#but will return to his homelands come winter

[oneminutefiftysixseconds]

14th July 2023

[laenyrasdarling]

Hiii! Can i ask for an Haelena/ fem! Targaryen reader headcanons? No nsfw but romantic. Reader is the daughter of Rhea Royce and Daemon

.ೃ࿐helaena targaryen x fem!targaryen/royce!reader 

✦ some notes on the setting; pre-dance, with helaegon and the twins (+ aegon’s debauchery) still present, daemyra being alluded to whilst he’s married (frostily) to rhea and she to laenor, vizzy t’s in a somewhat fortunate state of health, i am here for helaena her only and the worldbuilding Shall reflect it

ׂׂૢ having spent much all of your formative years residing in the grassy hills and wild thatches of runestone with your mother and her family, your varyingly absent father’s request to depart to king’s landing not long after your coming of eight and ten felt like something not very far between a dare and a terror. 

ׂׂૢ as abbarantly furious as this suggestion had initially made your dear mother and grandsire, over the course of some weeks your gentle insinuations that some winters in the red-roofed capital may be of benefit to a silver-haired, violet-eyed lady such as yourself before she returned to her homeland to continue her path ontoward ruling runestone in her mother’s footsteps, you successfully found enough cracks in your doting family’s bronzed armour to see them abate. 

ׂׂૢ so armed with enough belongings to last you from late spring to the following summer and the strongly pressed guidance from your grandsire that this temporary dalliance was only so you’d return equipped with better skills and knowledge with which to one day rule over your true homeland, you set sail for king’s landing. knowing all at once that you were only permitted to embark on this journey for varying ploys that were not yours - your grandsire’s to see you evolve to a competent ruler, your father’s to better his standings in your all but estranged uncle viserys’ eyes - you tried to not let these meddling hands of fate dissuade you from also using this time for your own endeavours.

ׂׂૢ and none so prevalent was that mission made to you than when you first laid eyes on the princess helaena upon your arrival to the red keep.

ׂׂૢ this was around the time you first found yourself thankful for your father’s meddling, as his suggesting in his letter that you make yourself of use to your hosts and aid the lady helaena in her childrearing and courtly duties meant that you arrived pre-prepared with a reason to find yourself in her company so often. as frostily as things began, with you nervously hovering around the edge of the room as the twins played and she sewed stiffly, with suppertimes just as cold with the added intrusions of her fool husband and snide-tongued younger brother, summer had barely begun to depart on your first year when things began brightening.

ׂׂૢ your transition from outcast to dearly-held began in benign ways - jaehaera growing familiar with your shadow-still presence in the family’s quarters and growing bold enough to beckon you forth with a chubby-fisted hand, that held aloft a dragon figurine for you to join her in play with. then came your wine-fuelled back-and-forths with aemond at the dinnertable, earning you both your cousins’ delicately-balanced respect, along with that of ser otto - and later, when helaena would find herself peering from over parapets to catch a glimpse of you besting even some of the kingsguard in the training yard with your bow skills.

ׂׂૢ the gradual quality with which you immerse yourself into her life escapes even her, until she begins to find herself noticing when your relentless energy and imaginative ploys are absent from the twins’ mornings and when you deem to take ale with aemond and his goons instead of joining her and alicent for supper. 

ׂׂૢ her status as a crown princess, and one betrothed to the king’s eldest son at that, taken into account, means that it’s probably once in a blood moon that helaena needs to ask for anything. which is what makes it mean all the more than it already does when she starts asking for your company.

ׂׂૢ and oh, how unendingly glad is she that she did.

ׂׂૢ her droll mornings become filled with your endlessly interesting talk of runestone, and your studies, and the things you’ve noticed since your arrival here (much of which she may not quite understand, but loves to listen to all the same). you’re by her side for each meandering stroll through the gardens that seems to take longer and longer each passing day, for every family meal that you manage to instill life and laughter into, for each lavish ball that she no longer fears now that she has you on her arm to keep her grounded and safe.

ׂׂૢ it’s the confident ease that you carry yourself with that endears helaena to you so much. how no task, no conversation, no idea is below or above you; that you’ll see the good and the worth in everything and everyone like it’s as easy as breathing.

ׂׂૢ so really, it’s no wonder that when it’s drawing late one night and you haven’t swung by her quarters with that darling smile of yours to wish her goodnight like you always do that when she goes in search of you, she finds you having dismissed the handmaids for the night and taken to tidying up the twins’ toys and study materials yourself. in the light of the still-flickering hearth, you look as heavenly a woman as helaena’s ever seen; so she’d be forgiven for finding herself kneeling so very close to you on the stone floor as she helps you stow figurines and charcoals away, and for losing herself in your lilac eyes that she doesn’t realise she’s leaning in until her lips are already on yours.

ׂׂૢ from there, it’s another slow descent - but helaena ensures not to miss a second of it this time around.

ׂׂૢ linked arms as you stroll through the gardens become held hands and guiding palms on the smalls of backs when no-one’s looking. the sewing lessons she’s insisted on walking you through end up looking more like you sitting back against her legs, as she loops her arms around yours and guides you through each stitch with her own hand, and now it’s a heatwave in the north before you’ll trade an evening with her for drinking with her fool brothers.

ׂׂૢ and you best believe, that’s only the very beginning.

ׂׂૢ she has dreamfyre saddled for two, and laughs through your terrified screams as she takes you so high into the clouds that you fear she’ll never possibly find her way back down. but really that’s your fault, as if you didn’t hand so tight onto her waist and bury your face into the crook of her neck, she would have no reason to delight in your flights as much as she does.

ׂׂૢ none of the articles of clothing you arrived with are now without alterations from her hand. a tiny, glittering arrow on a dress sleeve, a bronze-threaded neckline that seems to merge with an emerald-toned green as it sweeps down your back, all so subtle but done with love that they ease a smile onto your face every time they catch your notice again. and that’s not even taking into account the garments that are her design and commission alone, which now make up more than half of your wardrobe - rich, silken robes in every colour you could dream of, soft undershirts better suited to the warm climate of king’s landing than the heavy cotton ones you brought with you, gowns to match hers for all the balls she now drags you to on her arm.

ׂׂૢ her demure nature accounted for, she personally rejects any talks of vows for your hand - right down to seeing to it that all visiting noblewomen who appear to find too much interest in your bright eyes or warm laughter won’t find themselves having any business being in your company again.

ׂׂૢ on nights where she really just can’t bear to part with you until the morning, she’ll have her most trusted maidservants beguile her guards with a lie about her feeling poorly and asking you to stay with her for company; ensuring there’ll be no questions if anyone were to find the princess and a noblewoman entwined in bed together, cuddled so close it’s doubtful they could ever be parted.

ׂׂૢ it’s in moments like those, so sweet and so sacred, where the safety of your arms emboldens her so that she’ll dare to speak beyond the here and now. about her dreams of renouncing aegon, of taking the twins and you and flying as far as dreamfyre will take you, until you find a place that’s safe. safe for her to take you as your wife, for all the issues of succession and war to be a distant memory, where she can be a seamstress and you a farmer and the twins whatever they so want to be.

ׂׂૢ and torturously, those moments where she feels brave enough to speak plainly are the ones you find you just don't have the heart to give her the same honesty. so you kiss her forehead, brushing back silvery strands of hair as you settle in against one another and pray that your dreams lead you both to the same place where you may be able to live out that fantasy if only for a night.

[biconickyoshi]

Zuko and Aang as they appear in Book 2: Water of my slowburn Zukaang AU, The Avatar and the Fire Prince!

Overall Synopsis (for new readers):

In the year 96 AG, a freshly burned and banished 13-year-old Prince Zuko discovers a strange boy frozen in an iceberg. When Zhao interferes with Zuko's plans to deliver the Avatar to his father, Aang helps Zuko and Iroh escape. They take refuge in the abandoned Air Temples, Aang searching for any remnants of his people that he can find. Along the way, he teaches an indoctrinated Zuko about the true nature of the Air Nomads. Zuko must come to terms with the fact that everything he has been taught was a lie, while Iroh must acknowledge and face the sins of his past. Eventually, Aang and Zuko become close friends, and Zuko begins to feel things he has never felt for anyone before. However, Zhao will not give up easily, and will do whatever it takes to capture the Avatar and his traitor accomplices.

Book 2 Synopsis:

Zuko and Iroh have now officially denounced the Fire Nation and the Royal Family and are dedicating themselves to helping Aang fight against the forces of their homeland. After narrowly escaping Admiral Zhao at Crescent Island during the winter solstice of 96 AG, Aang, Zuko, and Iroh travel south in search of the Southern Water Tribe village Aang has been dreaming about. The village is in danger: the Southern Raiders are coming, and it will be up to our trio - with the help of a couple of Water Tribe siblings - to unite the remaining villages of the Southern Water Tribe so that they will stand a fighting chance.

I got an iPad for Xmas and I’ve spent the past couple days working on this! :) I’m super happy with how it turned out!

Zuko’s about 14 here - his hair length is how it looks about halfway through this Book. I’ll probably do another piece to show what he looks like at the end of the Book since his hair is a lot longer now with it being almost a year since he cut it in the AU’s timeline (we’re now approaching the Northern Water Tribe storyline). I’ve also never drawn weapons before… so I hope his broadswords don’t look too wonky 😅

Aang is about 13 here. He’s wearing a new outfit as well, which I thought made sense since this AU takes place over 3-4 years instead of less than one year like in the OG series. Aang’s gonna grow a lot over the course of this AU, so he can’t just keep wearing his Air Nomad trainee clothes indefinitely lol.

I plan to do a lot more pieces in the future as I get the hang of digital art, so I would like to draw more characters (like Iroh, Sokka, and Katara) and more looks for Aang and Zuko. I’m also really excited for Book 3, which will be Earth in my fic (Earth is my absolute favorite season of the OG show). Zuko’s hair will probably be long enough to pull back into a ponytail again at some point during that book… Though this time it will be a different style :) gotta do some brainstorming for that one!

I’m close to wrapping up the next chapter, in which our characters make a return to the Northern Air Temple! I haven’t had as much time to work on it recently just due to all the holiday stuff that’s been going on. It’s probably gonna be a shorter chapter as well (which I don’t mind, I hope y’all don’t either). But after that, we’ll finally be in the Northern Water Tribe! :)

[hyperactively-me]

It's cliché, but what if reader caught flu in Kastron? Idk why but to me it looks like country in the north, yk, cold and stoic king and queen from the land of sun. But my point is, reader gets sick, so sick that she collapses and everybody freaks out because they think it might be poisoning of their queen

omg i love this idea so much

Your home kingdom had never experienced winters like the kind in Kastron, where the seasons were known for their harshness and the relentless snowfall that blanketed the land. Back home, there was no snow in the winter season, just gray skies and cold air. But, here in Kastron, the winters were relentless. Feet of snow would pile up and snowstorms would overtake the kingdom. On a particularly calm day, you decided to go for a walk out on the palace grounds, just to explore the snow. 

You ventured into the icy wilderness that surrounded your palace. Your homeland had never experienced such a breathtaking winter wonderland, and you were determined to explore every inch of it. That morning, you had pulled on some boots, wrapped yourselves in furs and coats and pulled on some thick gloves. You slipped out of the palace without letting anyone know, wanting to be left to your own devices. You wanted quiet alone time, anyway. You had been slaving away in the study most days now that it was too cold to go outside. 

As the day wore on, the cold began to gnaw at your bones, and you reluctantly decided to return to the warmth and comfort of the palace. That evening, as you lay in bed, an unsettling chill settled over you. 

When morning came, you awoke to a stifling bug in your throat. Your throat was scratchy, your nose congested, and your body ached from your trek through the snow. Weak and feverish, you summoned your strength to fulfill your duties for the morning. It was a battle getting dressed and ready for the day, your eyes drooping with an exhaustion that only comes from illness. 

As the day progressed, you found yourself wrapped in your readings when Simon had let himself into the study.

“It’s lunchtime,” he says, pulling your book from your hands. 

“Ah, I suppose it is,” you say, sniffling ever so slightly.

Simon accompanied you as you made your way to the dining hall for lunch. The aroma of hearty seasonal foods filled the air, but your appetite had abandoned you. The weight of your illness pressed upon you, and you shivered with chills. You let Simon pull your chair out for you, and you practically drop into the seat as you sit down. 

As you attempted to eat, the sickness tightened its grip. Shivers wracked your body, and sharp muscle and body aches made every movement painful. Dizziness washed over you, the sickness engulfing you entirely.

“Simon—” you slur. 

With a feeling of overwhelming sickness, you collapsed at the table, and the world around you faded into darkness as you lost consciousness.

. . . 

You don’t know how long you’ve been out for. Your consciousness swirled in the darkness, fading in and out. As awareness slowly crept back, you found yourself lying on something soft. It was very nice, very plush, more comfortable than your own bed. Your eyes flutter open, your eyelids feeling heavy. You were in a dimly lit room, the soft glow of candlelight flickered, casting shadows along the dark walls. 

“Thank God you’re awake,” a voice whispers, relief evident in his voice.

“She’s awake,” a different voice yells out, and you groan from the volume. 

“Go fetch the doctor.”

Weak and disoriented, you managed to speak, your voice hoarse and feeble. “What… happened?”

You fully open your eyes now, blinking away the fuzziness from your vision. Simon is sitting in a chair next to the bed. Two guards stand watch at the door. You look back at him, his balaclava is gone. His worry etched deep lines across his features, a frown present on his face. His hand gently rested on yours, his touch reassuring.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“My chambers,” he says gently, his hand squeezing yours lightly. 

You try to push yourself to sit up, but his hand reaches to gently push you back down. 

“No, no, lay down.” 

You take a look around the dimly lit room, noting the sparse decoration of the large room. “What happened?” you ask again, letting him nudge you back down to resting. 

Simon's expression remained somber as he recounted the incident. “You collapsed at the dining table during lunch.”

“Oh.”

“We thought you were poisoned,” he added solemnly, shifting in his seat. “Specifically, we thought your food was poisoned.” 

A shiver ran down your spine as Simon's words settled in. Poisoned? It was a disconcerting thought, even in your fevered state. “Poisoned?” you repeated, your voice filled with confusion and worry.

Simon nodded, his eyes locked onto yours. “Yes, there was a moment of panic. But after an examination, it was clear that it wasn't poison. The doctors said you’ve contracted the flu.” 

Relief washed over you at the revelation. The idea of poison had been unsettling, but the flu, while serious, was something that could be managed and treated. You couldn't help but wonder how a simple walk in the snow had led to such a dire situation.

