ex Crashing On Your Couch, Road Trip, There Was Only One Body

Ever since their falling out on the banks of the Glanduin, Sauron has been trying to get into Galadriel's head. One night, furious at yet another invaded dream about a man who never existed, she lashes out. She channels all her power into shoving him off the raft, or stabbing him with Finrod's long-lost dagger - and wakes, shaken and convinced that she just felt Sauron die.

She's half-right. She's successfully caught him by surprise, and ripped him out of his body. Unfortunately for her, since they were connected at the time, she's failed to leave him formless and impotent.

She's dragged him into her own head.

When he awakens, psychological warfare erupts as they battle for control of her body and mind, a twisted back and forth - she tries to drown him in his nightmares, and he tortures her with her broken heart. Eventually, as it becomes clear that the only way to evict him from her brain is to bring him back into proximity with his own body, they reach a tentative, fragile truce. They can hold off on killing each other for as long as it takes to journey across Middle Earth. They hope.

But it's a long way from the Shipwright's home in the Grey Havens to the half-finished tower of Barad-Dur, and a long time to get to grips with someone else's pain. When Halbrand reawakens in Mordor, Galadriel might find she's not so keen to kill him after all.

T+ || AU || Kidfic, Single Mom Galadriel, Halbrand Has A Dog And He's Gonna Make It Everyone's Problem, Step-Sauron, Romcom Vibes, Quite Wholesome Actually, Modern AU

Galadriel's marriage has been hanging by a thread for years, but when her estranged husband Celeborn is confirmed KIA overseas, she unexpectedly finds herself utterly lost in the world. Now a single mother to their heartbroken six-year-old daughter Celebrían, she takes a job offer that moves her little family halfway across the country and finds herself struggling to adjust to her new normal as she tries to settle in to a new area while transitioning from stay-at-home mom to…well. Putting a roof over her daughter's head and making sure Celebrían can see the play therapist a couple times a month.

Lonely, struggling and beginning to wonder if she fucked up by moving away for a fresh start, if she ought to just go home to her parents with her tail between her legs, Galadriel is delighted when Celebrían announces she's made a friend in the next garden over, and goes to introduce herself to her neighbours and invite their child to dinner.

The man who answers the door has tattoos, no kids, and is very happy to introduce her to the new friend Celebrían has been playing catch with over the fence: Carcharoth, an absurdly oversized shepherd mix.

While Galadriel is initially wary of her child getting friendly with a strange man and his rowdy dog, it's nice to have someone her own age to talk to. Someone who looks at her like he sees her, and doesn't find her wanting. Someone who supports her, and lets her support him in turn.

As their lives begin to twine together and they figure out how to fit their jagged edges together in a way that works, Galadriel starts to think she might just want to stay here after all.

AKA: Halbrand kept the dog in his messy breakup with Melkor. Carcharoth learns to play fetch…and fetches Halbrand a whole-ass family

M+ || AU || Wrong Number, Text Fic, Modern AU, Romcom Vibes, Strangers To Friends To Lovers, But Also Strangers To Rivals To Lovers, Halbrand's A+ Flirting, Found Family, Halbrand Uses His Middle Name In His Personal Life I Guess, Tevildo Is Spoiled And Orange

When Galadriel is offered one of four coveted associate spots at a prestigious inner-city law firm, she barely stops to think before wrestling a lifetime's worth of belongings into the trunk of her sensible hatchback and exchanging her sprawling family home in Tirion for an overpriced one-bed apartment in Eregion, halfway across the country.

While she's settling in, she receives a text from an unknown number - a picture of the sender's cat. And although she's not usually the type to strike up a conversation with a stranger, she's feeling rather alone and isolated in a new city while she waits for her first day at work, and so she responds with both a 'wrong number' warning and a question about the cat.

Unexpectedly, Wrong Number Guy texts back.

And keeps texting.

Over months, she develops a friendship with this stranger she's never met. Wrong Number Guy is apparently called Halbrand, has bizarre taste in music, can recommend an excellent restaurant for almost any cuisine, and should be jailed for excessive use of the smirk emoji. He sends her a good luck text on her first day at work, sends her pictures of Tevildo the cat to cheer her up when she's having a bad day, and once orders pizza to her apartment when she's having a really bad day. He also listens to her vent about her fellow associate and work archnemesis, Mairon, who's smug, shady as all hell, and gunning for the same promotion Galadriel wants, which naturally makes him the worst person alive.

As their relationship evolves, Galadriel starts trying to get Halbrand to meet her in real life. But he seems strangely hesitant for someone so charming and sociable, and it makes her wonder. Who is he, really? And what is he hiding from her?

M+ || AU || Modern AU, Sex Work, Accidental Voyeurism, Porn With Plot

Halbrand, being the fortunate owner of a Sexy Voice, has a nice little side gig doing audio porn on OF/Patreon/whatever, and he's Galadriel's go-to jill-off material. When her elderly neighbour transitions into a nursing home and the most obnoxious man alive moves in next door, she can't help feeling as though she's met him before. But it's not until she hears him getting off through their shared bedroom wall that she realises why his voice is so familiar.

G+ || Canon Compliant-ish || Half-Maia Celebrían, Werewolf!Sauron, Father-Daughter Bonding

When Celebrían is small and life is peaceful, Galadriel believes her lands to finally be safe, and the little princess of Lothlórien is free to wander the forest at will. Near the outskirts of her mother's realm, she befriends a strange wolfish creature with yellow eyes.

AKA: Galadriel has custody. Sauron, living as the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, risks sneaking into Lothlórien as a wolf or a warg for visitation.

M+ || AU || Modern AU, Sex Work, OnlyFans, Porn With Plot, Halbrand Is Loaded & Galadriel Is Making Bank, But Also Halbrand Is Interested In Her As A Person So That's A Plus, Online Flirting

Struggling to feel attractive and reclaim her sexuality after the breakdown of her marriage, Galadriel impulsively signs up for OnlyFans following a night out with Nori and one too many cocktails. It's fun and validating and boosts her confidence to get back into the dating scene. But the mediocre men she's meeting at bars and on dating apps quickly begin to pale in comparison to the lavish attentions of her most supportive follower, "darklordsauron", with whom she's beginning to feel an undeniable spark.

M+ || Canon Divergence || Dream Courtship, Prison Penpal, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Morally Questionable Valar, Reeducation, Attempted Brainwashing

The war is over. Morgoth, brought back to Aman in chains, has sued for clemency, but the Valar do not fall for the same trick twice: it will be the Void for him this time. Thousands of his Úmaiar have been imprisoned in Valinor. And Galadriel, her oath fulfilled, joins the legions of Eldar taking ship back to the Undying Lands.

As she struggles to pick up the threads of her old life, embroidering and baking and waiting for her brothers to return from Mandos, a figure begins to appear in her dreams - in the background at first, becoming increasingly prominent the more she notices him - and she comes to know him as Halbrand the blacksmith.

Galadriel is no fool: she knows "Halbrand" is a Maia, paying court to her through her dreams. And she knows well the Aulendili who worked the Smith's forge when she was apprenticed there: she is certain she can discern the identity of her admirer, with a little time and effort.

But her dreams, she will come to realise, are not coming from Aulë's forge, and her Halbrand is no simple worker.

AKA: The war ends with Morgoth's defeat. Imprisoned by the Valar, Sauron's only escape is osanwe. Galadriel, a powerful telepath in her own right, gets unwittingly signed up to a prison pen pal program.

T+ || Canon Compliant || Third Age Haladriel, Sauron Can Still Be Halbrand In The Mind Palace, Just Not In Real Life, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort

In Caras Galadhon, Galadriel wakes up screaming from a horrifying PTSD nightmare. Instinctively, unintentionally, she reaches out for comfort, for safety, for understanding - not from her husband, sleeping soundly down the hall, but from an ancient evil she's been shutting out for centuries.

Hundreds of miles away in Barâd-Dur, Sauron answers the knock on the door to his mind -

-- and Halbrand does his best to give her what she needs.

M+ || Canon Divergence || Consensual But Neither Safe Nor Sane, Sauron Poking The Bear, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Deliberate Triggering, Halbrand's Morgoth Trauma, Galadriel's Finrod Trauma, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Aftercare In Both Directions, Galadriel Goes Too Far & Finds It Quite Upsetting, Halbrand's Shitty Coping Mechanisms

Sauron has spent hundreds of thousands of years devoted to Morgoth, in a relationship where every dynamic was characterised by power and domination - corrupter and corrupted, king and general, master and servant. In that time, he's learned that pain and punishment are unpleasant but essential components of absolution. When he fails or angers Melkor, he is punished for it, and then - eventually - forgiven.

Now, as Halbrand, he's not getting that same routine, and it's making him antsy and unsettled. Galadriel may have agreed to stay with him and bind him to her light, but he's painfully aware of her hatred for Sauron, the way her brother's corpse still lies between them. But she hasn't taken her retribution, and he hates waiting for the hammer to fall. He remembers all too well what happened the last time he failed to address this kind of resentment from an important ally. He wants her to get it over with.

At his invitation - and after a considerable amount of goading with which he manages to make her snap - she vents centuries of loathing and long-nurtured pain on the monster she's hunted for entire lifetimes - and, for reasons she cannot understand, he lets her. This makes Halbrand feel more stable, but she's horrified at her own loss of control. Together, they try to figure out a better way forward.

M+ || AU || Modern AU: Famous Musicians, Enemies To Lovers, Fake Dating, Romcom Vibes, He Makes Her A Little Bit Worse, She Makes Him A Little Bit Better, Writing Songs Together

Galadriel is a folk singer-songwriter with a squeaky-clean image, fighting to break out of obscurity. Halbrand is a trainwreck rock star on his third tabloid scandal of the year. Frantically attempting damage control, his long-suffering manager makes a deal with hers: a fake relationship. Being seen with her will make it look like he's finally getting his shit together, while being seen with him will give her much-needed exposure to a massive and passionate fanbase.

There's only one downside. She hates his guts.

G+ || Canon Divergence || Bronwyn Is Fine Guys, Comedy, King Of The Southlands Halbrand, Life Lessons, Romantic Cliches, Galadriel Just Wants A Little Bit Of Honesty Y'all

When Halbrand returns to the Southlands elfless and withdrawn, everyone seems to have Opinions on how he can win back Galadriel's affection.

Five times Halbrand follows the well-intentioned romantic advice offered by Bronwyn, Arondir, Theo, Celebrimbor (via letter, probably) and the newly-rescued Isildur, plus one time he finally gives up on the scheming and manipulation and gives Galadriel what she really wants from him: the truth.

G+ || Canon Divergence || Step-Sauron, Celebrían Has Balls Of Steel, Bonding

Halbrand doesn't really understand how to play. Celebrían attempts to bond in a way that will make sense to him.

AKA, Galadriel's eight year old challenges Morgoth's former right hand to a (play) swordfight

T+ || Canon Divergence || Lifespan Differences, Forgiveness In Mortals Vs Elves, King Of The Southlands Halbrand, The Southlanders Know, Bronwyn's A+ Ancient Immortal Entity-Wrangling Skills, Halbrand Goes Back To Pelargir With The Freed Southlanders

When baffling intelligence informs Galadriel that Halbrand has returned to what's left of the Southlands and taken up the crown she helped him steal, her conscience cannot allow her to sit idly by and leave those innocent people ignorant of the snake in their midst, vulnerable to whatever foul plan he's concocting for them. At the head of a train of humanitarian aid from Lindon, she rides for Pelargir to reveal Sauron's secret to his people.

As it turns out…they know. They've noticed. Several people saw him shield the village when the volcano erupted. Those who were imprisoned with him in Mordor have heard him use or understand Black Speech, or seen him calm the wargs. Bronwyn, who spends most of her time with him as Chief Advisor, is convinced that he doesn't sleep enough to be human, and he occasionally references events that happened long before he should've been born. But Sauron - an enemy most living elves have personally fought against - is a name from the very oldest of the Southlanders' stories to these people. A fairytale evil, defeated before their grandfathers' great-grandfathers were even thought of. They're more inclined to judge Halbrand based on what they've seen him do in person - save their lives, suffer for them, shield them from Adar - than on oral history from thousands of years ago, and as it stands, they're feeling considerably safer with their odd Maia king protecting them than they would feel without him. They're giving him a chance to prove he's changed for the better. So, shh, Commander. Let him pretend. He thinks nobody's noticed. There's a betting pool on when he'll figure out that they all know.

To Galadriel, this is…a rather alien viewpoint she has to wrestle with. Can someone really change that much in just a few thousand years?

T+ || Canon Divergence || Single Mom Galadriel, Teenage Celebrían, Step-Sauron, King Of The Southlands Halbrand, Mother-Daughter Relationships, Halbrand's Aule-Shaped Daddy Issues, Family Feelings, Bad Mom Galadriel Rights

Elves have immense lifespans and enjoy commensurably long childhoods; when Galadriel left her very young daughter in the care of distant relatives to go off and hunt down Sauron, she always assumed that she'd miss very little of Celebrían's youth in the grand scheme of things. But she's been gone a very long time, and when she finally sends for the newly-minted princess of the Southlands to join her in Pelargir, what arrives is not a sweet little girl but an angry, uprooted adolescent whose memories of her mother and father have gone fuzzy over centuries.

As mother and daughter struggle to reconnect and understand each other, Halbrand - poster child for parental abandonment issues - tries to bridge the gap.

T+ || Canon Divergence || Galadriel Said Yes, King Of The Southlands Halbrand, Power Couple, Kemen Being An Asshole, Political Manoeuvring, Halbrand Is An Incredibly Savvy Diplomat, Kemen Is Way Out Of His Depth, Kemen Trying To Sway Haladriel To Pharazon's Side, Possibly By Spouting The Lie That Míriel Has Allied With Sauron, Careful My Guy Or Sauron Might Just Decide To Uphold That So-Called 'Alliance' And Start Causing Problems, Galadriel's A+ Maia Wrangling Skills VS Her Friendship With Míriel FIGHT, Halbrand Getting To Go A Bit Feral

Kemen arrives in Pelargir to take control of the city, under the impression that no grubby, uneducated low man would dare challenge the new prince of Westernesse and his contingent of Númenorean guards.

But the king of the Southlands is not, in truth, a low man.

And neither is his new queen.

G+ || Canon Divergence || Pippin Took's A+ Life Choices, Butt Dialling The Dark Lord, Pippin Tries His Hand At Relationship Therapy, Outsider Perspective, Gandalf POV

In ROTK, Sauron answers the Palantír like he's really hoping it might be Galadriel this time. Pippin Took is not Galadriel, but he has recently met her, and - since he's not the brightest bulb and doesn't really cotton on that he's just accidentally facetimed the Dark Lord - he's perfectly happy to tell this complete stranger all about that experience in detail. Sauron, smart enough to realise that he might get some usable intel about Lothlorien out of this strange little creature, entertains the conversation for longer than he otherwise might have. Pippin is even pretty easy to talk to.

And when Gandalf bursts in, half-expecting the dear little soul to be driven mad with agony, he finds Pippin…very earnestly trying to talk Mairon through how to fix his relationship problems - an undertaking of such colossal stupidity that the entire West gave it up entire Ages ago.

And Mairon actually seems to be listening.

Angbang

T+ || Angsty || Outsider Perspective, Ainur Family Drama, Melkor Is A Mess But He's Mairon's Mess, Even Evil Has Loved Ones, The Valar Concept Of Love & Melkor's Concept Of Love As Very Different Things

Angband is a smoking ruin. The Enemy is a captive of the Valar. The war, it would seem, is over.

But the Ainur are uneasy. Not all of Morgoth's forces have been subdued. The Enemy's favourite servant has slipped the net, and getting information out of Melkor is like pulling teeth. Under questioning - and even the threat of the Void - in Valinor, he still refuses to tell them where his devoted lieutenant Sauron has gone into hiding.

Aulë, waiting for news of his wayward Maia, tries to make sense of how even the most corrupted of them all can be beholden to forces like love and loyalty, and how it can be that none of them ever saw this coming.