“The flu,” you mumbled, still feeling disoriented.

Simon's grip on your hand tightened, and he offered a reassuring smile. “Yes, the palace doctors have been attending to you. They said that you’ll make a full recovery in a week or so.”

You’re both quiet for a moment.

“I feel like it's fair to mention that there may still be talk that you’ve been poisoned, but we’re currently trying to quell the rumors.”

You let out a weak sigh and nodded.

“Thank you, Simon,” you whispered, feeling grateful for his presence and care. It was sweet, seeing him like this. Genuinely concerned. Caring. Thoughtful. It warmed your heart. 

Just then, the palace doctor entered the room, carrying an assortment of remedies and a concerned expression. They began to examine you, asking questions about your symptoms and carefully checking your vitals. 

As the days went by, you remained in Simon’s chambers, isolated to give you privacy and much needed rest and quiet. Every night, he would leave, off to sleep in a different room. During this time, you spent countless hours talking to Simon.  

“Are you sure I can stay here?”

“I’m quite sure.”

“I– I’ve taken over your whole room, though,” you try to argue. You feel bad for monopolizing Simon’s quarters, especially whilst being sick. You shift under the blankets and cushions. 

“If I didn’t want you in my room, I wouldn’t have carried you here myself.” His voice held a tone of finality. 

During this time, you spent countless hours talking to Simon, strengthening the growing bond between you two. His loyalty and devotion had been unwavering throughout this ordeal, and you couldn't help but start to feel like your connection to him was strengthening.

“I brought you some books,” he says one day, carrying a stack of books in his arms. 

You immediately perk up, pushing yourself up your pillows. 

“So sweet of you,” you praise, clapping your hands with a smile.

He blushes slightly. “I think you’ll like these,” he says, setting the books down on the bedside table. You eagerly scan the titles and covers. It was clear that he had put a lot of thought into selecting them for you. 

“You really knew which ones I would like,” you said, genuinely touched by his considerate gesture.

Simon smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting genuinity. “I've been paying attention,” he replied softly.

You smile at his words, appreciation running through you.

More days passed, and the doctors administered treatments and provided you with nourishing soups and herbal remedies. Slowly, but surely, your strength began to return, and the flu loosened its grip on your body.

“I’m finally starting to feel better, Simon,” you said one morning, pushing the covers off your body. 

“That’s good,” he nods. “Very good.” 

You push yourself off the bed, standing in front of him for a moment. 

“Hey– are you sure you’re okay to stand–?” 

You flashed Simon a reassuring smile as you stood on your own two feet, feeling a sense of triumph over the illness that had kept you confined to his bed for what felt like an eternity.

“I'm sure,” you replied confidently, though your legs wobbled slightly under the weight of your hardly used legs. “I've been itching to get up and move around for so long now.”

Simon, still concerned, extended his arm toward you. “Just in case,” he said, offering you support. Gratefully, you accepted his arm.

With a sudden burst of confidence, you gently pull Simon to stand in front of you. His brows furrowed in confusion. However, before he could voice his curiosity, you wrapped your arms tightly around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Simon's initial confusion melted away as you pulled him into your embrace. His arms soon encircled you in return, and you both held each other close. It was a hug filled with unspoken words, a silent confirmation of the connection that had developed between you when you were sick.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper, pressing your cheek against his chest.

Simon's arms tightened around you, and he rested his chin on top of your head. 

“It’s not something I would ever think twice about,” he replies, voice warm.

You look up at him. 

“I appreciate that, I really do. I would do the same for you,” you say quietly, running your hand up and down his back. 

Simon smiles down at you, his eyes filled with affection. “I know you would,” he says softly, his thumb gently stroking your back.

You nod, your heart feeling lighter.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Seven

Previous part.

Chapter 18: Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin In which everything goes to hell. Again.

Remember the Siege of Angband? Yeah, that’s still going on. It’s been roughly two hundred years since Morgoth’s last attack (the first appearance of Glaurung the Dragon), and in all that time, the Elves haven’t made much progress. Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor, considers launching another assault on Angband; his people are strong, and now they have the Men on their side. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Fingolfin by Insant

The other Noldor are less enthused by this idea. For once, things are pretty great. Why risk the peace and prosperity that the Elves currently have for the chance at defeating Morgoth, when there’s bound to be massive loss of life either way? Only the Elven lords who live in the far north — on Morgoth’s doorstep — agree with Fingolfin, since they can’t ignore Morgoth as easily. They’re shot down by everyone else, so, there’s peace for a little while longer.

That’s when Morgoth makes his move.

Morgoth has been steadily gathering his forces throughout all of that time, and he’s also grown more and more spiteful. He doesn’t just want to defeat the Noldor, he wants to defile their homeland. But his hatred has also made him impatient.

One winter, on a dark night, without any warning, rivers of lava suddenly come pouring down the Thangorodrim, which belch poisonous gases into the air, rendering the whole plain of Ard-galen a barren wasteland overnight. Also, unlike with natural volcanoes, the damage is permanent — Ard-galen becomes known as Angfauglith, which means “Gasping Dust.” Instant Mordor, Just Add Lava. Many poor Elves are swallowed up by the lava before they can react.

As if that weren’t bad enough, Glaurung returns, accompanied by Balrogs and entire armies of Orcs — more Orcs than the Noldor have ever previously seen. The ensuing battle lasts all winter, as Morgoth’s forces return fire on the Noldor. It becomes known as Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame.

Battle of Sudden Flame by Jovan Delic

There are many casualties. Angrod and Aegnor, the brothers of Finrod and Galadriel, both die in the battle. Finrod himself gets cut off in the Fen of Serech, and almost dies, but he’s rescued at the last minute by a Man named Barahir. Finrod escapes with his life, barely, and manages to make it back to his palace in Nargothrond. Finrod pledges undying friendship to Barahir, promises to help him and his family in return if they should ever need him, and gives him his ring as a token of his promise. It’s a ring shaped like two intertwined snakes, set with green stones, and it becomes known as the Ring of Barahir.

Finrod in the Fen of Serech by pansen1802

Incredibly, Fingolfin and co. manage to hang on to their land of Hithlum, but not without heavy losses. Hador Lórindol, one of the Kings of Men who was Fingolfin’s thane, dies in the battle. In the East, Fëanor’s sons aren’t doing great, either — Celegorm and Curufin are both defeated, but not killed; they retreat all the way to Nargothrond and hide there with Finrod. Caranthir’s land is ravaged, too.

Maedhros, however, “burned like a white fire.” He’s been dying to get his revenge on Morgoth for having strung him up on Thangorodrim, and personally slaughters so many Orcs that they start to run in fear of him. He manages to hang on to his fortress, and many people rally to him, including his brother Maglor.

Finrod, Fingon, and Maedhros by star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Overall, the battle is really bad. Fingolfin stares out over the ruined lands, sees his family scattered, and realizes the Noldor are done for. He’s filled with rage and despair, but he isn’t ready to give up yet. There’s only one thing to do. He mounts his horse, Rochallor, and rides straight to the gates of Angband. Those who see him think he must be Oromë, the Vala of the hunt, because he burns with fury and his eyes glow. He blows his warhorn, bangs on the gates of Angband, and challenges Morgoth himself to a duel.

That may be the ballsiest move of any Elf so far (and yes, I’m counting Fëanor going up against an army of Balrogs).

Fingolfin’s Challenge by Jenny Dolfen

Now, throughout all this, Morgoth has spent most of his time hiding in his fortress. Sure, he’s a Vala, and technically the most powerful being in Middle-earth, but he doesn’t fight his own battles. Fingolfin calls him a coward who’d rather send out all of his evil minions to fight for him than come and face him like a man. Morgoth can’t ignore that. So, to the surprise of everyone, Morgoth actually comes. And we get this badass description, which I’m going to transcribe, because I can’t do Tolkien justice:

Therefore Morgoth came, climbing slowly from his subterranean throne, and the rumour of his feet was like thunder underground. And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, iron-crowned, and his vast shield, sable-blazoned, cast a shadow over him like a stormcloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice.

Oh, it is on!

Fingolfin vs. Morgoth by Marchesi

The Fall of Fingolfin by Wavesheep

The battle is epic. Morgoth tries to smash Fingolfin with his hammer, called Grond (GROND! GROND! GROND! GROND!), but Fingolfin is too quick. Every time GROND hits the earth, it creates a volcanic cleft in the earth. The battle is compared to a thunderstorm, with the strikes of Morgoth’s hammer being the thunder and Fingolfin darting around being the lightning. Fingolfin actually manages to wound Morgoth, seven times! Each time, Morgoth howls so loud that all of the Orcs cringe in fear.

Fingolfin can’t keep it up forever, though. He’s mortal, and he’s going up against something near to a god. Three times, Morgoth crushes him with his shield, and three times Fingolfin is able to pick himself back up again. He doesn’t have much space to move anymore, because the ground around him is full of holes. He stumbles and falls, and Morgoth presses his foot to Fingolfin’s neck. It’s like getting an entire hill dropped on top of him. Fingolfin isn’t going to go peacefully, though — with his last bit of strength, he cuts deep into Morgoth’s foot.

Fingolfin dies, and thus passes the strongest and most valiant of the Elven kings. The Elves are so sad to lose him that they don’t even sing about the battle. The Orcs don’t gloat about it, either, even though Morgoth won — it was kind of a Pyrrhic victory, because it’s embarrassing that a mere mortal was able to do so much damage to Morgoth. The reason why we know what happened, despite the lack of songs about it, is because Thorondor (the King of the Eagles) brings the news to Gondolin and Hithlum.

Thorondor also saves Fingolfin’s body from being desecrated by Morgoth. Morgoth goes to throw Fingolfin’s corpse to the wolves, but Thorondor swoops down and claws him in the face. Thorondor brings Fingolfin’s body to Gondolin, and Turgon builds a cairn for his father in the surrounding hills. For a while, Fingolfin’s tomb acts almost like a charm that keeps the Orcs away. (But not forever though. Because, in case you forgot, Gondolin is doomed.)

Morgoth’s wounds are permanent. His seven initial wounds never heal, he now limps everywhere he goes because Fingolfin damaged his foot, and his face is also scarred where Thorondor got him.

All of Hithlum mourns Fingolfin’s death. Fingon, in his grief, becomes the sole High King of the Noldor.

Fingon by Moimq

There’s an interesting note here: Fingon sends “his young son Ereinion (who was later named Gil-galad) […] to the Havens.” This is an outright inconsistency. In other sources, Gil-galad is the grandson of Angrod, Finrod’s brother. So, it’s legitimately unclear who Gil-galad’s father was. Oh well. Distant legendary past, oral tradition and all that. I’m sure the songs disagree on whose parents are whose all the time.

And, the “Havens” referred to here aren’t the Grey Havens, either. They’re two cities in the southwest of Beleriand. But they’re ruled by the same Elf, Círdan, who would rule the Grey Havens later.

Morgoth is now in control of most of northern Beleriand. Barahir, the Man who helped save Finrod, keeps fighting for some time, alongside his wife Emeldir. But Morgoth destroys their land little by little. That land becomes so dark and evil that even Orcs avoid it, and it gets a new name: Taur-nu-Fuin, “The Forest under Nightshade” (which is cool as hell). This forest is like a proto-Mirkwood. Its trees become tangled with claw-like roots and branches, and it becomes full of angry spirits that can drive travelers mad.

The situation gets so dire that Emeldir leads her people away. They end up in the Forest of Brethil, which is where Haleth, another badass warrior-queen of Men, led her people in a similar moment of desperation. All of Barahir’s men are killed fighting Morgoth except for a small handful (whose names are all listed, of course). The Elves don’t come to help them, so they become desperate, hunted outcasts who live in the wilderness. One of these outcasts is Beren, Barahir’s son, who’s about to become very important.

The Elves managed to maintain control over Minas Tirith, the tower that guards the pass separating Morgoth’s lands in the north from the rest of Beleriand. This tower is maintained by Orodreth, Angrod’s son and Finrod’s nephew. But after two years pass, the tower is besieged by Morgoth’s lieutenant, Sauron.

Sauron by Wavesheep

(Oh yeah I’ve been waiting to dip into my self-indulgent collection of Sauron pictures.)

At this point, the Elves call Sauron “Gorthaur the Cruel.” He has become…

a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and of phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled; his dominion was torment.

He’s basically like Morgoth 2.0, and there’s very little left of him that is still Mairon, the Maia smith that he once was. Still, Sauron and Morgoth aren’t interchangeable; while Sauron is certainly very evil, he doesn’t think the same way that Morgoth does. If you’re familiar with the D&D alignment chart, Morgoth is pure Chaotic Evil — he doesn’t have a motive beyond fucking things up as much as possible. Sauron is more Lawful Evil, more like an evil dictator. Morgoth wants to watch the world burn (and just did, a moment ago); Sauron wants to rule over the ashes.

Sauron’s assault on Minas Tirith is successful. (If Sauron had a nickel for every time he besieged a tower called Minas Tirith, he’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.) He conjures a cloud of pure terror that causes Orodreth and his men to panic, and flee to Narthothrond. Then, much like Sauron would corrupt Minas Ithil and Osgiliath eons later, he transforms Minas Tirith into an evil watchtower. Tol Sirion, the island where it’s located, becomes known as Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves.

Lord of Werewolves by Dracontessa

After that, things only get worse. The Orcs spread across Beleriand, kidnapping Elves and desecrating all the land around Doriath. Morgoth sends out a bunch of spies to sow discord in every kingdom, hoping to win a psychological battle. Because of the Curse, most of the Noldor believe the sugary lies. The dirtiest trick that Morgoth pulls is setting free some of the Elves that he took captive, while keeping them under his control. This causes the Noldor to distrust even their own families.

With Men, Morgoth tries a different tactic. He attempts to turn them against the Elves by pointing out that the Men are inferior to Elves, and that the Noldor are inherently untrustworthy and untrusting. He promises the Men that if they come and join him, “the rightful Lord of Middle-earth,” then they’ll have honor and rewards and yada, yada. The Men don’t fall for this, which makes Morgoth even more spiteful towards them.