T+ || Fluff & Comedy || Epistolary Fic, Long-Distance Relationship, Leading Armies Means Being Apart A Lot, First Age, Love Letters, Complaint Letters As Well Lbh They Probably Bitch To Each Other A Lot About Everyone Else

Melkor's rise and fall, as told by the orders Melkor sends to Mairon, the reports Mairon sends back, and the informal postscripts attached to both.

M+ || PWP || Creative Use Of The Mind Palace, Telepathy, I Could Not Find A Mention On The Wiki Of Where Sauron Was During This Siege, So Let's Assume He Wasn't Like. Also Stuck In Angband

During the 400 year Siege of Angband, Melkor uses ósanwë to leave the surrounded fortress and spend some quality time with Mairon.

T+ || Angsty || Sanity Slippage, Hallucinations, Melkor Trying To Envision His Happily Ever After Even Though He Doesn't Know What Happily Ever After Looks Like

Sentenced to eternity in the Void, and slowly losing his mind to the isolation and sensory deprivation, Melkor comforts himself with visions of his little fire spirit.

Silvergifting

G+ || Fluffy || Celebrimbor Has A Crush, But He's Very Sweet About It, Possible Angst, Celebrimbor Probably Needs Closure Too, Halbrand Should Not Be Forging But He Can Still Hang Out

Celebrimbor likes to work late. Flattered by the admiration of a handsome young king, and delighted to have a fellow passionate smith to bounce ideas off, he takes to letting Halbrand join him in his workshop in the evenings while the latter is healing. One night, while swapping theories about the mithril and definitely not watching the candlelight catch on Halbrand's hair, he finds himself making a gift of his own. After all, a king should have a crown, and what better crown than one made by 'the Celebrimbor'?

(Possible angsty bonus scene: many thousands of years later, Galadriel seeks closure and a final goodbye in Mordor after Sauron's downfall. In the ruins of Barad-Dur she finds the crown that Celebrimbor made for a king who never existed, kept in Sauron's quarters as though treasured. Maybe she rescues it to take back to Valinor)

Poly/Multiple Ships

M+ || Saurondriel/Angbang || Past Abuse, Telepathy, The Mortifying Ordeal Of Learning To Make Better Romantic Choices, Sauron Loves & Fears Melkor Equally, Letting Go, Saurondriel Is Not Healthy But In This Case It Is HealthIER, So Like. That's Something

Sauron and Morgoth were still telepathically connected when Morgoth was thrown into the Void. A fragment of his consciousness remains in Sauron's mind, manifesting as a hallucination that only he can see and hear. At first, he is Melkor, the doting lover Sauron chooses to remember, amusing and affectionate and comforting and so, so missed. But, as rage and fear take over and the Void begins to drive Melkor mad, he increasingly behaves like Morgoth, the side of himself Sauron would rather forget - the cruel master whose wrath he fled after his defeat at Tol-in-Gaurhoth. With 'his' Melkor appearing less and less, Sauron becomes more and more burned out under the slew of criticism and mockery, and his confidence in his own ability to lead takes an additional battering when his subordinate turns on him at Forodwaith. When he happens to cross paths with Galadriel, he realises almost immediately that the light in her silences Morgoth's voice in his mind. As they grow closer, her unwavering belief in him - or, at least, in "Halbrand" - makes him want to do good, to please her and prove he's worthy of her support. But Morgoth is not the only voice silenced by proximity to Galadriel, and letting Melkor go is an agony he's not sure he can survive.

T+ || Angbang, Saurondriel, Galadriel/Celeborn || Having The Same Conversation While Thinking About Entirely Different People, She's Thinking About Celeborn, He's Thinking About Melkor, Halbrand's Species Has A Mayfly Lifespan & A Casual Approach To Intimacy So She Is Not Expecting Him To Understand At All, But He Really Really Does

When their flirty banter turns to their respective races' romantic customs, Galadriel finds herself opening up to Halbrand about elven marriage, about her long-lost husband, and about her feelings of guilt over her attraction to him.

Halbrand empathises. More than she ever thought he could.

M+ || AU || Saurondriel, Galadriel/Celeborn || Modern AU, Porn With Plot, Safe Sane & Consensual, Sex Work, Polyamory, Threesomes, Kink, Switch Halbrand, Galadriel & Celeborn Are Figuring Out What They Like So Who Knows, Halbrand Blacks Out & Has A Consensual Workplace Relationship

Galadriel's marriage has been going stale for years by the time her husband hesitantly comes out as bisexual. Secure in their relationship and trying to support him, she suggests a threesome to liven up their staid, predictable sex life - and, after some thought, Celeborn agrees. His one condition is that the third should be a professional, so that the situation won't get messy. Halbrand is the professional; they have a fantastic time with him and begin seeing him regularly. The first time they hire him, they all believe that this is the best way to avoid anyone catching feelings for anyone else. This, of course, goes really well for everyone involved.

M+ || AU || Saurondriel, Galadriel/Celebrimbor, Silvergifting ||Polyamory, Open Marriage, Copious Blacksmithing, Hurt/Comfort, Halbrand Recovering In Eregion, Relationship Miscommunications

A long time ago, Galadriel married Celebrimbor. They're fond of each other, but since circumstances so often keep them apart (Galadriel hunting Sauron for decades at a time, Celebrimbor inseparable from his forge), they've been quietly maintaining an open marriage for centuries, each occasionally seeking out discrete companionship when they feel the need.

This arrangement has worked well for them for hundreds of years. Neither of them expects it to ever change, or cause drama.

Enter Halbrand.

When Galadriel returns from Númenor with her wounded Southlander king, Celebrimbor is delighted to discover his wife's lover is a fellow smithing nerd. As Halbrand convalesces, Celebrimbor finds himself increasingly drawn to the charming young man and, in spending time with him, actually grows closer to his own wife.

When Halbrand's true identity comes to light, Galadriel is devastated, and Celebrimbor finds himself fighting to keep the three-way bond they've built from imploding.

M+ || Canon Divergence: Early S2 || Saurondriel, Silvergifting || Adar Frees The Southlanders & Creates A Problem, King Of The Southlands Halbrand, Aftermath Of Torture, Celebrimbor Rescues Halbrand From Mordor, Because He Has A Little Crush, Halbrand Recovering In Eregion AGAIN, Reunions

The Men of the Southlands have always been a stubborn, difficult people. Having waited over a thousand years for their royal line to reassert itself, and having seen control over their occupied lands ceded by no less than an elvish general, they're now proving very reluctant to give up on their shiny new king. When Halbrand trades his own surrender for his people's freedom, the displaced refugees descend upon the elven realms, petitioning Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor - Halbrand's apparent allies via Galadriel - to mount a rescue.

Although Galadriel's unsanctioned diplomatic manoeuvring has put him in a difficult position, Gil-Galad opts not to intervene; he thinks leaving Sauron and the orcs to duke it out between them will spare elven lives. For Galadriel herself - still reeling from the shock and betrayal of Halbrand's identity reveal, firmly in the doghouse with her High King, and demoted from her military station - this decision is a difficult one to stomach, as she struggles to reconcile her hatred for Sauron with the sudden fear and concern she feels for Halbrand, along with her own loss of her king's trust and inability to influence or counsel Gil-Galad to her advantage anymore. She's been cut out of the decision-making completely.

When she hears that Celebrimbor - for reasons she cannot begin to understand - has disobeyed Gil-Galad to send soldiers into Mordor to retrieve Halbrand, she rides for Eregion immediately, still not entirely sure whether she wants to see for herself that he's safe, or take the opportunity to kill him personally.

T+ || AU || Saurondriel, Silvergifting, Angbang || Goo Sauron, Sauron As The Rings, Maybe Being Split Into Three Rings Also Splits Him Into Three Personalities, So Galadriel Gets Halbrand/Repentant Mairon Who Is Smitten With Her, Celebrimbor Gets Annatar Who Grows To Be Fond Of Him, And Gil-Galad Gets Sauron Who Is Above All Things Fond Of Morgoth, The First Two Are Varying Degrees Of Tractable & Willing To Work/Compromise With Their Elven Bearers, But The Third One Is Manipulative And Wants Melkor Back, Which Is A Problem, And Now Sauron Is Attached To Possibly The Most Powerful King In Middle Earth At The Time

Galadriel does not find Sauron in Forodwaith, but she does find something that catches her attention: a strange ooze that moves almost like a living thing. Disturbed and suspicious, she catches it in a container and takes it back to Eregion with her, hoping one of the scholars there will be able to tell her what it is. Despite a few odd moments on the journey that make her wonder whether the goo might somehow be sentient, Eregion's scientists determine that the ooze is not an animal - it's a highly magically potent substance, probably leftover from Sauron's experiments.

Galadriel has some misgivings, but ultimately, Celebrimbor has some projects he thinks the goo might prove useful for, and she hands it over. He incorporates it into his Rings.

It's not until Galadriel slides Nenya onto her finger and begins having some strange dreams/hearing voices that she realises the truth: they've accidentally trapped a disincorporated Maia in there. Now they have to figure out how to free him.

And all Sauron has to do is not let on which Maia they've unwittingly imprisoned.

AKA: Mairon's ëala is in the Three, and he wants out. This has consequences (whether funny, romantic, horrifying, etc) for the ringbearers.

[prima-materia-ttrpg]

Species Highlight - Ternaki

It is time to talk about the technicolor space elves. The Ternaki aren't technically elves because elves don't exist. How dare you have fun. But boy do they come in a lot of different colors! They also happen to be immortal.

So here's the process behind making the Ternaki, and what their lore and history currently looks like.

The Ternaki started with a pretty simple idea. "What would an immortal species actually do culturally?" The answer, of course, is not singular. But I wanted to see what interesting things I could come up with for a species that has nothing but time. How would they think and view the world? How would that worldview change as they got older? How differently would a 100 year old think from a million year old individual? Of course there are a million other questions that follow this same course of reasoning.

One of the first things I decided to include was war scrimmages. That probably sounds weird, but I will explain. War scrimmages are a sport for the Ternaki, treated the same way that one might treat paintball if it were as big as football or soccer. They have four innings that last 25 years each, with the victor declared at the end of the 100 year game by tallying points. Generally, taking towns gives you a decent amount of points. Battles are scheduled ahead of time, and for a town to be the site of one of these scrimmages is a time of celebration. Their war scrimmages are non-lethal, and their generals are some of the most prominent celebrities among the Ternaki; particularly if they consistently find creative ways to outwit their opponents.

The second thing I decided to include was a sacred view of life. The Ternaki generally believe that life should be preserved whenever possible, that the death of a Ternaki is a tragedy, and the death of someone who isn't immortal even more so because they had so little time to begin with.

From here, I set out to make the idea of life being sacred the core philosophy behind the rest of the culture. I also decided that I wanted Ternaki to be unfathomably old sometimes so I could play with some fun ideas about how those old Ternaki think. As a result, they did not evolve on the planet Patek, but rather, on Ternak. Ternak is another planet (and god) that was destroyed when Ternak's star went supernova over a billion years ago. This was such a significant event that their language has different tenses based on whether something predates the death of Ternak.

Ternak, unlike Patek, cared for the sapient creatures on his surface and saw them as his children. The first Ternaki prophets were simply Ternak's friends, who walked and talked with his avatar on the surface of the planet. Ternak did his best to teach them the sacredness of life, because he had seen much of it extinguished in the last age of the universe. He also gave the Ternaki the gift of immortality, saying "You will not fully know me until you see the last stars in the universe blink into nothingness as I have." Once the Ternaki were able to leave the planet, Ternak saw his duty to teach them as done and allowed them to leave the nest. He cut off communication with his children until the star he was taking care of was in its last days, billions of years later. The Ternaki, having at this point spread out through the galaxy, came back on their huge city-ships to witness the last moments of their god. The Ternak system filled with them, and Ternak sent out a message, simply saying "thank you." Legend tells that Ternak also sent an avatar to his closest friend during the congregation, though what he may have said to them is not known.

The Ternaki of Patek

A spaceship 20 kilometers long looms in the Patek system. Inside, a Ternaki woman calls over her colleague. "Look at this" she says, "seven sapient species are on this planet, all in the paleolithic."

"How unusual. My scans of the moon yielded similar results."

The two bring their findings to the ship's captain, presenting a data pad. The Ternaki woman expounds her findings with all the excitement of a consummate professional; "As you can see, based on our scans of the planet and its moon, both are teeming with life. There are also some very strange readings, the planet has multiple new sapient species. On top of that, we believe the moon was captured by the planet and seeded with life."

The captain looks over the data pad, seemingly unenthused. "Perhaps we have found one of Ternak's brethren. Continue your research."

This scene played out ten thousand years ago amongst Ternaki who were much more ancient than that. The Ternaki on that ship were looking for a place to settle down and play civilization for a while, and Patek fit the bill as a place interesting enough place to settle.

Starting with 200,000 people, they found a quiet subcontinent to start the first city to call home. They named the city Sifia, a traditional name for the first city on any planet that roughly means something about a place where new light springs forth. No one really kept track of the etymology.

In the current day, the Ternaki on Patek number close to 160 million. Throughout history, they have been a constant if sometimes enigmatic presence; changing the course of history through their interactions with other cultures. Most Ternaki born on Patek don't know of their extra-terrestrial origins per say, but are aware of the important things such as the story of Ternak preserved through poetry, and countless conversations which involve him recorded in the Ternak Ben'at.

The Ternaki on Patek adhere to religious law, much of which consists of recorded arguments between their spiritual leaders and legal experts, the Ravoshi. The job of a governmental Ravoshi is often to argue in the public gathering place of a civic building with other Ravoshi to constantly hone and clarify religious law. Generally, two Ravoshi will talk about a topic from the Ternak Ben'at or other legal records. A third Ravoshi acts as a scribe and transcribes the argument. The Ravoshi will quote law at each other and give their interpretation of what it means. A third Ravoshi, or sometimes even a citizen, is allowed to interject their own opinion on a topic though this is rare. Ternaki legal battles are much the same, the only difference being the presence of a defendant and a judge.

Punishment for failure to adhere to religious law is not usually done. The only crimes which are punishable are those which involve things such as murder, theft, or sharing technology with other cultures that don't have it. Murder is punished by exile, theft is punished generally with community service, and sharing of technology is punished by exile until the bit of technology you shared becomes obsolete. The laws that apply to outsiders are generally more lenient, though they do lean more towards exile in those cases.

All in all, the Ternaki legal system is very complex. Clans of Ternaki also have their own Ravoshis that aren't hired by the government. They often act as leaders in their communities, solving disputes and taking care of religious rites when they are observed.

Ternaki Clans themselves are the closest thing to what they have to families. Some clans are rather small, and make up a village. Others have hundreds or even thousands of members. Some clans do farming, others are focused on spiritual and legal training; with young members expected to become Ravoshi. Trading clans tend to be the largest, and are the main conduit for import and export to and from the Ternaki subcontinent. Some clans don't have a particular focus, but as they age, individual Ternaki usually find a niche that captures their whole attention for hundreds or more years. Ternaki craftsmanship is some of the best on Patek because Ternaki have quite a lot of time to hone their craft and work on projects. Each sailing ship, building, and gun they make is a work of art made with care, sometimes over the course of a century.

Because of their view on how life should be lived, money isn't used often in many Ternaki communities, though there are places in large cities that use money on occasion. Some Ternaki establishments will deal in money, particularly when they sell luxury goods; but these prices are almost never final as Ternaki often like to haggle over price as a social game. In the case of food and restaurants money is usually optional, especially if someone hasn't eaten in a while. Some Ternaki do take money seriously, however, as they use it to trade in other cultures that take money seriously. The average Ternaki that isn't in a trading clan may carry very little or no money, and not understand why it's needed. A Ternaki in a trading clan or who otherwise often finds themselves away from home will see it as a tool to trade with others outside the Ternaki subcontinent, and have a much better grasp of what its purpose usually is.

I think that's where I'll stop, that's a lot of information and I think I've explained the Ternaki well enough for a blog post. I finally finished writing the combat mechanics, so next week will definitely be about that. If you read this far, thank you very much! Also, I have a website now with playtests you can download! Go make a character or something!