The Three Great Houses of Men are in complete disarray at this point. The house of Bëor —Barahir and his people — is basically destroyed, with the remainder barely surviving in the wilderness. The House of Hador are all stuck in Hithlum, and Hador himself is dead. The only remaining Men in the rest of Beleriand are the house of Haleth — the Haladin — who live in the Forest of Brethil. They’re one of the last lines of defense between Nargothrond and Morgoth’s onslaught. Hador’s grandsons, Húrin and Huor, are camped out in the Forest of Brethil with the Haladin. Halmir, the current leader of the Haladin, sends for backup, and a small army of Sindar Elves from Doriath come to help defend the forest. With the Elves’ help, the Men drive back the Orcs.

Húrin and Huor are some of our major players among the Men. They’re brothers, and they’re currently teenagers. Back before the battle, their father married Halmir’s daughter, so they’re members of the Haladin on their mom’s side. During the battle, they are separated from the rest of their company, but Ulmo protects them with a magical mist from the River Sirion, and then Thorondor rescues them when they wander near his mountains. Thorondor sends two eagles to pick them up, and the eagles bring them to Gondolin. Húrin and Huor become the first Men to ever see the secret Elven city of Gondolin.

By Mysilvergreen

King Turgon receives them well. He’d gotten a prophetic dream from Ulmo, telling him he’ll need the Men’s help when things get bad, so he takes them in as his honored guests. Húrin and Huor live in the mystical Elven city for a year, and they learn a lot from Turgon in that time. Turgon wants to keep them in Gondolin, not just because of his proclaimation that no one can ever leave it, but also because he genuinely loves them. Eventually, though, they want to go home.

Remember how well that went the last time, with Aredhel?

Húrin reminds Turgon that Men don’t live very long, so he and his brother can’t just wait until things cool off, especially with their family thinking they’re dead. Also, they were carried into the city by eagles, so they have no idea where the entrance is and probably couldn’t find it again on their own. Turgon thinks that this is reasonable, and agrees to let them go, so long as Thorondor is willing to let them leave the way they came, by eagle-taxi.

But Maeglin — remember him? He’s the edgy Elf — Maeglin is happy that Húrin and Huor are leaving, because they’ve been soaking up all the king’s attention. Maeglin snidely tells Húrin that Turgon wasn’t so lenient in the past, like that time he threw Maeglin’s father off the walls.

To pacify Maeglin, Húrin and Huor swear an oath not to reveal anything about Gondolin. As you’ve probably gathered by now, oaths are serious business. I almost guarantee that this is going to bite them in the ass.

When Húrin and Huor return home, their family is overjoyed to see them, because they all thought that the brothers had died in the wilderness. Their father, Galdor, asks where they’ve been, and why they look like princes instead of like they’ve been living in the wilderness for a year. Húrin tells him that the only reason they were allowed to return at all was if they swore not to speak about it, so… don’t ask.

Meanwhile, King Turgon learns that the Siege of Angband is officially over, and Morgoth killed Fingolfin. Turgon doesn’t want to involve himself in the war, at least not yet — Gondolin is a secret safe haven for now, and he wants it to stay that way for as long as possible. It’s like the Wakanda of Elven cities.

However, Turgon also realizes that this is the beginning of the end for the Noldor, unless they can find some outside source of help. He sends secret bands of Gondolin Elves to sail to Valinor. That’s a truly desperate move, since the Noldor are exiles, and Valinor has wanted nothing to do with Middle-earth for centuries. Unfortunately, none of Turgon’s emissaries make it; the western sea has become much more dangerous ever since Valinor cut itself off. The sea is full of enchantments and illusions, and Valinor itself is hidden. There’s no way to get to it. With every failed mission, Gondolin’s doom inches closer and closer.

Guess who hears about it? Morgoth. Morgoth is very interested to know what happened to Finrod and Turgon, because Elven kings don’t just vanish off the face of the earth. He knows they must be somewhere, probably plotting a new scheme to take him down. He knows what Nargothrond is, but not where it is, and he knows nothing about Gondolin. In the Battle of Sudden Flame, he made the mistake of underestimating the strength of the Elves and Men. Although he won the battle, they managed to hit him back just as badly. He’s not about to make that mistake again.

Morgoth attacks Hithlum again. King Fingon is outnumbered, but rescued at the last minute by ships full of warriors sent by Círdan. The Elves win the battle, but King Galdor, Húrin and Huor’s father, dies in the same spot where his own father fell during the Battle of Sudden Flame. Húrin becomes the new patriarch of his house, and serves as Fingon’s thane. He marries Morwen Eledhwen, a woman of the house of Bëor, who fled the Forest under Nightshade for the Forest of Brethil alongside Queen Emeldir.

Húrin by Steamey

The House of Bëor is by this point reduced to only one man, Emeldir and Barahir’s son, Beren.

Chapter 19: Of Beren and Lúthien, Part One In which we hear the greatest love story ever told.

This is the first of what Tolkien called “The Great Tales,” some of the oldest stories in the Legendarium, all of which were ultimately unfinished. To put into perspective just what a big deal this story is, Tolkien and his wife Edith have the names “Beren” and “Lúthien” written on their respective headstones. The version here in the Silmarillion is the most complete, but it’s also an abridged version. This is how Tolkien introduces it:

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien.

Most of my retelling here is paraphrased from the Silmarillion, but I’ve included some details that appear only in the Lay of Leithian, Tolkien’s unfinished poetic telling of the story. It’s really worth going and reading the Lay of Leithian; it’s extremely vivid and evocative, it perfectly imitates the medieval poetic form.

The story doesn’t actually start with Beren. It starts with an account of what happened to Barahir and his remaining men after they fled the Forest under Nightshade. They ended up camping out beside a lake called Tarn Aeluin, which is beautiful and reflects the stars. It was supposedly blessed by Queen Melian, and her magic repels the evil creatures that took over the rest of the forest. Barahir and co. are well hidden there, but Morgoth commands Sauron to find them.

One of Barahir’s people is a man named Gorlim, who has a wife, Eilinel. They love each other even despite the war, but when Gorlim returned home one day after a battle, he found his house empty and Eilinel gone. He still follows his people and hides out near the lake, but he holds out hope that maybe his wife isn’t dead. He periodically leaves the secret safe haven and returns to the empty house, hoping that his wife will be there. One time, he sees the lights on and hears her voice, but it’s a trap — Sauron found him. Sauron tortures Gorlim to force him to reveal the location of Barahir’s secret camp, but Gorlim holds out. That is, until Sauron tells him to name his price. Gorlim asks to see his wife again.

Then Sauron smiled, saying, “That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!”

Poor Gorlim reveals the location of Barahir’s camp. Then, with a mocking laugh, Sauron reveals that Eilinel is dead, and that he cast an illusion to ensnare him. “Oh, but don’t worry, I’ll still send you to her,” he says, and then kills him. They don’t call him Gorthaur the Cruel for nothing.

By @ayaosguqin

See, this is one of the things that makes Sauron different from Morgoth. Morgoth is spiteful and enjoys sewing discord and causing destruction for the sake of it, but we haven’t seen this kind of calculated sadism from him yet. (There’s not much that’s subtle about busting in with a giant spider and killing trees.) Sauron, having been a Maia of Aulë, has an appreciation for subtlety and craftsmanship. Sauron likes to stick the knife in and twist it. And as The Lord of the Rings makes clear, he’s a master of psychological warfare.

Now that Sauron knows where the secret camp is, his forces attack the men at Tarn Aeluin. They massacre everyone, save Beren. Beren is out on a spy mission when the Orcs attack, and he has a dream in which Gorlim’s ghost appears to him to tell him what happened. Beren rides back, but it’s already too late. He finds his father and everyone else dead.

Beren builds a cairn for his father and swears vengeance. He hunts down all the Orcs, slaughtering them by himself. He sneaks near their camp, where they’re gloating and holding up his father’s hand as a trophy. On the severed hand is a ring, the ring that Finrod Felagund gave to Barahir. Beren swoops in, steals the hand with the ring, and runs off before the Orcs have a chance to react.

Beren lives by himself in the wilderness for some time. He befriends the animals, and becomes a vegetarian as a result. He manages to perform many heroic deeds just in that time, so that he becomes famous. He’s already such a legend that Morgoth puts a price on his head, just as high as that of King Fingon himself, but the Orcs are so afraid of Beren that they avoid him instead of hunting him. Morgoth resolves to send an entire army after Beren, and not just any army — an army of werewolves, captained by Sauron himself.

The werewolves are enough to chase Beren away from the land where he buried his father. He heads south, towards Doriath. He resolves to pass through Queen Melian’s magic wall, for some reason. (Maybe because it’s the only guaranteed safe place?) He travels along sheer mountain cliffs, and through the spider-infested wastes that had been twisted by a combination of Sauron’s magic and Melian’s magic. That land was basically the Mordor of its day, and no one knows how Beren got through it; whatever he experienced there was terrifying enough that he never spoke of it again. When he arrives at the magic wall, he passes right through like it isn’t even there. This event had been predicted by Melian herself: ‘because the power of that Man’s destiny will overcome her own. People will sing about that event until the distant future, when Middle-earth is unrecognizable.’

He finds himself in the north of Doriath, a forest called Neldoreth. He’s exhausted and harrowed, having spent years traveling through a cursed land. But everything in Neldoreth is beautiful, it’s summertime, and Beren sees a beautiful Elf maiden dancing on the grass. It’s Lúthien, the daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian themselves. Lúthien is the most beautiful person alive. (Like, metaphysically.) Being the child of a Maia, she is more or less a demigoddess.

Encounter of Beren and Lúthien by Elena Kukanova

Beren is instantly smitten. In fact, he’s literally enchanted by her — just watching her casts a spell on him. When she suddenly vanishes, he literally can’t speak. He wanders the woods like an animal, searching for her. He doesn’t know her name, so he calls her Tinúviel, which means “Nightingale” in Sindarin. A whole year passes, and he sees her in the beauty of nature around him, like she’s a ghost and he’s fondly recalling her memory. A whole winter later, she reappears, and sings a song so beautiful that it brings spring back to the woods:

Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world; and the song of Lúthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet had passed.

When he hears her song, Beren can suddenly speak again. He calls out to her, using the name “Tinúviel.” Luckily for him, Lúthien falls just as in love with him upon seeing him. The narrator says that “doom fell upon her” as soon as she loved him back, which could mean either that she met her destiny or that she is going to die for her love. Probably both.

Beren goes to embrace her, but she vanishes again as soon as day breaks. Beren immediately feels a mixture of ecstasy and anguish. He falls into a coma, and has nightmares about groping through the dark to find the

vanished light. (I’m starting to note parallels between Lúthien and the Two Trees, and also the Silmarils.) But Beren’s anguish is nothing to Lúthien’s. Now that she’s fallen in love with a mortal, her fate is inextricably intertwined with his. She’s no longer free.

Lúthien returns to Beren and wakes him from his coma. They walk through the woods together, blissfully in love, throughout that spring and summer. Presumably they talk and actually get to know each other in that time.

A sudden in love by breath-art and aglargon

There’s another person who loves Lúthien, an Elven bard named Daeron. He spies on Beren and Lúthien in the woods. Jealous that Lúthien loves Beren instead of him, he goes and tattles to Thingol about their relationship. (In the Lay of Leithian, Daeron — in his envy — is able to cast a spell of silence upon Beleriand, so that there is no music or even birdsong.) Thingol is immediately furious, because he’s extremely overprotective of his daughter, and he hates Men. He confronts Lúthien about her new boyfriend, but she refuses to say anything until Thingol promises that he won’t hurt or imprison Beren. Lúthien personally leads him before her father’s throne.

Beren and Luthien in the Court of Thingol by Donato Giancola

Thingol demands to know who Beren is, but he’s so intimidating that Beren is stunned into silence. Lúthien answers for him. Thingol tells Lúthien to back off and let Beren speak for himself. What’s Beren’s excuse for entering the forbidden realm of Doriath? Beren’s response is very poetic and eloquent, but basically boils down to “I want to fuck your daughter.”

There’s pin-drop silence in the hall as the assembled Elves wait for Thingol to smite Beren. Thingol immediately regrets his promise not to harm him. Thingol’s response is to fold his hands, smile coldly, and say,

(I mean, it’s not these exact words, but it’s close enough.)

Thingol accuses Beren of being a spy and a thrall of Morgoth, at which Beren takes offense. Beren isn’t afraid of death, but he won’t allow himself to be insulted by any Elf, even a king. His father was a lord of Men and he deserves to be treated like a prince! He has a ring given to his father by Finrod himself, for Eru’s sake! He holds up the ring, and all the Elves see it. This is the Ring of Barahir, which will eventually get passed down to Aragorn. The jewels set in it were originally cut by the Noldor in Valinor itself.

Melian whispers to her husband that he won’t be the one to kill Beren. Beren has a lot more stuff he’s destined to do, but his destiny is still intertwined with Thingol’s. Whatever Thingol does next will seal his own fate, too. Thingol proceeds to choose the stupidest thing possible.

Beren wants to marry the Faerie King’s daughter. So, as is common in fairy tales, Thingol sets him an impossible task that he must complete to earn Lúthien’s hand: He must steal a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth. Thingol feels like this the nearest thing to a fair price for his daughter. Of course, like most mythological kings, he’s hoping that Beren will die in the attempt.

You can just hear Melian’s facepalm through the page.

As is hopefully clear by now, the Silmarils are like a bomb waiting to go off. Everything about them is fraught — from the fact that they contain the last light of the Trees, to Morgoth’s obsession with them, to the Curse laid on all Fëanor’s sons for their unbreakable oath to get them back, etc. etc. Thingol’s choice to get involved in that shitshow was a dumb fucking idea. It’s not really his place to say or do anything concerning the Silmarils, and he effectively dooms his own kingdom by involving himself with them. In fact, by doing so, Thingol subjects himself to the same Curse that affects all the Noldor — you know, the reason he banished them from his kingdom and banned their language in the first place.

But that’s getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s get back to Beren, who responds to this by literally laughing it off and calling it easy:

“For little price,” he said, “do Elven-kings sell their daughters: for gems, and things made by craft. But if this be your will, Thingol, then I will perform it. And when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown; for you have not looked the last on Beren son of Barahir.”

I like the parallelism here: Both Beren and Sauron call something that’s extraordinarily valuable to someone else a “little price” or “small price.” Obviously, we’re supposed to side with Beren in this instance, but I wonder if his pride will be his fall.

Having received his main quest, Beren leaves Menegroth.

Menegroth by David Gresit

Melian tells Thingol what an idiot he is for involving himself in the Main Plot and forsaking his kingdom’s safety in isolation. She can’t protect him from whatever happens next. Thingol is pretty confident that Beren’s going to die, which proves that he’s not Genre Savvy enough to make good decisions from here on out. He should really listen to his wife.