Also thanks @donutboxers for the artwork for this post!

[broodwolf221]

solas x another unwritten ship for him - caressing the other’s hand

hehehehehehehehe okay. everyone else needs context for this. so, there's a joke in my friend group about how i ship solas with EVERYONE. and, well. one friend suggested someone as a joke. except i am me and i accepted the challenge. thus, i present to yall the most unhinged fucking ship: solas/oghren. yeah, them. pre-relationship and a bit of awkward desire and solas having a Thing for hairy men! (that said, i can actually sorta see it - reading through oghren's dialogue has been eye-opening fr. but it would take a big fucking fic to get them together in a serious way lmao) @dadrunkwriting 821 words cws: none

The Inquisition had made significant connections, including a promising one with Orzammar. Yet none had expected the dwarf who showed up at Skyhold, particularly one wearing the armor of a Grey Warden. Blackwall did not recognize him, but that did not mean much, for as he reminded everyone who asked, he had been out recruiting alone and had not been to Weisshaupt personally. The new Warden seemed disinterested in their current Warden… and in all of them. 

In fact, about the only thing he seemed interested in was the tavern. One day, Solas had gone to speak with him, but several clumsy insults later and he had determined it was a useless endeavor. Which is why this came as a surprise. 

“Have you need of me, Warden?”

“Nah. Just wanted to, uh…”

“What?”

“Shouldn’t have said what I said.” He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “But I’m not gonna apologize!” Solas couldn’t help but snort, the man’s eyes widening a little before he grinned. “Well. Okay then. We good?”

“Why not?” He replied, closing his book. “I may loathe the Wardens and have little reason to be impressed by your carriage, but yes, we’re good.” The dwarf blinked, then suddenly his grin widened.

“Hey! Nice! You got a bit of bite to you, huh? Yeah, that’s good. Okay then.” He nodded firmly and then waved, leaving Solas alone in the rotunda.

And a little curious.

-

Several weeks had passed, and the Warden had made himself more at home. He still spent plenty of time in the tavern, but he had ventured outside of it as well. He spoke with Solas sometimes, the two of them trading barbs, but eventually he’d had enough. Oghren came into the rotunda and Solas shut his book pointedly. “Come, dwarf,” he said simply, rising and walking away. Oghren paused before following him, and didn’t balk at all until Solas stepped into the small room—with a prepared, steaming bath.

“Hey now, no—”

“Yes,” Solas insisted, gesturing at the tub. “You represent the Inquisition now. You will look the part. And if you refuse, I will summon Bull, and he will pick you up and put you in—”

“Sod it! Fine! Fine!” He started unbuckling his armor, grumbling under his breath about ‘sodding elves’ the whole way. Solas snorted, glancing away as the final layers came off without any attempt at propriety. But at last Oghren stepped into the bath, cursing up a storm at the hot water.

“Good,” Solas said as he was finally seated, shoving a bar of soap at his chest. “You scrub, and I will tend to… this,” he tugged on a bit of Oghren’s beard, amused when the man’s eyes went wide.

“Hey, no. A dwarf keeps his beard. You don’t get to touch it—” Solas held up a wide-toothed comb, wiggling it in front of Oghren’s face until he just scowled. “You are a right pain in the ass, you know that, elf?”

“So I’ve been told,” he mumbled under his breath, Oghren snorting before he started lathering up with the soap. Solas knelt outside the tub and began working on unbraiding his beard. “If you get food in this when I’m done,” he began quietly, “I will burn it all off.” Oghren grunted and glared at him, but did not protest.

Solas was still working by the time the dwarf was done soaping up—having taken a break during a few particular moments of cleaning—and eventually the other man was just relaxing in the tub, letting Solas work through his thick beard. It was fascinating: the length, the coarse texture, the way that brushing it revealed the threads of white through the stark red. 

He actually enjoyed spending time with the dwarf. Solas appreciated his blunt manner, always knowing that what was said was what was meant, but through their conversations he had also uncovered glimmers of surprising depth. Bold analyses presented as jokes, made light of. Details of his personal history, while few and far between, had shown a life of utter loyalty to Orzammar, followed by a deep disruption that he spoke little of. He was intriguing.

Solas enjoyed being intrigued.

He did not realize for some time that Oghren’s eyes had opened, that he was staring at him. Eventually he met those eyes and did not break the gaze. Oghren looked puzzled, a wet hand rising to just skate across the back of Solas’, making him shiver.

“I think it’s been brushed enough, elf,” he muttered under his breath, finally looking away. Solas startled at the reminder of his task, nodding and stepping aside, looking away as Oghren dried himself and got dressed again.They spoke little and returned to their business. And if that night Solas considered the rough weave of that beard and how it would feel under his spread hand, pressed against the other man’s equally thick chest hair, all of it intriguing… Well. That was his concern.

[honey-the-dinosaur-ate-our-kid]

i think we should seriously reconsider the mental healths of the elves before we claim that they should pursue romantic relationships.

those kids have seen a lot of shit, gone through a lot of shit, and forced to go through more shit while dealing with other shit. a lot of these experiences were traumatizing and even sophie has been near a mind break at one point in the books.

they faced danger too young and we're not acknowledging that they only brushed it off?

sophie and dex were only 12 or 13 when they were kidnapped. 12.

keefe was emotionally abused by his parents and manipulated by his mother from a young age. HIS OWN MOTHER. THE ONE WHO BIRTHED HIM, CARRIED HIM WITHIN HER, HELL, EVEN CREATED HIS LIFE. MY BOY DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE EMOTIONS AND HE'S AN EMPATH.

dex was looked down on because of his birth, parents, and siblings. that's something no child should ever face when they don't know what happened or that it's not their fault.

linh and tam were banished to the neutral territories because of something linh couldn't control. instead of blaming their parents, they blamed her. linh, who was only 9 or 10 at the time. linh, who didn't know the only people to blame were her parents and the shitty judgement system

that's not even half of it. there are countless other things I could talk about, but is that not enough proof that they should get therapy and end the war at the very least before getting into romantic relationships.

i'm not against shipping or any ships in general, but these kids should know how to deal with their emotions healthily before considering lovers. they deserve to heal a little bit.

the notion of getting better with your significant other supporting you is a nice one, but that shouldn't be the go-to solution. A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WON'T FIX YOU.

you shouldn't always rely on others to fix you. you should rely on yourself first. sometimes, someone can help you, but you have to take the first step.

[lissomelace]

⭐️ i would love to hear any director’s commentary about point of pride!

Okay, I got this and my mind proceeded to go COMPLETELY BLANK of anything to talk about. So since this one is more general about the AU, I’m going to talk about the Aulendi.

I often tell people that if I could be anything in the world, I would want to be a Ñoldor elf, despite the murder. This is because I love making stuff, and really love how significant it is to their culture and identity. (and problems. I must not forget the problems.) So the majority of the Aulendi either a) do things I really want to do, or b) do things I have at least a little experience with. Which is why I love writing them, and loved building out their world.

TaÞarwen is (I think) the first one that I wrote in, and I sort of made her and that scene out of a combination of things, including: my dislike of fast fashion as an institution, my love of the Gender Neutral Skirt ™ (seriously, so many people wore ‘skirts’ for so much of history. They are SO much easier than pants), and my conviction that making proper clothing takes a whole lot of time and effort.

(You may notice that Findaráto still doesn’t have the custom outfits. Because it takes time to craft something Really Really Nice, and immortal elves who are also devotees of the god of craft most definitely take the time to Do Things Right.

That said, it IS coming up!)

And the other significant ones we’ve seen are Meryanilda and Tiquwen. My experience with harps is definitely on the ‘making’ rather than the ‘playing’ side, but I’m still very new to making them, and have only dabbled. Still, I enjoyed getting to feature them and the sort of interplay between their craft, practiced by the Aulendi, and someone like Makalaurë, who has a competitive AND collaborative desire to work around and with the masters of HIS craft. Which is practiced to less of an institutional degree among the Aulendi.

When I started planning this story and universe, I started from the threesome and worked outward. What safe place could Findaráto find? What made Fëanáro’s family different from the other Ñoldor to such a degree that they had completely separate gender roles and social culture?

…It had to be craft. The fact that there is a culture in which craft is important and respected is still very different from a culture of craftspeople. Historically speaking, however much craftspeople were respected (or not) they were not a ruling class. Ruling classes are generally politicians, by birthright or (more rarely) election, religious leaders, and economic ones. Similarly, in my reading experience, I see few examples of actual craftspeople among the royal Ñoldor. The specific examples are Míriel (dead), Fëanáro (…complicated), Mahtan (among Aule’s folk, not Tirion, not royal), Nerdanel (same as Mahtan, don’t know if/how she fit into the court, but my guess is no), and Curufinwë II and III.

Most of the next generation comes into their own in Beleriand. They’re politicians, rulers, warriors, generals. They build things, yes, like cities (Turgon and Finrod), ships (Eärendil, with clear Telerin influence from Círdan), and Maeglin (half-Sindar, specifically learned smithing from his Sindarin father and not his Ñoldorin mother). There are a few other notable smiths, but still. Not directly in or from the ruling line, save Curufinwës 1-3.

(I'm not saying they aren't a culture of crafters, I'm just saying for the purposes of this story, I engineered a split working off of a potential subdivision in canon. Also, a culture is more than just the ruling line, that's only where we tend to focus because those are the significant and named figures in canon)

So that’s kind of where the split came from, in Point of Pride. The Ñoldor respect craft, and it is what their culture is known for, but most of the people who specifically devote themselves to it as a calling can be found in Aulë’s lands, which I feel has at least a little canonical justification. Even if they wouldn’t see themselves as priests, disseminating the work and ideas formed in his forges to the broader Ñoldorin culture at large is kind of the role they play in this story. And because of the physical and social distance, they had the room to develop in a drastically different way (as much as the two-way unawareness might be a bit unrealistic). I like the idea that the farther one gets from a strict social ‘court’ and the closer one gets to a sort of egalitarian unification of ideals and purpose in proximity to a literal deity, the more protected one gets from strict social consequences. And the less close someone is likely to look. Like nuns, who were allowed/required to eschew the social requirement of marriage for religious purposes (not an expert, don’t quote me on that). I’m not saying the Aulendi are religious figures to that sort of strict level, but by opting into the inner circle of a Vala, they are effectively opting out of the monarchy and the social structure of the Ñoldor, knowingly or not.

(Yes, this will cause problems later.)

Well, that was probably way too much!! Thank you for the chance to (over) explain some thoughts I had! I hope you enjoy reading this excessive wall of text, and thank you for the ask!

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: A Matter of Timing

What lengths of time do your cultures consider important?

Most cultures we know work in years, whether lunar or solar. (Or both.) It’s a significant fraction of a human lifespan, it contains one turn of the seasons (vitally important to food production), it works. But it’s not the only possible cycle of time.

As I write this in 2024 two different long-period events are taking place. In the U.S., a particular 7-year brood and a 13-year brood of cicadas are emerging at the same time, something that apparently hasn’t happened since the 1800s. A little after this year we’re going to see lunar standstill; a time about every 18.6 years when the moon hits the limits of how far north and south on the horizon it rises and sets.

Yes. The moon, like the sun, does not always rise or set on the same spot on the horizon. It just takes a lot longer to cycle through that range of spots. There’s some serious archaeological speculation that Stonehenge may be aligned to note the standstill along with solstices, and that speculation gets even more intense when considering the older versions of Stonehenge built on the site centuries before the megaliths we see today.

In this day and age, when mechanized ships let us power through most tides and agribusiness has a lot of us not dependent on any one grove of trees, these cycles are just an interesting footnote to everyday life. But depending on your story and the people in it, cycles like these might be far more important.

For example, if you had a tree-centered culture (see ancient Greeks and olives, Celts and oaks, Wookies, Ewoks, and most fantasy elves) and cicadas did more serious damage, brood emergence would be a very serious thing to keep track of. Likewise, if lycanthropy was more complicated than “moon rises, wolf out”, then supermoons and where the moon rises might be important indeed.

(Though historically speaking, “moonrise equals werewolf” is more Hollywood than actual folklore. Like vampires disintegrating in sunlight. Both were thought to be more active at night, but depending on the critter and the cause of its condition, daylight might not be nearly as much of a setback as stealing its clothes.)

Don’t leave aquatic cultures out of the fun. Considering the shenanigans coral reefs get up to for reproduction, the lunar standstill might have an effect there, too.

Note I’ve stuck to planetary-based cycles, not off-planet triggers like planetary alignments or the precession of the equinoxes changing which star is actually north. If stellar events can directly and noticeably change your characters’ lives, these could be culturally important. Check them out!

[imakemywings]

31. "after a small rejection" for Maglor/Thranduil? :D

Kiss Meme

I did not forget I had these in here...anyway if this ship seems ridiculous and implausible please know that you could never comprehend the rich inner world of Lark and I or the two years we've spent making this a thing agkjnfkdjgbn

On AO3

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A light rain misted over the forest and the surrounding fields, drifting down from a marbled gray sky as the plants reached eagerly up towards it, none the wiser as to the events of the day for this part of Elfinesse. The camp of the king of Mirkwood was established some leagues beyond the edge of the forest; not far, yet still enough to put Thranduil on edge, as he always ways out from beneath the forest canopy of late. Nevertheless, the levels of goblin activity nearby had demanded an answer, particularly after goblin scouts had been slain within the forest’s bounds, and the king had felt it necessary to lead this particular excursion himself.

            It had been a wise move to act—the goblins had with them a pair of trolls, which might have caused considerable damage if they had made it into the forest. The king’s forces had split into several groups; one he headed himself, the others he handed out to his advisors, and between them they smashed the goblins’ forces and ended both trolls before they were within eyesight of the woods.

            Serving under Fachon was the king’s attack dog.

            No one referred to Maglor this way within Thranduil’s hearing or the reach of his mind, but the phrase had been heard within the kingdom’s boundaries. When first Maglor Feanorian had stumbled into their wood, many had been certain that their one-time Doriathrim king would have him put to the blade, and for some months it seemed Thranduil intended to do so. Only the most inner circle of his advisors were party to the lengthy moral debate that had surrounded Maglor’s eventual release under probation—truthfully, largely waiting for Maglor to do something that proved he was still a threat and therefore necessitated execution.

            Instead, Maglor Feanorian seemed to go out of his way to prove that not only was he no longer a threat, but he could be useful.

            When Thranduil assigned him the basest scouting position—reasoning that he needed to contribute to their society if he was to remain—Maglor did not balk, and performed the job enthusiastically, for all he was unfamiliar with the ways of the Wood-elves (and, his young companions cackled, terrified of heights).

            It became apparent rather quickly to the denizens of Mirkwood—and incalculably to Thranduil’s chagrin—that a part of this—perhaps a significant part—was to do with Maglor’s overwhelming and surpassing infatuation with the king. In fact, it was not clear that Maglor had not permitted his own capture.

            While the second son of Fëanor had once been known for his art, he had a tool far more useful to the besieged residents of Mirkwood: his blade. In time, Thranduil began to trust him with such things, and now he was permitted to sortie under command, and he was an awesome horror to behold, a terrifying example of the unhinged violence to which Elves could descend; he set upon Mirkwood’s enemies at Thranduil’s direction with the rage of a chained wolf, and continued until there was nothing left to kill, or he was made to stop.

            Yet for all that he alarmed and set ill at ease the Elves of Mirkwood, none could deny his effectiveness—nor their need for any who could defend their ever-receding kingdom. From Lothlorien no aid would come, and Rivendell was not in the business of raising soldiers. Mirkwood was, as it had been, on its own.

            On this day, Maglor stumped back into the damp encampment, a bile of blood and mud belched over him head to toe. Wisps of goblin hair and scalp clung to his armor; chunks of viscera shone in his hair; blood not his own was crusted around his nostrils and clumped his eyelashes together. It was impossible to tell if he had sustained any of his own injuries.

            A few of Thranduil’s men who were gathered, debriefing, paused at the sight of him. Maglor, Noldor-tall with eyes of flame and a reputation a mile long, did not inspire ease at the best of times, even among the better part of Thranduil’s people who had never even been as far west as Doriath, but Maglor after a battle was enough to make even a seasoned warrior tense towards their weapon.