Lúthien doesn’t quite enter “but Daddy, I love him!” territory, but she does stop singing. All of Doriath is eerily silent.

Beren travels west, towards the River Sirion, and then to Nargothrond. Being alone and with no resources, he doesn’t have any other option but to go to Finrod for help. He wisely holds up the Ring of Barahir as he enters Finrod’s territory, because it was originally Finrod’s ring, and his Elf snipers would know not to shoot. Knowing that he was being watched by an army’s worth of hidden Elves, he randomly yells out “I am Beren son of Barahir! Take me to your King!” in the middle of a field in the hopes that someone will hear him and decide not to kill him. After doing this several times, he’s apprehended by the archers and taken to Finrod.

Finrod receives Beren warmly. Privately, Beren tells Finrod about his father’s death and about meeting Lúthien. He cries more over remembering Lúthien than remembering his father. Remember, Finrod promised to help Barahir or any member of his family in need, because they had saved him. So, he has no choice but to help Beren retrieve a Silmaril, even though he knows it will not go well.

Finrod by yidanyuan

He tells Beren, ‘Well, it’s obvious that Thingol wants you dead, but if anyone so much as mentions the Silmarils, the sons of Fëanor are on them like a pack of wolves. Celegorm and Curufin are powerful lords in my court, and I can’t risk antagonizing them. If they find out you want a Silmaril, they’ll kill you. But I made a promise to your father, so I have to help you. In short, we’re all screwed.’

For some reason, Finrod decides that the best thing to do is to be as transparent as possible. So, he summons his court and stands before his people. He tells them all about the promise he made to Barahir, and how he is therefore obligated to help Beren. He asks his lords for help. Celegorm’s response is predictable. He repeats the Oath of Fëanor, reaffirming that the sons of Fëanor will hunt down anything alive that dares to seek a Silmaril. He goes on a tirade as impassioned as the one that Fëanor originally gave to the Noldor back in Valinor. (Like father, like son, I guess.) Then Curufin speaks, more quietly. What he says boils down to: ‘Nice kingdom you’ve got here, Finrod. Would really be a shame if something happened to it.’

Celegorm and Curufin, by Julia Reizen

Curufin’s speech scares the Elves of Nargothrond so much that they avoid open war for decades, preferring guerilla warfare with arrows, poisoned darts, and magic. According to Tolkien, this is less valorous than open combat, and diminishes their whole society.

Say what you will about Fëanor and his brood, they’re damn good at public speaking.

The Elves of Nargothrond begin to murmur amongst themselves that Finrod can’t tell them what to do as though he’s a Vala (even though he’s… y’know… the king), and all of them refuse to help him. The Curse is in full effect: Celegorm and Curufin realize that this is a golden opportunity to send Finrod alone to his death, and take over Nargothrond for themselves.

Finrod reads the room. He takes off his crown, and throws it at his feet, renouncing his rulership of the kingdom that he built. He looks directly at Celegorm and Curufin and tells them that while they may be faithless bastards who will break their oath of loyalty to him, he will not break his own promise to Barahir. He addresses the rest of the room — there’s got to be at least a few people who haven’t been affected by the Curse, and who will follow him, so that he isn’t pathetically driven out of his own kingdom. Right? A grand total of ten people stand up for him. One of them, Edrahil, picks up Finrod’s crown, and says that it should be given to a steward instead of being left for Celegorm and Curufin to snatch. Whatever happens, he says, Finrod is still the true king of Nargothrond. #IStandWithFinrod.

Finrod chooses Orodreth, his nephew (or youngest brother; sources differ), as his steward. Celegorm and Curufin just smile and withdraw from the room, which isn’t creepy at all.

Finrod and Beren leave Nargothrond with their ten loyalists. They travel north, come upon a band of Orcs, and kill them all. Finrod uses a magical illusion to disguise his company as Orcs, and they sneak through the mountain pass towards Angband. Sauron finds them anyway, and intercepts them. Sauron and Finrod engage in — of all things — a singing competition. It’s very similar in principle to “the oldest game” from Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, in that it’s a battle between dueling concepts that are instantaneously manifested as the singers describe them. Sauron sings about treachery, betrayal, uncovering secrets, piercing through things, and sorcery. Finrod answers with a song about resistance against evil, keeping secrets, maintaining trust, standing strong, and gaining freedom.

Finrod and Sauron by rami-fon-verg

There is something simple, almost childish, about this back-and-forth. I feel like I’ve seen several different children’s shows in which a good character and an evil character sing at each other instead of fighting, with the evil character extoling the virtues of power and the good character singing about the importance of love. (The one that comes to mind is Barbie and the Diamond Castle, in which the two heroines and the villain play good/evil music at each other, and the good music overpowers the evil music, resulting in the villain’s defeat.) I wouldn’t be surprised if several anime have a scene like this, as well. And yet, it is primordially powerful, like Gaiman’s “oldest game.” In Tolkien’s universe, singing was what created the world in the first place, and singing is therefore a direct and powerful means of manifestation.

By Wavesheep

Unfortunately, it does not end the way it would if this were a Barbie movie or an anime. Finrod is a great singer, but Sauron is better — he is a Maia, one of the Ainur, meaning he was there when the original Music of creation was sung. It’s impressive that Finrod manages to hold out as long as he does, but in the end — much like Fingolfin and Fëanor before him — he loses.

To tell this part of the story, Tolkien randomly switches to verse; he quotes a section from the Lay of Leithian. Medieval texts actually do this; lots of them will randomly switch between prose and verse. Texts that do this are called “prosimetric.” For example, in the Volsung Saga (which reads very much like The Silmarillion), when Sigurd meets Brynhild, the text abruptly switches into verse as she lists all the different types of runes and their uses. There’s several other instances in that text when it randomly switches between prose and verse. It prefaces the verse parts with something like, “So saith the song of Sigurd,” referencing poetic versions of the same story that otherwise don’t survive. Tolkien evokes that same structure here, right down to saying “as it is told in the Lay of Leithian.”

The Lord of the Rings is prosimetric, too, but most of the songs are diegetic, meaning they’re actually being sung by characters in-universe. That’s not what’s going on here. The verse part describes the singing contest between Sauron and Finrod, it’s not the actual songs that they’re singing. But it’s really clever of Tolkien to switch to verse to describe this scene, because it sets the vibe! It’s like you’re listening to a distant echo of their songs, passed down through generations of oral storytelling. It wouldn’t be nearly as evocative if he just described the scene flatly in prose.

Thank you for indulging me in that tangent! Moving on: Sauron throws Finrod and co. into a dark pit, and threatens to kill them if they don’t tell them who they are and why they’re there. Periodically, he sends a werewolf to eat one of them (which, I’ll bet you anything, is a direct reference to the Volsung Saga). Still, none of them talk.

Meanwhile, back in Doriath, Lúthien intuitively senses that something is wrong, and asks her mother what has happened to Beren. Melian tells her that Beren is in Sauron’s dungeon. Lúthien resolves to go and rescue him by herself. She goes to ask Daeron for his help, but Daeron refuses to risk his own neck for Beren’s sake. He’s been afflicted with full-on incel syndrome, so out of spite, he snitches to Thingol a second time. (Thingol is so grateful that Daeron keeps tabs on his daughter for him, that he names Daeron a prince. Make of that what you will.) Thingol can’t imagine anything worse than letting his daughter waste away in a dark pit, so he builds a house in a giant beech tree, called Hírilorn. Because the best way to keep your daughter safe from one prison is to put her in another! Logic!

Well, it’s a common trope in myths and fairy tales: The king is overprotective of his daughter and puts her in a tower, or a box with a hole in the roof, or some such. Lúthien, however, is proactive. She doesn’t wait for someone to rescue her from her treehouse. Instead, she tricks her guards and Daeron into sending her a golden bowl of wine, a silver bowl of water, a spinning wheel, and a loom. Then she sings a spell that mentions all the tallest and longest things in the world, which causes her hair to grow extremely long. She mixes the wine with the water, then sings a song of day over the golden bowl, and a song of night over the silver bowl. Finally, she sings a song of sleep. The singing enchants her hair, filling it with corresponding ideas that shape the way Lúthien wants it to behave. (Similar to Sauron and Finrod’s magic songs, singing about an idea causes it to manifest.) She weaves a robe out of her hair, a robe that’s described as being misty and shadowy, like it’s woven from clouds at night. Lúthien weaves a rope out of what’s leftover, and puts a sleeping spell on it. Then she just throws it down onto the guards at the foot of the tree, and they go to sleep, allowing her to climb down the rope and escape.

Lúthien prepares her escape from Hírilorn by Anke Katrin Eißmann

As she leaves Doriath, she comes upon Celegorm and Curufin, of all people. They’re out hunting, hoping to learn something about what happened to Finrod (and probably plotting behind his back the whole time). Among their hunting dogs is a particularly large wolfhound called Huan, who actually came with them from Valinor. Oromë himself, the Vala of the hunt, gave the dog to Celegorm long ago. Huan loyally followed Celegorm into exile, and therefore became automatically subject to the Curse. He’s foretold to die, but only after he faces the biggest and baddest of big bad wolves.

Spoiler alert, the dog’s gonna die!

Huan finds Lúthien, because he’s immune to her enchantments, and brings her to Celegorm. Once she learns that Celegorm and Curufin are enemies of Morgoth, Lúthien decides that she trusts them, and reveals herself to them. Celegorm (or, in the Lay, Curufin) instantly falls in love with her, because… of course he does. He offers to help Lúthien, making a point not to say that he already knows about the quest. Lúthien goes with them to Nargothrond.

Celegorm and Curufin find Lúthien by Elena Kukanova

As soon as they get there, Celegorm and Curufin show their true colors. They imprison Lúthien, take away her magic cloak, and forbid her to speak to anyone else but them. Lúthien escaped one trap, and fell right into another. Now that the brothers know from Lúthien that Finrod and Beren are in Sauron’s prison, they figure that it’s easiest to just let them die. Nargothrond is as good as theirs. And now that they have Lúthien, they have leverage over Thingol — they can force him to give Lúthien’s hand in marriage to Celegorm. That would make Celegorm and Curufin the most powerful princes of the Noldor! [Insert evil laugh here.]

Huan, however, is the Goodest Boy and is too pure-hearted to follow Celegorm (even though Celegorm is his beloved master whom he’s been serving for literally centuries). Huan also fell in love with Lúthien upon seeing her for the first time, but in a decidedly less creepy way. He comes to her prison every night to keep her company, and Lúthien tells him all about Beren.

Huan decides to help Lúthien break out. He brings her magic cloak to her, and speaks to her (he’s only allowed to talk three times before he dies). He shows her a secret passage out of Nargothrond, and they escape together. Huan even swallows his pride enough to allow Lúthien to ride on his back.

Lúthien riding on Huan by Meraclitus

I mean, if you’re gonna be a damsel in distress, a dog is a pretty awesome thing to be rescued by.

(Stopping there, because I'm running up against the max number of images. More to come!)

[sehtoast]

Hii! Id like a request!

Could you perhaps do a scenario where the reader gets stranded at an airport (Perhaps with panic attack)?

I'm experiencing this currently and thinking about Homelander is helping, Somehow

i'm so sorry you had to go through that anon ❤️ homie has an odd way of making life's woes suck a little less. apologies that this took as long as it did (and also i've never been in an airport before so idk if this is even the right vibe adfkljdfk), but i hope it's still enjoyable and i hope your airport adventure ended happily.

Oh, if you thought it couldn’t get worse, you were so wrong. 

Cancellations across the board, a raging snow storm outside, disgruntled people everywhere, and far too much noise for your overloaded senses.  This is what you get for flying out to go see a friend in the dead of winter.

It wasn’t like you could call an uber to the nearest hotel, either.  Pretty much nobody was going anywhere in this storm, and you’ve been here for hours now. God, you should’ve picked a morning flight, but you just haaaad to sleep in.

Eventually it started getting to you.

You’re alone, surrounded by angry people, in the middle of fuck knows where, with no guarantee of getting home or if your ticket is still going to be honored and–

You don’t even notice your breathing growing frantic until it’s overpowering and all you can do is hug your knees and try to stay calm–

You reach for your phone and send off a text to the one person who would maybe be awake at this hour.

God I’m fucking stuck here and I miss you and I don’t know what to do.

Your chest feels tight and your mouth is dry.  You hold your phone tight, cringing at the battery level.

7%.

You’d love to charge it, but the iPad parents are currently occupying every outlet in the area and if you hear one more child scream because they couldn’t watch their damn skibidi toilet videos–

It buzzes and you unlock it like a madman.

Told ya you should’ve flown air-Homelander.

You smile, warmth trickling in to fill your otherwise endless pit of anxiety.

It would’ve been too cold on my face :(  and you’d be carrying all my luggage.  Besides, I couldn't ask you to fly all this way.

The next response comes almost instantly.  Well, as instantly as it can with how slow he types.

Picky picky.  Where are you?

In the lounge-ish area.  On the floor, because I guess I picked the busiest airport in the world…

2%.  You’re almost ready to snag one of those outlets and suffer the blubbering.

Shucks, that’s a bummer.  

It’s not so–

You wince as your screen flickers, waves of sadness overtaking you in conjunction with that dreaded anxiety.  Gone is your only lifeline, and it hits you that you’ll have technically left him on read too.  You should’ve told him about your battery– fuck, fuck, fuck.

You hug your knees again and shove your useless earbuds in, hoping to dampen some of the noise.  It doesn’t work, and you can distinctly make out the sound of a man loudly demanding a full refund.

You try to imagine Homelander.  What tales would he have for you once you returned home?  How much trouble did he stir up while you were away?  Probably the usual, but… you were supposed to see him tomorrow morning when you got home.

God, that thought makes you ache for home even more.

You shut your eyes and attempt a nap.

You try and try to sleep to no avail.  Just when you think you might get a wink of rest, you hear audible gasps and shouting.  Your eyes shoot open, expecting the absolute worst, but all you see are two imposing sets of red boots.

“You forgot to text me back,” he says nonchalantly.  

Tears of joy bite at your eyes as you look up, and you all but launch yourself off the ground and into his arms.

“M’sorry,” you mumble against him.  “Battery died.”

“Mm, if you say so. I feel like this was all part of your elaborate plan to get me here.”  Homelander pulls away just slightly to look down at you, a twinkle of sympathy in his eyes- a very rare sight.  “Well, I know I can’t fly you home, because you’ll turn into a big popsicle, but… there is a hotel nearby and you do deserve a nice place to lay your head.”