            “Is he in the tent?” was all Maglor said, his mouth twitching against the urge to hack out a foul-tasting ball of phlegm. One of the other Elves shook her head, and was about to explain the king was performing final checks across the battlefields when Thranduil rode back in with a handful of men.

            “We are finished here,” he announced. They would stay a few hours to care for the injured, and then return home. When Thranduil dismounted his elk, it would have been easy to overlook the wound, as Thranduil was accustomed to concealing such things, but Maglor had both the familiarity with injuries and the intentness of focus to see it at once.

            “You’re hurt!” he cried, spreading his bloody hands towards the king. Thranduil’s brow twitched, the only sign of his displeasure at having this fact noted.

            “Only slightly,” he said.

            “You must call Armae!”

            “He is busy with others far more wounded than I,” said Thranduil dismissively, giving his elk a pat on its thick neck to dismiss it to rest. “Though I will not say no to a drink.” He exchanged a look and nod with the remaining Elves and quitted into his tent. By the time Maglor followed him in, he was gripping the edge of a table, one hand pressed against his abdomen, where Maglor had seen held himself carefully.

            “It’s bleeding!” Maglor said, coming close to him, reaching out for the injury himself. “Thranduil! You must see a healer!”

            “’tis nothing,” Thranduil insisted through gritted teeth. “Pain does not a deadly wound make.”

            “Armae would come for you!”

            “I will not take him away from his work for my men,” Thranduil snapped, pain making him short-tempered.

            “Let me then,” Maglor said, his eyes burning bright. “Let me sing it f—” Thranduil placed his free hand over Maglor’s mouth. He had been the subject of Maglor’s healing efforts once before, and while the event had not been fatal for him, he was not keen to put it to the test a second time, outside the gravest necessity.

            “No, thank you,” he said swiftly. “I will happily wait. With a drink.” He inclined his head to the other end of the table, where Maglor unhappily poured them both a goblet of wine. Thranduil removed his gauntlets and set his helmet aside, flexing his fingers, sore from the grip of his blades.

            “Will you let me clean it, at least?” he asked, handing Thranduil a cup smeared with whatever unmentionable fluids were all over his hands. Thranduil arched a pale brow and drank from the cup nonetheless.

            “Rather I should clean you,” he said. “Did you decide to bathe in the battlefield when you were done?”

            A flicker of a smile, too eager, as his reactions often were after too long in utter isolation, showed across Maglor’s grimy face; once he understood Thranduil’s stone-faced intonations often disguised a jest, he had relaxed to hear them, rather than wringing his hands over perceived criticism.

            “Not quite,” he said cheerfully. “Ah, but it will all come off with a bit of water!...Please, may I not help?” He shifted back to his imploring tone.

            Too weary to argue, Thranduil nodded and sank down into a chair, allowing Maglor to dart off and find a bowl to fill with water. Thranduil downed the rest of his wine and clawed over the table for the pitcher to fill it again, wishing he had something stronger—a burn in his throat might distract him from the burn of the cut. It was not so deep he was concerned; he had received enough wounds in his life to judge well enough which were serious and which could be let alone briefly, but it did still sting like a bitch.

            Maglor dragged over the other chair when he returned, his hands jarringly clean compared to the rest of him, a freshness that ended sharply at his wrists. His dark eyes flicked up to Thranduil’s face, seeking permission, before he reached out and began to undo the clasps of Thranduil’s armor. This task he had memorized the first he had been allowed to do it, and his hands moved with knowledge if not with ease.

(It was difficult to ever allow himself to fully believe this was permitted.)

The chest plate he removed and set aside, and then his deft harper’s fingers opened the cloth layers beneath until he had exposed the slash across the pale flesh of Thranduil’s gut, arcing around over his flank. He made a quiet hiss of displeasure and dipped the cloth he had brought into the bowl.

            “I am afraid it’s rather cold,” he warned. He reached out to press it against Thranduil’s side, but hesitated. In cleaning his own wounds, he was ruthless, but he was aware in the moment that it would likely cause Thranduil greater pain, and he was not sure he could abide that, even if it were better for him.

            Thranduil had another drink of wine.

            “Are you hoping it will warm up if you let it sit out longer?” he asked with a kind of exhausted dryness.

            “It…it will hurt,” Maglor warned, as if Thranduil had never had a wound cleaned, as if he had never lain abed with half his face seared off by dragonfire, screaming at the healers to do him a mercy and let him die.

            “I had rather imagined.” The tone was arid now. Maglor flushed, although it was imperceptible given his level of cleanliness. Not that Thranduil needed to see to guess. Thranduil took Maglor’s slimy wrist and moved his hand until the cloth brushed Thranduil’s ribs.

            Gingerly, Maglor pressed the cold cloth against Thranduil’s side, and Thranduil suppressed any flinches or noises of discomfort that would make Maglor jerk away. Instead, he let out a measured breath and had another draught of wine.

            “Tell me, are you injured?” he asked. “I cannot tell with the state of you.”

            “No, not I,” Maglor murmured, dabbing at the blood which seeped from Thranduil’s wound, trying to massage away the grit of the enemy’s blade as best he could. “Only dirty, my king.” He flashed a little smile up.

            “That is good then,” Thranduil sighed, closing his eyes. He leaned back against the back of the chair, the light wood creaking. “It seems we had no casualties, even with the trolls.”

            “Good news then,” Maglor agreed quietly, more focused on his task, though pleased on Thranduil’s behalf. It was such a long cut, he fussed to himself. He had seen enough to know it would not be fatal, but he still could not bear the notion of Thranduil in pain.

            “It troubles me how close they came,” Thranduil said, more quietly still, and Maglor tensed briefly, aware that Thranduil was now confiding in him. “Closer, closer, every year…is this to live as a mortal, with death stalking in slow pursuit at all hours?”

            “Every year you have driven them away,” Maglor reminded him. He did not know what to say when Thranduil spoke to him of such things. Hope was not an easy thing for a Noldo to carry, not least of all a Feanorian. Maglor had harbored his own private ember for so long, and since his arrival in Mirkwood had fanned it frantically into a tender flame, but the words still did not come easily, and he worried he would only say something to worsen Thranduil’s anxieties.

            “A slow poison claims the forest.” Thranduil’s hand swirled the wine goblet; his eyes did not open. “I bide my time. I make them fight for every inch. But every league is made up of many inches.”

            Maglor used a cloth-covered finger to pass along the edges of the wound, as near to it as he could, now that the worst of the blood was gone. It was still bleeding, but Maglor wound a few bandages around it to tide it over until a healer could see to it. This he did also with a few abrasions on the knuckles of Thranduil’s left hand. Thranduil’s breath was warm against his ear when he leaned in to let Maglor bandage him, and Maglor apologized for smearing him here and there with muck.

            “As I said…this ought to have been my task.” He took the wet rag Maglor had set aside and swiped it down the bridge of Maglor’s nose. “Look what a mess you are,” he chided, and Maglor flushed with pleasure to be teased by the king of Mirkwood.

            “I did not mean to,” he protested, but it was a feeble protest. Maglor was only distantly aware of himself when he sank into battle fury; he knew only the next steps that must be taken to keep himself alive. One step, then another, then another: then the end.

            “Tsk. And how you come into my tent this way,” Thranduil went on, dipping the cloth into the bowl. He lifted Maglor’s chin with a few fingers under his jaw and began to wipe the filth away from Maglor’s cheek the best he could without a great deal more fresh water. His fingers moved carefully around Maglor’s eyes, which he shut, so that Thranduil could wipe the blood and dirt from his eyelashes. His heart bucked like a leaping deer with his eyes closed, the world entirely the sensation of Thranduil’s hands on his face. “I hope you were careful,” the king murmured, squeezing the cloth over the bowl as he progressed over Maglor’s chin, his nose, his other cheek.

            When Maglor blinked his eyes open again, he was staring into Thranduil’s gaze; so deep a green they were it was as if some part of the forest lived within him, as if she had laid some claim on him that could not be severed (and was she not always calling him home?). Maglor had rarely felt so helpless, and so content to be so.