Your heart feels so warm it could melt the blizzard outside.

“You just gotta tolerate a little cold.” He grins, winking at you.  “And air-Homelander doesn’t have delays.  No luggage fees either.”

You throw yourself back into the hug, squeezing him with all you’ve got.  

“You’re the best,” you whisper in his ear.

“Yeah, I know.”  He replies, uncaring of the spectacle you two must be.  “Now let’s get you cozy.”

[crazerk]

This demo has lived rent free in my brain for the last 24 hours bestie !!! All the origins are so fun! I’m particularly drawn to the noble tho 👀And as for a basic question: can we please get some fun facts about the ROs ? TY <333

This comment made my day! I’m glad these characters aren’t tormenting only me now lol.

Fun facts under the cut!

Kaz

As a child he pretended to be afraid of the dark for years because his mother would comfort him with stories from her homeland. She still thinks he is and asks the servants to keep some candles burning at night, even though they annoy him. He considers this karma for the lies.

He has a massive sweet tooth. He might project the image of a stoic, serious emperor but that man loves sweets. He doesn’t indulge too often in public though. He’d rather sneak into the kitchens at night and once frightened a poor cook half to death when he stumbled upon his sovereign eating honey straight from a jar at like 2 am.

He’s a remarkable artist. He draws a lot. Really into architecture too.

He fidgets with his signet ring when he’s nervous. He does this unconsciously most of the time, and those who aren’t familiar with his mannerisms might assume he’s just deep in thought. But really his mind is spamming the panic button.

I’m not sure if this is a “fun” fact but he enjoys bloodsport. His father’s reign was criticized for this and his friendship with Fang has given him a different perspective on how slaves in the fighting pits are treated so he’s distanced himself from it. But it bothers him a bit, how much like his father he can be.

Fang

He has talent for juggling and often uses it to entertain children in the marketplace.

He’s quite the pirate fanboy. He wants to be a pirate so bad and dreams of owning a ship and just sailing around the world someday. Fang once won a drinking contest against a notorious pirate captain, earning him a place on the crew if he ever felt inclined. Fang thinks about that offer everyday.

He learned how to read and write from his master and has a hidden stash of romantic poetry that he's written over the years, inspired by his various crushes and lovers. He's never shared these poems with anyone, as he fears they might ruin his roguish reputation.

He doesn’t have a home. He has enough gold stockpiled from his fighting days to live comfortably and Khazunef has made it clear that he’s welcome at the palace but he prefers to just… wander around. He claims it’s because he likes not knowing where he’ll end up, and that every day is a new adventure. But really it’s because when he thinks of home he remembers a time long ago when he was a boy, before the raiders, before the slavery and before the fighting, when his mother would cradle him by a warm hearth and sing a lullaby. He can’t recreate that feeling. He’s terrified even trying to.

Persa

She loves to play pranks. Her favorite involves sneaking into rooms while their occupants are away and rearranging their furniture just slightly, enough to make them question their own sanity when they return.

She has a photographic memory, which comes in handy for her favorite pastime: gambling. Do not under any circumstances challenge her to any games of chance, as she can easily remember cards played or patterns in a game. Several guards have lost months wages in this manner.

Shes the definition of having a green thumb. She has a fondness for winter roses, a flower that grows in the snowy peaks of her native land. She managed to cultivate them in the desert. Persa tends a small garden of these roses in the palace as a reminder of home. She’s skilled herbalist and often disappears into the palace gardens for hours at a time, gathering plants and herbs for her potions and remedies.

Persa is a gifted singer, but she only sings when she thinks no one is listening. Her voice is hauntingly beautiful, and it's said that even the birds fall silent to listen it. Something she finds herself humming tunes of the songs from her home, but she can never quite remember the words.

Ignasia

She absolutely detests spicy foods. Yes she knows, it’s ironic that a fire priestess can’t stand the heat. You can only make that joke once. Do it again and she might curse you.

Despite her serious demeanor, Ignasia has a wicked sense of humor. She loves to tell jokes with a straight face, leaving others unsure whether to laugh or not.

She has a talent for mimicry and can do impressions of almost anyone including fellow priestess, imperial courtiers and advisors. She won’t confirm or deny if she’s used this skill for dubious purposes.

She pretends leaving her noble family behind to become a priestess was a great sacrifice. In truth it was her greatest pleasure.

Sometimes, she tells people that she sees things in the flames that aren’t there. She tells herself it’s for the greater good. To give hope to the man who asked if his daughter’s sickness was fatal, to prevent a young lad who asked if the gods will protect him if he sought out his sister’s murderer from getting killed or simply because the truth was too heavy. She tells herself it’s for the best, and the flames wouldn’t mind. Right?

[deebris]

Welcome to my masterlist! Here you will find all the stories I've written. Some genre indicators:

✎ 🌸fluffy,💧 angst, ⚠️ dark, 🧸Platonic, ���� romantic

⤿ The Fractured Bonds (🧸💧)

Mark finds himself facing an unexpected threat to his family when Angstrom Levy decides to hold his mother and sister hostage. Despite the family turmoil they've endured and Nolan's departure, he returns to rescue his daughter. Mark Grayson x sister reader, Nolan Grayson x daughter reader

⤿ The Mysterious Visitor: masterlist (🧸💧🌸)

On a cold, snowy dawn, a naive young girl knocks on the door of Wayne Manor in search of her brother, whom she hasn't seen in a long time. Batfamily x batsis

⤿ Seems like destiny (🌹💧⚠️)

After spending years in the bone marrow donation system, encouraged by the army, Simon was finally notified that they had found a match. He just didn't expect to find out that he would be donating it to his own son, who he had with his teenage love and never knew. Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

⤿ Weight of Care (🧸🌸)

Simon, your older brother, has been your guardian since you were a baby. Amid the collapse of your family, he made the courageous choice to take you out of the house, raising you as if you were his own. However, despite being happy, your relationship is complicated. While you see Simon as a paternal figure, he struggles with the pain of being mistaken for one. His heart tightens every time you call him "daddy," and he thought you had managed to move past that—until you do it again one night. Simon Riley x little sister Reader

⤿ Guilty (🌹💧⚠️)

Your husband never put a drop of alcohol in his mouth, and that was one of the things that made you give him a chance in the past due to family traumas that you carried because of it. But after years of relationship, one day he just surprises you by coming home late at night and out of his mind. Satoru Gojo x wife reader

⤿ Melancoly: part 1, part 2 (🌹💧⚠️)

You and Kakashi were never passionate, but you got married and developed an affection for each other. You had two children together and your life was peaceful. But a single winter night destroyed you two forever. Kakashi Hatake x wife reader

⤿ Redemption (🧸💧)

You're the twin sister of Shoto and save him and Endeavor from Toya. Todoroki Clan x Todoroki reader

⤿ From annoying to beloved (🌸🌹)

The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it. Homelander x fem!Reader

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

The Reaving: Part 1

By the winter of 1360, Bagley's soldiers were weathered and broken, their numbers decimated by relentless combat. Fields once green now lay soaked in blood, where brave men fought tirelessly for their homeland. Yet, despite every ounce of strength, their ranks dwindled with each assault. The faces of those who remained showed the toll of countless battles, yet their spirits stood defiant, willing to face the bitter end. But as the snow fell, heavy and silent, it became grimly clear: the tide of war had shifted, and the conclusion was only a matter of time.

At Windenburg Castle, Bagley’s royal family had sought refuge for nearly two years, with King Henry traveling back and forth to rally his forces. On this night, they gathered in the warmth of their privy chamber, sharing a silent understanding of the call soon to come. Henry held Philippa close as she spoke, her voice trembling. “Henry… must you truly go? I know this is your duty, but I can hardly bear the thought of you riding off into such danger again.” Henry gently took her hand in his, clutching her arm in reassurance. “I must, my love. Our people need me. You know I would stay if I could.”

Philippa nodded, struggling to steady her heart, but a lingering dread stayed with her as she looked at the flames. Nearby, Prince Harold wrapped an arm around his young wife, Princess Anne. He tried to calm her worry, speaking with a gentle resolve, “I know you’re frightened. But everything will be fine, I promise. This is part of what it means to be in my family, and one day, a king.” She met his gaze, her sadness unmistakable. “But must it always be war? Must you always ride off, leaving me behind to wonder if you’ll return?” Harold looked toward the fire, his gaze somber. “One day, I will have to hold the crown, and I’ll need to know how to lead. These moments, these trials, they’re how I’ll learn. How we will learn.”

Just then, a guard entered with urgency. “Your Grace, the storm is closing in fast, and we must make haste if we’re to reach the camp before dawn.” Prince Harold rose quickly, then turned to his son Philip, kneeling to meet his eyes. “My son, I must depart, and it may be long before I see you again. But remember this: no matter how far I may go, my heart remains here, bound to you and your mother. While I’m gone, guard our home with a strength that belies your years, for you carry a part of me within you.” With those final words, King Henry, Harold and the men departed into the early winter morning.

Later that morning, the dim glow of candles, shadows danced along the stone walls of the Arnold family’s privy chamber. Lady Prudence, Countess of Westfield, and Princess Jane sat close, sharing wine and food as they conversed in hushed voices. Prudence leaned forward with a conspiratorial tone. “You would not believe the scandal that unfolded at court last week, Jane. The Dowager Duchess of Richmond was caught sneaking a letter to that dreadful baron, no doubt hoping to secure herself a ‘better alliance.’”

“Truly?” Jane replied, a slight smirk touching her lips. “The ambition of some never ceases to amuse me. They grasp and claw as if the throne itself were but a heartbeat away.” They exchanged a knowing glance, laughter simmering just beneath the surface before the topic shifted to matters more immediate.

"And speaking of the throne… it appears our sweet Adelaide has captured the King’s eye quite thoroughly, wouldn’t you say?” Prudence’s voice dripped with feigned innocence. Jane raised an eyebrow. “Thoroughly indeed. She hardly leaves his side. It seems just a matter of time before we’ll see her crowned queen.”

Prudence laughed softly. “Ah, imagine the gowns we shall commission then! Silks and brocades finer than any the court has seen. After all, Adelaide will be in quite the position to indulge our tastes once she’s… comfortably seated beside the King.” Jane’s face softened into an equally sly grin. “And your granddaughter is as malleable as clay in your hands, no doubt.”

Prudence’s expression shifted, a gleam of intent flashing in her eyes. “Let us say she knows where her loyalty must lie. A word here, a nudge there, and she becomes the instrument of my will without even knowing it.” Jane’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “Then let us hope our King is as blinded by love as Adelaide is by ambition. Together, I daresay, we shall shape this kingdom to our liking.”

Later that evening, King Edward held court with a display of undeniable intent, Lady Adelaide at his side—a position typically reserved for a queen, a signal that echoed through the halls of Windenburg Castle, sending ripples of speculation among the gathered nobles. As the hour grew late, Adelaide turned to Edward, her tone dripping with feigned politeness. “Your Grace, with your leave, I shall retire for the evening.”

Edward nodded, granting her permission, and she swept away, the soft rustle of her gown echoing in the grand hall.

As Adelaide ascended the staircase, she turned the corner of the dimly lit hallway, and her path collided with that of a maidservant who had been rounding the bend. The maid laughed, momentarily startled by the sudden encounter, but her laughter only served to ignite Adelaide’s ire. Offended by the girl's mistake, Adelaide’s expression hardened, and without warning, she struck the servant girl across the face with a swift, unforgiving motion.

"Watch yourself, girl," she hissed, her voice cold and cutting. "A clumsy servant with no regard for her betters has no place here. Remember your place, and remember who will soon wear the crown." The maidservant's eyes widened in shock as she touched her reddened cheek, words caught in her throat. Adelaide, a storm of disdain, continued her tirade. “Next time, show some respect, or you’ll find yourself out in the streets.” With that, she swept past, her silk skirts trailing like a shadow of malice as she stormed away, leaving the girl trembling in her wake.

Unbeknownst to Adelaide, Queen Cordelia stood at the top of the staircase on the third level, her expression a mask of concern as she had witnessed the entire encounter unfold. Every word struck like a hammer, revealing the true nature of the woman her son had chosen to elevate. In that moment, a chill of dread coursed through her, knowing that this girl could be a dangerous pawn in a game far more perilous than the politics of the court. She felt a deep worry for Edward, who was blissfully unaware of the darkness lurking behind Adelaide’s smile—a darkness that could one day threaten the very crown he sought to uphold.

[neuvillettes]

lost on you | childe

summary | you’ve lost so much time grieving for your relationship with childe.

pairing | childe x reader, diluc x reader

warnings | depictions of anxiety/panic attack, depictions of depression, angst, reader x childe, reader x diluc, chilumi, suggestive themes but nothing explcit, fem!reader

wc | 1.6k

a/n | i tried something new with thos and i’m not sure i lile it :,) this was supposed to be much shorter and diluc weaseled his way in there. how’d he do that? i have know idea aksdjfhkasdjhfasdf

your fingers are numb, just like the rest of your body, yet they still tremble. it’s cold, you’re not sure what you expected. it’s the middle of winter in fontaine and you weren’t wearing any gloves. sure, the cold wasn’t as fierce as it was back in snezhnaya, but it was still enough to run a chill throughout your entirety. you could laugh at the irony. it wasn’t as if you weren’t already cold and empty on the inside, so, what did it matter if you were cold externally as well. even though it’s been well over a year since he left and took your heart with him, you were still an empty shell of the person you were before him.

“what?” you were cooking the two of you a nice dinner and almost cut yourself in the process due to his words. he said something - but - surely you’d heard it incorrectly.

he wasn’t looking at you. no, that wasn’t right either, he refused to look at you. “after my next mission…i’m not coming back.”

you almost asked him to repeat himself one more time. what did he even mean? he wasn’t coming back? last you checked, he was being sent to liyue, the nation of the geo archon. you’d heard it was a beautiful, and for the most part, peaceful place. and this was him of all people. so… why would he say that? he wasn’t making any sense.

“… what do you mean you’re not coming back? what about your family? what about the fatui? what about…” what about me. you thought it, but didn’t dare say it out loud. you couldn’t bring yourself to make him feel guilty on your behalf.

his jaw clenches and hands tremble. he’d been dreading this. he didn’t want to let you go, but it would be selfish of him. he had a duty to uphold and he was getting sloppy. you were a distraction. he reminded himself, he constantly had to remind himself, otherwise the truth would slip through the cracks. he takes in a stuttered and shallow breath before uttering the words that made you completely drop the knife you were holding.

“i don’t mean snezhnaya… i’m not coming back here. i’m not coming back to you.”

the knife made a loud clanking noise before he could even get all of his words out. you had to hold onto the counter to steady yourself. his words were cold, icy, and they drove icicles right through your heart. your ears rang and heart sank. every word he uttered after that was muffled, almost as if he was speaking on the other end of a very long tunnel. you were able to catch bits of what he was saying but none of it was making a lick of sense to your foggy brain.

it had been over a year and, still, you remember his last night with you like it was only hours ago. you spent months sitting at home staring into nothing. his excuses running through your mind over and over again. you analyzed every action you made leading up to him leaving. you couldn’t come up with any reason as to why he would go like he did. his family often checked up on you, knowing they were the only one you had. eventually even seeing them became too much for you.

you left, a note nailed to your door as a goodbye. you weren’t sure you would ever return but you decided now was the time to go out and see the world like you had always talked about with him. you started in inazuma, you wanted to get as far away from your homeland as possible. you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy it, so you moved on to sumeru. you came up with the same result. you didn’t spend much time in liyue, it was too much for you.

mondstadt was the one nation that brought you a bit of peace. you stayed there the longest. you met a fiery redhead there that was the total opposite of your former lover and yet, he brought you the same type of comfort. he was weary of you at first, familiar with the accent you bore, yet he spoke the same tongue as you.

his name is diluc. although you still couldn’t bring yourself to say his name, diluc was easy for you. he was the first to comment on the way your smile never reached your eyes. he was the first to mention the dull light in your eyes that surely had to brighten at some point in your life.

“who was he?” the redhead was pouring you a glass of dandelion wine as you sat in his bed, covered by a thin white sheet.

“…i don’t care to talk about it.” you avoided his eyes and decided it best to look out the window of his room that overlooked the vineyards.

“does anyone ever like to talk about a previous relationship? you don’t have to tell me, i just thought you might benefit from talking about him.” his voice was so warm and kind that you almost cried.

diluc helped you fill some of the void that was left. but he still couldn’t fill all of it. when it came time for you to leave he made you promise to visit.

you set off to fontaine, hoping to find something that didn’t make you feel so empty. you wanted to come back to diluc as a whole person. you wanted to give him everything, but you couldn’t do that as the semblance of a person you still were.

you were sat at the front of a cafe, sipping on a hot cup of coffee. most people were indoors, but this cold was nothing to you. something about this made you nostalgic. maybe it was the crisp air and mixture of coffee, it reminded you of diluc. suddenly the emptiness isn’t so overwhelming and something happens in that moment, you let a soft, genuine smile grace your features.

unfortunately the moment only lasts a second because, before you know it, a familiar voice is calling out your name. your body runs colder than it had felt previously. you don’t want to open your eyes. you don’t want to be faced with the one person who had been haunting your nightmares for the better part of two years. your body has other ideas though. on instinct you're leaning towards the voice, eyes wide open.

he seems taller than before, built more as well. he’s been training and it shows. he has the same goofy smile on his face. the freckles that litter his nose and cheeks seemed to have multiplied, no doubt from the excess amount of sun he wasn’t getting in snezhnaya. he’s bounding over to you and it’s only until he is right in front of you and speaking that you notice he isn’t alone.

a short blonde woman and some sort of floating child are close on his tail. he introduces her as lumine, the traveler, her smile is bright and you can’t help but smile back despite not wanting to. she seemed familiar with him and that made your chest ache. feelings you had pushed aside for so long began to simmer and boil over. your hands were no longer trembling because of the cold. your body was overheating and your head felt fuzzy. it was happening again, just like the last time you had seen him. you were forced into the back seat, autopilot taking over.

pleasantries were exchanged, he asked you how you were, you asked him the same. lumine introduced her companion and they all laughed about how they met. you watched as they had a conversation without you. his hand every so often resting on her shoulder and a blush forming on her face when it did. you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want to watch this happen. you didn’t want to watch as he moved on, while you were still helplessly trying to forget him.

after a short while lumine and paimon excuse themselves and then it’s just the two of you. his smile fades and a worried expression replaces it.

“how are you, really? last time i saw you…” he reaches his hand out to hold your own but you immediately retract yours.

you watch the hurt flash across his face. what was he expecting though? he had left you, seemingly so easy. he was replacing you now too. why would you let him touch you as if he still had the right. he clearly didn’t.

you narrow your eyes at his concern. “i’m doing just fine, childe.”

that was the first time you had uttered his name since he left. you hadn’t even dared to think it. although it wasn’t his given name it still left your mouth dry and eyes glossy.

childe flinches at the sound of his codename falling from your lips. it wasn’t something he was used to. he lets out a sigh and stands. “i see. if you say so. i know when i’m not wanted. i’ll go now. goodbye, moya dorogaya.”

he’s gone before you can say anything more. just like last time. tears spill from your eyes and you let out a humorless laugh at the pet name he always used to call you. “how unfair of you…”

you’re left to pick up the pieces yourself once more, but this time is different. if he was able to move on so easily, so would you.

taglist | @bladiez | @dottores | @mxnjiros | @4rlecchinos |

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Feast in the Lanternwood: A Short Story

The man entered just as the feast began. My grandfather’s Gathering Hall--ringing with the voices and laughter of every resident of our Lanternwood village--fell silent when he stepped through the great doors.

He was a stranger--everyone in the village had known each other all their lives.

He was a foreigner--tall and lithe, with skin pale as milk and hair like weak winter sunshine.

He was clad in a thick gray cloak--the unmistakable uniform of the enemy.

My grandfather, seated at the head of the high table, stood. "Stranger of Nordan, why do you invade a peaceful hall?"

The stranger stepped into the room with hands outstretched and empty. "I bring no war." His steps were slow, his face drawn. "I come as a weary traveler who has wandered this forest for five days without food. I beg only a mouthful of bread, so I may return to my homeland in peace."

He bent low beneath the weight of his pack. He had dark circles under sunken eyes. But he had a sword at his side.

Though I was only four years old, I knew enough of the war to fear the stranger. The Nordans were soldiers from a cold land who had come in war against our nation, even to the very edges of the Lanternwood. They were the monsters in my bedtime tales--heartless monsters who laughed while they killed, shadows who came into villages and stole away naughty little girls to eat for supper. Every family in the village had lost sons to Nordan blades; news of the war’s end had reached us barely two weeks before.

I hid beneath the table. Grandfather emerged from behind his.

"You are alone," Grandfather said, "and you dare to come into a hall of Lanternwood men and demand food?"

"I ask for mercy for a man who is weary after a war he did not choose."

Grandfather paced before him, his thick form looming over the stranger despite the fact that Grandfather was half a head shorter.

Grandfather stopped suddenly, his hand on his sword. "How did you get past the dogs?"

Our Great Hounds were the protectors of the village, beloved by all. If this man had slain them, there would be no mercy.

The stranger whistled two soft notes. All three of the Great Hounds, their heads looming far over his, appeared in the doorway behind him, wagging their tails like puppies.

The hall stood thunderstruck. For a stranger to have such power over the Great Hounds—it seemed almost mystical, both wondrous and terrifying.

Grandfather was the first to move, clasping the stranger's thin hands beneath his thick ones. "No man with ill intent could charm a woodland hound. Come and eat with welcome."

Grandfather led the man to a small table in a shadowed corner--which was immediately vacated by five terrified villagers. Grandfather ordered a plate be filled for him. Caught between respect for Grandfather's authority and terror at the stranger, the order was obeyed immediately.

The man started eating. At Grandfather's orders, every person turned their attention back to the feast and tried to forget that the stranger was there.

I crawled out from under my table and returned to my dinner, but found little joy in it. With a monster in the corner, my food had no taste.

Worst of all, while I'd hidden under the table, my cousins had eaten all of the rezzah--the delicate cookies filled with redberry jam that I had waited an entire year for.

Before long, this last horror overshadowed the first. I had been a good girl! I had waited endless months for this once-a-year treat. I had not taken so much as a nibble while Grandmother baked hundreds upon hundreds of them and told me to save them for the feast. Now I was to have not even a crumb!

Indignant, I searched the other tables, to no avail. I was not the only one who loved rezzah—they lasted mere minutes on the dessert platters. No one had saved me any.

At last, carried away by my search, I looked into the shadowed corner and saw the stranger’s table. In the very center of it, inches away from his lone plate, sat a plate piled high with rezzah. There must have been at least twenty. No, a million! And the Nordan would get to eat them all!

My sense of justice could not condone this. I deserved the cookies far more than that monster did, even if Grandfather and the dogs let him stay. It was my duty, as a daughter of the Lanternwood, to claim as many cookies as I could.

I feared the stranger, but desperation gave me courage. I was small for my age. I could sneak through the shadows and take a handful of cookies before the monster noticed me.

The first part of my plan went perfectly. I stepped silently up to the table, and the stranger didn’t even take his eyes from his plate.

I reached for the platter—and my plan fell apart. I was toosmall to reach the cookies. I stood on my tiptoes, stretched as far as I could, but my fingertips barely brushed the edge of the platter.

Suddenly, something grabbed me beneath the arms and lifted. In a flash, I was on the Nordan’s lap. I was too terrified to scream.

The Nordan smiled at me and held one arm around my waist while he offered me two rezzah with his other hand. “Hungry?”

Was he trying to fatten me up? While I stared at the cookies in his hand, I grabbed one from the platter and took a bite. I wouldn’t take anything from a Nordan, but I wasn’t going to lose my chance at rezzah.

The stranger chuckled. “I have a little girl like you at home.”

The cookie crumbled in my fist. The stories were true! He did steal children! I pictured this other little girl, my exact double, hidden away in some icy cavern waiting to be eaten for supper.

He flicked the end of my braid with his finger. “Of course, my daughter has yellow hair, not brown. But she’s about your age, and she loves sweets.”

His voice was soft—almost sweet. I looked into his face in surprise. His smile didn’t show any sharp teeth. His eyes were blue and seemed almost as kind as Grandfather’s. Maybe he was a father to some other little girl. Maybe he wasn’t going to eat me.

These new revelations didn’t change my priorities. I grabbed another cookie. “She can’t have these.”

He laughed. “No. They wouldn’t last. I’ve a long way to travel yet.”

“To the ice lands,” I said, showing off my knowledge.

“No ice this time of year,” the man said. “I hope to return home before the first snow. Spend a few days in the upper village before we move underground for the winter.”

I had seen plenty of animal dens in the Lanternwood. “Like bears.”

“A little,” he said with a laugh. “But we don’t sleep in caves. We’ve a whole city underground, lit by sunstones. We spend the winter wide awake—working, weaving, dancing, singing, storytelling.”

His voice became low and musical, enchanting me as it had charmed the hounds. He told me of his home, a far-northern land where the summers were short but beautiful, where winter froze waterfalls into pillars of light, where crops grew all winter beneath underground lights while people spent their time in an eternal festival, sharing music and poetry and planning great works for the new year.

I learned about his little girl, who had a white puppy who slept in a basket by her bed, and would one day grow into a Great Hound loyal only to her.

As he spoke of his daughter, the stranger showed me a small wooden flute, carved into a shape like a bird. “I made this for her,” he said. He played a liquid trill of notes that made the Hounds outside the great doors perk up their ears.

Unthinking, I reached for the flute. I had never been so enchanted by sound, and I wanted to keep it forever with me.

“Do you play?” he asked.

I did not, but wanted nothing more than to learn.

Seeing my enthusiasm, the stranger showed me how to hold the flute, and soon I could play a short sequence of notes.

Once I did, the stranger reached into his pack and pulled out a larger instrument—a beautiful pipe, all gleaming curves and shining levers. “Shall we have a duet?” he asked.

At that, Grandfather approached the table—he had never been far away, I learned. He came up to the stranger and said, “I’ve heard it said your people have music in your veins.”

“We enjoy a good tune.”

Grandfather gestured to the wider hall, which was already being cleared for a dance. “Would you play for us?”

The man’s eyes lit up with joy. He followed Grandfather to where the main table had been cleared away to make space for a stage, and then he began to play.

His song soared through the room, lively and bright. Keeping time with one foot, his song became a tune that no one could help but dance to. People were drawn from all corners of the room, set to stepping and spinning with joyful abandon.

The Lanternwood had not heard music like that before or since. The stranger played song after song—lively, bouncing, silly, sweet, slow. Other members of the village brought out their own instruments and joined in the songs—he quickly learned ours, and they learned some of his. His strange looks, the color of his cloak—all was forgotten in the glory of his music.

I danced and danced and danced that night, lost in ecstasy. I whirled with groups of children, was taken up into the arms of aunts and uncles who spun me around. I even learned a partner dance, standing on my grandfather’s feet. Yet my eyes were always drawn back to the stranger, whose joy in the music surpassed even my own.

As the night dragged on, the hall grew darker, and the songs became slow. I drifted away from the dance floor, sank to the floor, and fell asleep on the stranger’s gray cloak.

#

I woke up in the early light of dawn, tucked up in a bed with five other cousins. I could hear the sounds of the party being cleared away, and I rushed out of the room in a panic, afraid the stranger had left.

Tall as he was, I easily found him standing just outside the hall, his pack on his shoulder, speaking to Grandfather.

I sprinted to the stranger and threw my arms around his legs. “Don’t go!”

Grandfather apologized, “I’m sorry. Ever since her father’s death--”

The stranger stopped him by lifting me up and holding me on his hip. “I’m glad of your friendship, little one. But I must return home.”

“Can’t you stay longer?”

He shook his head. “I have a little girl waiting for me, remember?”

She had a daddy coming home, and I didn’t, because of the gray-cloaked soldiers. But this man, in my mind, had never been one of those monsters.

Tears dripped down my face. The stranger dried them with the edge of his cloak. “Now, little one, don’t cry. We have our own paths to travel, and perhaps they shall cross again someday.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out the little bird flute that had so enchanted me, that had won him a place in my heart. “Keep this to remember me by,” he said. “My little girl can have another, and you have your own songs to play.”

I took it in tears—so filled with joy and sorrow that I couldn’t tell one from the other. At last, I let myself be taken up in Grandfather’s arms, and the stranger—with a final farewell and thanks for the provisions Grandfather had given—walked away down the forest road. I watched and watched until the stranger—that monster turned friend—disappeared from sight.

I never saw him again.

I hope with all my heart he made it home.

[savejudyblog]

What is Hala’s fault for not living

her childhood safely? How long will our children suffer?💔

😭 Hala was only 9 months old before the war began, and her sister Yara was 4 years old. Now, Hala is two years old, and Yara is five. Both have been robbed of their childhood.