            “I did as was necessary,” he replied softly. “I hope it is not to your displeasure.”

            “If you put yourself at unnecessary risk, it would be to my displeasure,” Thranduil answered, dragging the cloth along Maglor’s temple. “I should not like to see you returned to me in pieces,” he added more quietly, with less concern in his voice than in his heart, though Maglor could hear both.

            His heart nearly stopped, as it did any time Thranduil suggested he would be distressed by Maglor’s death or injury. It still seemed such an inconceivable thing to him, for he recalled the loathing and yes—the fear—in Thranduil’s eyes when he had seen this monster of his youth thrown before him, and suddenly vengeance for Doriath was dumped into his lap, so far beyond the chance to make a difference it hardly seemed to matter anymore.

            But for all the world demanded of him—blades and spells and command—Thranduil was gentle at heart, which Maglor had seen from a distance, and if he did not deserve Thranduil’s gentle heart, he treasured it regardless.

            “Then I will endeavor to be careful,” Maglor said, nearly in a whisper, “for I should not wish to displease my king.” Thranduil lowered his hand, looking for a moment at their knees between them. He reached to the side, to rinse the cloth in the then brown and silty water—Maglor wished to protest he was dirtying the bandages Maglor had just put on his hand—and Maglor held his breath. Thranduil pinched one of Maglor’s ears between his fingers with the cloth, rubbing away the dirt, and then, with his hand there still, leaned in to press his lips so softly against Maglor’s.

            It was not the first Maglor had tasted Thranduil’s kiss, but each time was as sweet as the last, and Maglor took none for granted. He tipped his chin just slightly up to welcome the gesture, and his heart fluttered pleasantly warm against his ribs, reminding him how long he had believed no Elf alive would ever wish to do this with him again. It was only his own filthy state that stopped him from throwing himself at the king, eager as ever to offer more, whatever Thranduil wanted, whatever he would take—

            (For surely if an Elf as good as Thranduil tolerated him, cared for him, wanted him, then he must not be beyond saving.)

            “Good,” Thranduil replied when he drew back, his eyes flicking over Maglor’s face. “Formidable you may be, but not indestructible. Let us remember that.” He tossed the rag against the edge of the water. “And now, we shall need another of both of those, for I fear I am now just spreading this mess around rather than removing it.”

            Maglor sat and nearly quivered; he did not wish to leave Thranduil’s side, but they needed still to decamp and prepare to depart, and he knew he would get little else from Thranduil in the midst of a military camp. He wanted to take Thranduil’s hands, to lay more declarations of loyalty and affection on him, to kiss his fingers, to crawl into his embrace and there rest until he had slept off the weariness he knew would come when the fervor of battle had fully worn off. (If he could have burrowed under Thranduil’s ribs and made his nest there, he would have done it.)

            But instead, he rose to his feet and collected the bowl of vile water and the stained cloth.

            “As you wish, my king,” he said.

[theworldsoftolkein]

The Light of Hope - by MatejCadil

One of the greatest themes in Tolkien's Legendarium is certainly Hope. And the most significant symbol of hope is the Star of Eärendil, originally one of the three Silmarils that was cut out from Morgoth's Iron Crown by Beren and later borne by Eärendil into the West where he asked the Valar to aid the Men and Elves in Middle-earth and fight against the Dark Lord. Eärendil's ship Vingilot was then made fair and marvellous and rose up in the sky with the shining Silmaril as a new star and a sign of hope for Elves and Men, called Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope.

Hand-embellished prints of this picture are available in my Etsy shop: etsy.me/3Bf4Tvo 

The inspiration for this picture came from two sources: One was the theme of this year's Tolkien Reading Day "Hope and Courage" and another the Inktober52 prompt "Spaceship". Sounds very un-Tolkienesque, but fits quite well with Eärendil and Vingilot. However, because I had already made a picture of Vingilot as the Star of Eärendil, I decided to make something different and more complex, inspired by a famous quote by Sam in the Pass of Cirith Ungol:

"and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought  of that before! We've got – you've got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still! It's going on. Don't the great tales never end?"

So here I show a few scenes of this great tale, where the star of Eärendil shines as a light of hope throughout the Ages.

If you like my art and if you would like to see more of it, including various sketches and WIPs, hi-res pictures, time-lapse videos, artist commentary and other exclusive stuff not published elsewhere, please consider joining my patrons. I will very much appreciate your support, even as little as $1 per month. Check it out at www.patreon.com/matejcadil 🙂

If you want to read more about my process creating this piece, I have written a series of articles detailing that. Here you can read the first part about the central section, as a freely available sample of special behind-the-scenes content I would like to provide to my patrons: The Light of Hope - process, part 1 – Vingilot

Eärendil did't always remain just a remote heavenly light. Therefore, for one of the four panels accompanying the central picture I chose the first scene where Eärendil plays an important role after being lifted up in the sky. It is the final battle in the War of Wrath, fought in the sky between the Winged Dragons of Morgoth led by Ancalagon the Black on one side and Eärendil on Vingilot with the host of the Great Eagles on the other. Read more details about creating this picture: The Light of Hope - process, part 2 – Ancalagon 

In the second of the four corner panels you can see the next moment in history when the Star of Eärendil played an important role: as a guide of the Edain towards Númenor. Read more about my art process: The Light of Hope - process, part 3 – Númenor 

While the upper two panels show scenes from ancient history two other two depict events in the end of the Third Age, from the story of the Lord of the Rings. The lower left section shows Galadriel, who is the perfect link in the story for the other parts: she herself remembered the Elder Days and from the light of the Silmaril she also created the Phial that was later used by Frodo and Sam. But here she is shown in the beautiful scene at her mirror where the Star of Eärendil is also explicitly mentioned and interacting in an interesting way with the ring on her finger. It is quite fascinating. Here you can read more about this part: The Light of Hope – process, part 4 – Galadriel 

And the last of the corner panels shows Sam with the Phial of Galadriel in the Tower of Cirith Ungol. There were several other scene that I considered, but in the end I decided for this one. Read more about my process here: The Light of Hope – process, part 5 – Cirith Ungol 

Thank you much for your interest, if you read it so far as here! 😄

As I said, I appreciate all your support either through Patreon or through my Etsy shop. You can also follow me on Facebook or Instagram.

[mysticdragon3md3]

I feel like after Twilight, people started labelling human/immortal ships as "problematic".

Yes, there was a lot of problematic stuff about the relationship dynamic in Twilight. (See Cinema Therapy's critiques of that relationship.) But people started using it as a springboard to find more problems with it, seemingly to virtue signal. (Or maybe to have an excuse to spotlight, on a broadly visible popular venue at the time, a real world problem with grooming's normalization? A topic which we as a society should be confronting, but unsure if making people walk on eggshells about "vampires/humans dating" is the way to do it.) It went to the point where they were nitpicking such a fantastical, unrealistic, "suspended disbelief" aspect of fantasy stories, with realistic standards that weren't really relevant to a story's themes. The entire fantasy genre had glossed-over age gaps between immortals/mortals before, because there were more important things in the story. It used to be, we'd have romances between long-lived elves and fairies and gods and other supernatural beings, with a human protagonist, and no one made accusations of grooming or problematic age gaps. We were already suspending disbelief over the fairy thing; no one was thinking about "ew, that eternally-young old man is dating a decades-younger woman". But now it's something that fandoms think about...concerning supernatural beings that don't exist...and completely fictitious stories. I dunno...Even the Cinema Therapy I just cited (if I recall correctly), also asks, "What does a hundred year old vampire have in common with a teenage human?" Those were not the discussions we used to have in the fantasy genre. Now I'm afraid to let people see me ship Bleach shinigami with human characters, or The Highlander with their significant other of the century, or Buffy/Angel. Should I be ashamed of shipping Inuyasha with Kagome? Should any ship between The Doctor and any human be called "grooming"? How about any god and the mortal mother of a demi-god? These fictitious age gaps were not the problem with those myths. These are ridiculous questions.

Yes, the Twilight canon ship reflects some real life problematic behavior that we should talk about. But the problem wasn't him being fictitiously immortal. It was how he treated her.