Hala cannot hear properly due to the b@mbings, and now requires surgery to restore her hearing. Yara, overwhelmed by trauma, has lost her ability to speak, and she urgently needs treatment to recover.

My family now lives in a torn tent, exposed to the scorching heat during the day and freezing cold at night. Winter is approaching, and the fear of what it will bring is paralyzing. We have no food, clean water, or warm clothes. Forced to flee, we had to leave everything behind, including the safety of our home.

Everything in our house was destroyed.💔

I dream of returning to G@za, to smell the familiar dirt and dust of my homeland. 😭 🇵🇸 I no longer remember what peaceful sleep feels like. Fear constantly grips me, especially for my family—I am terrified that snakes or rodents will come near them while we stay in this tent. I cry all night 😭💔 thinking about the torment we are enduring. This pain feels endless, and it seems like the world has forgotten us.

While the world watches in silence, we continue to live through massacres, destruction, and humiliation. Our daily struggle for basic necessities like food, water, shelter, and clothing is never-ending. I pray every day for the nightmare to end 💔💔🇵🇸.

Hala (NOW) Yara

Please help me and my children escape this horror, which has gone on for far too long. We are exhausted, tormented, and hurting every day. Even the smallest contribution could bring us a glimmer of hope and help us move toward safety. ❤️🙏🙏

Vetted by the butterfly effect project 🦋 line #223

@decolonize-the-everything @heritageposts @palipunk-blog @gothhabiba @lonniemachin @aristotel @watermotif @stuckinapril @schoolhater @ghelgheli @determinate-negation @papasmoke @deepspaceboytoy @omegaversereloaded @xinakwans @givemearmstopraywith @killyourhistory @deathlonging @palms-upturned @blackpearlblast @littlegermanboy @loveaankilaq @sar-soor

@transmutationisms @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @appsa @sayruq @a-shade-of-blue @malcriaada @appsdotli @aces-and-anime @ahaura @schoolhater @pcktknife @sawasawako @feluka @tamar @familyabolisher @fleshdyk3

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojo @rhubarbspring @schoolhater @sawasawako @feluart @anneemay-blog @rooh-afza

[find-the-path]

Inklings Challenge 2024! My first story idea also went north out of the farthest sight so this is what we're going with. All dialogue (technically) so a lot of what I meant to put in is slightly off-screen. I think I do want to continue this though. @inklings-challenge

You asked for a tale and you’ll get one, don’t worry. Quiet now, this one’s true. There were once three brothers who lived in a bright kingdom down south. They were all moderately happy.

The eldest and most skilled with a sword longed for adventure in the north, where the kingdom used to stretch long ago. His gift was far-sight. On cloudy days he looked out east, south, west, north, and told stories of distant peoples to entertain his younger brothers.

The middle brother was the most practical of the three. His gift was swimming, as glad and airless as a fish. The whole family discovered that when he was three and the river was swollen, after much panic. His dream was to join the fleet of ships that patrolled the kingdom’s southern seas.

“---But he joined the pirates instead, and reformed the island blockade!”

What’s all this about pirates, all of a sudden? The royal navy fights the pirates, son, they don’t join them. That’d be counter-productive. Don’t interrupt the story.

The youngest, the quickest, hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to do. He had time, for his own gift had not yet become apparent.

In due time the eldest brother came of age and went off to seek his fortune. Northward, of course, as he’d always wanted. The lands were wide and empty to the north, save for small towns full of insular people and stretches of jagged mountains that the royal geologist had a personal grudge against.

He went past those mountains. Past the brown hills he found beyond them. Looking north, he saw clouds of mist obscuring the furthest stretched of his sight. In the company of a band of scouts he passed out of knowledge of homeland and family, and ceased to be heard of.

Years passed. The younger two brothers grew up and left the house, seeking their fortune afar. Rumors of war in the north grew louder. The king called his council to advise him on the matter, but what they discussed was not known in the kingdom, and the youngest brother chafed at the ignorance. The north had always held a mystery for him--- that of his brother’s death. They all assumed he was dead by now: a fairly intelligent assessment.

At last ten winters were gone by and the youngest brother was as grown as he was ever going to be. He decided he would go north himself, to discover what had the royal advisers in such disagreement, and also a hint of what had happened to the eldest.

He set out in autumn---

“But Papa, the middle brother! Did he go sailing? Did he fight the pirates?”

I don’t know if he ever went sailing, son. I suppose he might’ve found pirates but that’s not what this story is about yet.

“It’s your story, how can you not know?”

Yes, it’s my story, and it’s still being told. Shh and let me finish.

Just north of the capital the youngest brother found a caravan under attack, and helped fight off the mercenaries in return for information and dinner. He tracked the men who hired the bandits to a research town on the edge of the great forest, where he heard tell of a dragon set up in the mountains blocking his path. I can’t see the dragon, which mean it probably can’t see us, but there’s enough sources to look credible enough.

He’s trying to go around it now. If he gets across the moor--- and if that dragon doesn’t see him--- he might make it.

“But you said nobody’s got over the wall for ten years!”

Not since I did it, no. But my brothers... they’re another kind of stubborn. Your uncle’s coming, lad, and when he does we’ll be ready.

[katerinaaqu]

So since @aaronofithaca05 had asked me about my new tattoo that started one of my favorite headcannons of Odysseus getting a tattoo at war here it is! Done during a small trip I had by the talented artist:

https://www.instagram.com/poporotattoo?igsh=MW1iZThnZGt5NzVrZw==

It is symbol of my homeland, Greece and a promise of me going back there one day one way or another (since I currently live in Sweden). It was inspired by frescoes found in Greece especially in Crete and Santorini

Dolphin: The national animal of Greece and always mentioned as a protective talisman for sailors to a country surrounded by sea. The dolphin comes from the ancient Greek word that means "womb" and was meant to show how Greeks believed that they are mammals. The word Dolphin also sounds similar to the word that means "brother" "sister" or "sibling" in Greek.

The dolphin was an animal linked to many gods and goddesses of Greek mythology with some of the major ones being Poseidon (the dolphin revealed to him the hiding place of his future wife Amphitrite and often seen pulling his chariot), Dionysus (Dionysus transformed the drowning pirates to dolphins) and of course Apollo (linked to the myth of Delphi -giving the name to it- and the rescue of the musician and poet Arion)

Dolphins have been a symbol of freedom, intelligence, playfulness and sexuality by many researchers. It is an animal known to protect the sailors in the long voyages at sea. Their social behavior has also linked them with humans (thus the name "dolphin" also linked to the word "sibling")

To me it is a symbol of greece and my culture in general linked to my language, my land and my family.

Swallow: A little bird linked a lot with spring in Greece for they come to Greece after winter to make their nests and have their babies before flying back to Africa for the winter. A swallow is a beloved bird in Greece and symbol of Greek presidency.

In mythology the swallow was also linked to some gods and goddesses particularly Aphrodite but also Athena (Athena transforms into a swallow and flies away from Telemachus in the Odyssey). Also in the Odyssey it is mentioned that the chord of Odysseus's bow "sang like a swallow" when he used it to kill the suitors symbolizing his homecoming.

Swallow have always been linked to journeys specially to homecoming since they always come back during their migration trips. Their speed and ability when they fly is also linked to their capability of achieving such a dangerous trip despite their size.

To me it is a promise of returning home to my land one way or another and is also linked to my favorite books Iliad and Odyssey that make me feel proud that literature from my land has reached so far in people's hearts 💕

They are also moving in a never ending circle with each other hahaha also unconsciously a symbol of Poseidon vs Athena?! 🤣 dunno maybe hehehehe

[i-am-still-bb]

FiKi Week by @gatheringfiki - Day 4 - 06.25.24

Golden child, Lion boy; Tell me what it’s like to conquer. Fearless child, Broken boy; Tell me what it’s like to burn. 

NEW AU - Vikings / Medieval AU

Smoke was a constant in their memories. 

Fili’s earliest memory was of sitting by a fire, wrapped in furs, listening to his father, uncles, and grandfather talk and laugh in loud, rough voices. 

Kili’s was of being burned. 

His hand was bound in soft white cloth and his tears were kissed away and his fears were soothed with gentle words. 

The sweet smell of the pine logs they used in their home on the wild coasts. A scent that mixed with the earthy smell of animals and human bodies when they all lived in the same four walls during the winter. He and Kili would play hide and seek in and among the straw and animals. The soft, thick, red locks of the cows echoing the flames of the fire that was kept burning all night to keep the cold away. But sometimes they would still find frost in the walls furthest from the fire. 

On those nights Fili and Kili would sleep curled together.

And then they moved south trying to outrun the cold.

Fili was called Asad when they went far enough south that there was no wood to burn. There the people burned oil, it smoked, but there was no smell. Zayan called Fili such and told him that it means lion. And then told them about the lions that roam the deserts of his homeland. “You have to be careful, but if you see one… ya Allah they are beautiful.” 

Fili and Kili listened wide eyed to stories of the bravest Romans who fought lions in their coliseums before their empire turned to ruins. To descriptions of the art of ancient people’s who’s gods were animals, Ishtar, Adad, Marduk. 

Zayan gave Fili a lion shaped bead that Fili wore in his hair every day after.

And then they went north again to the great forests, to a great river called to the Volga. There the smoke was sharp. But for Fili and Kili it made them sad. It was there that they watched their father’s burial ship go up in flames. 

Fili took them north again. To the soft forests of his youth. To the life that he had known. But the land was no longer good for farming, and the ships that were sent out were not coming back. In their absence his grandfather had been sending more and more people out in a desperate hope, a futile hope, that they would come back with word of a place where their people would be welcome. 

And then he and Kili were sent on a dragon prowed ship captained by a wild eyed man named Smaug. 

Their mother had cried silently  and they had gripped each other's hands as the ships slipped silently from her dock into the cold gray ocean and sky beyond the gentle harbor. 

They did return home.

But not before there were more fires.

Bitter fires. 

They landed on a stoney beach.

Smaug had them loosen their swords. Fili did as he was told, but he did not draw his weapon. He watched with disgust when Leif killed an unarmed man on the beach.

The walled settlement only had men. Unarmed men. 

And they were slaughtered. 

Fili and Kili stood to the side and did what they could. They looked away when some of the men in their funny brown robes ran for the woods. Kili took a highly decorated bit of paper and tucked it in his belt.

The smoke that day was acrid and burned their eyes.

They watched the smoke continue to rise as they rowed away.

And Fili vowed that they would  leave and never come back.

--

Everything @silvermoon-scrolls @metztlilua @I-am-pinkie @dubhlachen

[geniemillies]

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 6 | Tamlin x Oc

◇— Chapter 6 - A Glimpse of Living

A/n: Very very long chappy.. I enjoyed writing Autumn and Summer, favourite courts right next to Spring 😔🫶

✧ masterlist

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.5 ||◇|| Ch.7>>

     — —

I often feed a suggestion to the King, to send me back to Prythian to see to Amarantha's reign. And when he'd ask me why I'm so insistent on going I'd answer with; “I rather like tormenting her~” Which is no lie and definitely no secret. The entirety of the Father's court knows well mine and Amarantha's animosity towards each other. And it isn't just me. I cannot think of a single person in court who likes her. She is feared by many and loved by none save for the creatures that manage to find it in themselves to find her appealing.

Four decades have passed since the dawn of her reign and when I thought all hope was lost, Father called me into the throne room and suddenly approved of my next visit to Prythian. The Suriel fettered beneath the palace was yet again the source of his ire, but it seems to have provided some sort of answer to which my father was being deliberately vague when giving his commands. He needs me to seek out the missing pieces of the Cauldron after I see Amarantha. And I couldn't have been more excited when he gave me the task. In secret, of course. I did not get to see past Under the Mountain last time.. I'm hoping this time will be different.

Besides that visit, I haven't left Hybern since that time in Spring. More often than not, these golden cuffs around my wrists constantly itched, tempting me to scratch the skin raw.. I cannot even touch the beach waters without the cuffs tugging me back. It is a cage, this homeland of mine. And while I want to visit Prythian because I want to berate Amarantha and know about how Tamlin is doing I just want to see the sky and breathe the fresh air.

“May I come with?” Velaria asks as she follows me through the halls of the Lighthouse.

“The ring only allows leave for one body. I'm afraid I cannot take you with me.. Father will know if those bound to him leave and enter without the gem.”

Velaria frowns and before she speaks, some of the children playing caught sight of me and rushed towards my direction. “Mother!” They all called out as they came to me. Recent children who quickly became infected with calling me their mother. Not that I mind.

They told me of their day and wished for me to play with them. But I had places to be so I promised to spend time with them when I returned. I went to a drawing room where children, mostly the children I've rescued from Prythian, were huddled in one place. Each child hails from a different Court, with Marilla and Celyn originating from Winter, and Aurelia, Clem, and Rory from Autumn. Soleil and Tesni are from Summer, while Ahaan and Kiran belongs to the Dawn Court. And then there's the only child from Day, the youngest of Prythian children, Uri. 

Save for Uri, they all still call me Niamh or Miss Niamh. Understandable as they are not my children like Hybernian children were. They have their own mothers and fathers waiting for them most likely.

The Lighthouse has come to life since I brought the Prythian children here. Each room within the building has been adorned with their vibrant gifts and decorations, inspired by the diverse cultures and customs of their respective Courts. 

Because of them, our home now hosts various joyful celebrations like Summer and Winter Solstice where we decorate the house, dance and exchange gifts. Those are my personal favorites.. But we also celebrate All Souls Day, a custom from Autumn where people make offerings to shrines of the deceased in the forest. But we do not have a forest of shrines so we just.. create our own and set them out at the courtyard, in remembrance of loved ones who perished during Amarantha's rule. Because the majority, if not all the children, have endured losses during her reign. 

We also have Fete in the Clouds, a cheerful celebration from the Dawn Court where peregryns, hold festivities high in the air. While I possess wings like peregryns, none of the other children have the blessing of flight except for Kiran, a peregryn, and Tesni, a mothkin. So to make sure he celebrates and shares his custom with the house, I cast imaginative spells to create the illusion of us lounging on the clouds above the courtyard. A.. cute attempt to recreate the actual thing but we have fun. 

Another one is the Seeker's Gauntlet, a triennial tournament held in the Day Court where scholars from various esteemed institutions compete in a grand stadium, I've been told. During this time, we make up our own challenges and divide the house in teams until the smartest ones face each other in the final rounds. I, unfortunately.. have been kicked out of the games because the children do not trust me with my daemati powers. No matter, I'm content as the sole judge and arbiter. Velaria gets particularly competitive during the games. Seeing her losing to a bunch of children way younger than her is.. funny.

I happily welcome all festivities. It isn't the same as celebrating the actual thing, but it is the most I can do for them. I want the Prythian children to cling on to cherished memories of their homes even when distance separates them. They deserve to feel a sense of belonging and connection to their roots, to celebrate their heritage and keep their cultures alive, no matter where they may be. And.. it's a good thing for the children of Hybern too. And maybe for me.. After all, Hybernians deserve to experience such celebrations, given the lack of them within our own lands.

I should probably refrain from calling them children now as they’re all grown. It has been nearly fifty years since I’ve brought them here. Marilla is a great sister to everyone in the house, she even teaches the younger children with their writing and reading. Cousin to her is Celyn, the quieter one of the two. But in time, she grew to love the place and the other kids. She also makes the best puddings that not even I could replicate her cooking.. Aurelia is the more spirited one of the bunch, always cheering people up, always inspiring mischief, as expected from a faun. Soleil, a selkie, likes to join her in her little pranks. We have a pond now because of her as she needs to be in water every once in a while. Tesni is our sweet little mothkin, which makes her a target to group cuddles because of her furry scales. She has woven me many silk dresses ever since I’ve asked her for one. Kiran is the most well-mannered, often being the voice of reason along with Marilla. Then there is Ahaan who is a child of the arts, I lost count of the many paintings and ceramics he’s made for me. My room and study are so full of them that I'm beginning to run out of space. Always with him is Clem, a sweet child with a penchant for learning, forever curious about the Sidhe where I’ve not yet taken any of them.

Uri, the youngest, is the quietest one, always making gadgets with whatever she finds. Many of my kitchen supplies have been altered to work better because of her. Uri is the only one of them who has developed a habit of calling me mother. I’ve been told that her parents were long gone even before Amarantha took over. During the first months of their stay in Hybern, she had managed to run past the wards and nearly got herself killed if I hadn’t caught up to her. She’s a sensitive child, a bit jumpy and a victim to night terrors, more so than the others.. She may be quiet but she always seeks comfort with the other Prythian children, clinging to Aurelia’s arm or hiding behind Ahaan’s wings. Despite being the youngest, Uri’s intelligence is unwavering, earning her an undefeated record in our version of the Seeker's Gauntlet. It comes as no surprise from a child of Day.

Then there is Rory, a year younger than Marilla but the eldest of the Autumn-born, hails from nobility. Of all the children, he was the most hesitant to call the Lighthouse home. Of course, he warmed up to the place and the other children eventually but he still keeps to himself most of the time. Always reading in his lonesome and observing the fun rather than participating. But I could tell that.. it is just his nature. I imagine he was raised to look down on the lesser fae which.. must’ve been a strange thing to accept for him, considering most of the children in the Lighthouse are.. lesser fae. I mislike that term. Lesser. All my children are the same, no matter their upbringing or the lands they hail from.

While he may not overtly acknowledge it, I know Rory has developed a softer sentiment towards the others. He does not like admitting a lot of things, but he is not good at hiding them either. Not from me. But of course, there is the occasional fight here and there between him and the older children of the house. Squabble between boys that are ended by me all too quickly.

Nowadays, Clem, Rory, Kiran and Soleil are often outside, past the Lighthouse grounds but still within the wards, being trained to fight by Arin after they begged me to. Arin is one of the elder children of the Lighthouse that don't live here anymore. But he still frequently visits before returning back underground, to the Sidhe, where he's one of my three Lieutenants tending to the rebellion.

Many of my older children join him at the Sidhe. My brave children who.. wish to fight for me for a better tomorrow. Now some children of Prythian wish to join them. Velaria may or may not have let some of my Father's plans slip from her loose mouth, and the elder children have grown close to them that they tell the horrors of my Father's experiments on me. Because they do know. Children are not stupid. The Lighthouse is the one place where I could momentarily let go of my gloves. They see my blackened arms and they often.. wonder. So now some of them wish to fight and while their training is not serious… I can see their determination, fueled by a desire for vengeance against Amarantha. But there is a greater threat than her. And I'm not about to risk these children in an upcoming war when they have parents still waiting for them back in Prythian. 

They flock around me now, asking: “Can you see if my parents are still alive? Can you see if my siblings still live under the dungeons? Can you see if my High Lord still lives? Can you see if my Court has not been set to cinders? Can you kill Amarantha this time?” All questions overlap each other.

“Settle down. All of you..” I shook my head and willed them to call down. All of them ask for me to check on the wellbeing of their families while others ask for items to be brought back to them, items from their courts they hold dear. When one proposed the idea, everyone agreed and brought forth a scroll to write the things they wish for. Impatiently, they sit there on the floor, fighting for which one got to put on their requests first.

I look at Velaria. “And you? Anything you wish for?”

She put a hand on her hip. “I'd rather come with you.”

“I told you..”

“But I'm not bound to the King. I do not wear golden cuffs, I can leave without him knowing. Please.. Take me with you. I want to see Rhys.. If only for a moment.”

I look away to the children before looking back at her. “Alright. But I need to hide you. Into what.. is the question. Just until I'm done with my visit in the Middle.”

“You could glamour me. Alter my appearance as you've had before when you brought me to the palace.”

“I can't. Amarantha will suspect my relation to you and why I've brought you. I don’t just bring anyone, she knows it. I cannot risk it. And chances are, if you do see your brother while glamoured, he would suspect you're familiar to him..”

Velaria looked down. “The silver ravens..” 

“The what..?” 

“You could turn your feathers into full creatures, could you not?” 

“Yes?”

“Could you turn me into an animal?”

“I am flattered you think I could shapeshift much less shift someone else into an animal.”

“But you could turn your feathers into crows?”

“Yes but my feathers are inanimate. That magic has always been a part of me. Seraphim magic. And the creatures I create are an extension of myself. And do not even suggest using dark magic on you.” I sighed. “I only know curses and hexes that serve to discipline those who would disobey in court.” I trailed off and looked at her, a pout growing on her lips.

“Unless..” I sighed. “Do you really want to go?”

Velaria nods. “Really.”

“There is a curse I learned many years ago in my youth. Magic that will curse someone and turn them into an animal for life. But.. after years of studying, I've learned to undo many curses. And since the hex is a simple enough trick, I could very well undo it.”

She claps happily, tapping her chest excitedly. “Great. Do it. Curse me. But undo it after!” Velaria says a little too enthusiastically. Many would run when a witch suggest to bewitch them. Velaria seems to jump at every opportunity for me to show her weird spells, though. She is a strange one. 

“Alright.” I breathed. “What animal?”

“What?”

“What animal would you want to turn into?”

     — —

The Attor welcomes me again to the dreadful Under The Mountain and with its presence, the creature around my neck hissed. Amarantha greets me in her empty throne room and we exchange backhanded jabs at one another. The usual. It is clear that my visit is unwelcome, the place is once more void of any soul save for the Attor who keeps breathing down my neck. Amarantha thought to give me a tour around her little hive and wherever we went, dread and anguish followed.

This time she shows me the entirety of her horrid abode with all its rugged twists and turns. She showed me the dungeons where she kept prisoners and heathens who dared disobey her or make her unhappy. She showed me an even deeper dungeon where she kept fae, young and old, all kept in shackles as they cooked and served and.. slaved away, never to see the sun or breathe the air on the surface. 

She took me to a grim display, where the bodies of fae she claimed as rebels hung on the wall, their bodies bearing the evidence of dried blood and decay, with clouds of buzzing flies swarming around their putrid remains, feasting on the stench of death. Despite the gruesome sight, it barely made me flinch. I had grown accustomed to the same macabre spectacle back at Father's palace.

“Again with the choice of furniture, Amarantha..” I cover my nose and hear a chuckle from her beside me.

“Do you not like it? I thought you'd feel right at home..”

I hate it. I hate how she's turning into a smaller version of my Father. Even here I cannot escape him. They cannot enslave mortals and so they turn to enslaving their kin. 

Before we left from the dungeons she takes pride in, I paused, taking a final glance at the faces of the dead. I studied each pair of their horrifically opened eyes, every feature, searching diligently for any resemblance to the children I once brought here to the Lighthouse.

“What did this one do?” I approach a fae, her wide eyes stared vacantly, locked in an image of fear that remained even in death. Her once vibrant, auburn curls were crudely hacked off and burned, her arms stretched unnaturally towards another faun like herself. A male one.

Just like..

“Hm? Ah. Foolish little doe. Tried to stab me in the back during my entertainments. I wiped out her entire family, you see.” A cruel chuckle escapes her. “I hadn’t even noticed. Only she and her husband remained. And now they'll be together forever. A beautiful death I've bestowed upon them, wouldn't you agree..?"

“How frequent are these attempts?” I try turn my head away, but underneath the mask, my eyes were still glued to the pair, memorising their features, ingraining it into memory. The skin around my cuffs began to itch, aching to tear Amarantha to pieces.

I look at those bodies and see my children. I see Aurelia. I see her eyes in that female's face, pretty and blue and filled with joy.

They are her parents. There is no doubt.

“These bodies have been rotting for over a year now. I should really have them cleaned off the wall.. But I relish in the faces that pass by. Makes people remember their place. But I shouldn’t bore you with my executions. I'm sure you've had your fair share of that back at home already.”

“Father's rule is ever so peaceful. The people are behaved. Unlike yours. Hardly surprised that you have to result to such extremes just for a shrivel of respect.” I passed her, walking away from the dungeon I no longer wanted to see.

I felt the snake around my neck slither slowly, its hiss soft and and quiet beneath my chin. ‘I want to mount her on that wall.’ I hear her little mind say. ‘Niamh, those were..”

‘I know.’

‘Will you tell Aurelia?’

It’ll break her heart. Aside from Uri, every one of those Prythian children still hope that they could be reunited with their families, whomever remains still. They still hold on to that hope that someone, anyone, or just one in their family might still be alive. 

Knowing the horrors her parents were subjected to in her absence will break her. It’d break anyone but..

‘I'll have to.’

     — —

I was careful to put on gloves today. One touch on a servant or prisoner or even the walls then I might live their pain. After our tour, Amarantha kept me in her little receiving room, with the Attor beside me, watching my every move. We talked about Hybern and the troops she left behind, how I graciously became their beacon of leadership in her absence and how they like me better. All the things that I thought might prick a nerve. And I was right.

“How goes the ruling bit of your vacation?” I ask, my eyes to the balcony that revealed the sky void of clouds.

“If his Majesty is getting impatient he can suck it up and wait. I'm not done here yet.” She hissed, the eye in her ring twitching. 

“What of the lordling you're trying to court, hm? Any luck there?” Her eyes narrowed and before she could open her mouth I let out a slight laugh. 

“Thought so~”

“It is in progress. He is being.. difficult.” She inhales then smiles her usual wicked one. “But, it shouldn't take too long.. Forty-nine years is almost up. Sooner than late.. he will come to me.”

I raise a brow, “What does that mean?”

Amarantha plays with her silver goblet, admiring how the red swirls in the cup before taking a sip. “I took your advice to heart, Niamh, believe it or no. I sought the Spring Court and invited them to a ball to offer my sincerest apologies after I gauged some boy's eye out. A masquerade ball.” Her gaze flickered to my mask, a wicked fondness spread across her face. “And yet. with all my efforts to see peace between us he.. refused. And.. insulted me.”

A laugh escapes me, earning me a glare from the pretender. But she said nothing as a retort or made an attempt to reprimand me. She only seethed silently and rolled her eyes at me.

“And so I cursed him and the entirety of his foolish flock of hens. If he does not break the curse in seven times seven years.. He will bend the knee to me and become my consort. If he does not bend, I will break him, command his bones to sit on the chair beside me.”

I fight the urge to scoff as I leaned back in my seat. I fear that if I don’t soothe myself I might lunge at her. “And? You still think he'll submit to you then? When for five centuries he refused to do so?”

“He's at his wits end. His powers are dwindling, he cannot defy me any longer.”

The mask hides my growing glare. Any more and I might’ve broken the damn thing with my burning stare alone. This bitch. As soon as I left in my last visit, she cursed him.

She cursed Tamlin.

“And when did this curse begin?”

“A year remains. And I shall await my consort.. with due patience~”

I inhaled the air, slowly, taking in her words yet I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. I feel my hand grip the arms of my seat. I need to calm down. 

“And once it's over, then what? When he submits to you, will you finally fulfil your mission?”

“I will rule with my consort as I see fit.” She said simply, shrugging carelessly, as if it were the obvious answer.

I look away, a faint huff of laughter escapes me, harsh and bitter. If I let my gaze linger on her for a moment longer, with her red lipped grin and her horrid black eyes, I would have recreated our duel a century ago. Gods, do I crave to be coated with her blood once more…

“You're pathetic..”

“Excuse me?”

“Resulting in cursing an entire land to get what you want.”

“I will stop at nothing to achieve my goals. You have doubted my capabilities for long enough.”

“My doubts are never wrong.” I stand, marching towards her, each step of my heels like thunder, the room trembling as if responding to my every stride. I clawed at the back of her chair, meeting her dull eyes through the slits of my mask as she visibly froze.

“You are an ill-made, spiteful little devil.” With fingers clenching the back of her chair, I meet onyx through the slits of my mask. There is hatred boiling in those black eyes, hatred uniquely reserved for me. Yet, she doesn't dare move. Time has done little to quench the bitter memory of that duel, the one that left her humbled, broken, and humiliated. With fear now overshadowing any remaining hatred, she knows better than to challenge the one who had once drove a blade into her wretched heart. 

“You came from nothing and had to climb your way up to power. And even then you're weak and useless. You flaunt power that does not even belong to you. You think the King is impressed? He does not even spare you a thought. You are irrelevant. In Hybern. In Prythian. In any land you dare step on—you are nothing.”

I felt her fists clench around the arms of her chair that she almost broke it. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner? You think I care what your father thinks? Long have I stopped caring about what he thinks. I made myself Queen in a matter of years and yet you still belittle my achievements. While you, the insipid little princess that you are, still cower and follow every command he throws at you. Are you so jealous that I made something of myself while you still grovel for your father's attention?”

I huffed a quick laugh. “It is not I who grovels for a male’s attention.” I bite back. “I do not curse entire lands in hopes that he might look at me. I do not brutalise peasants in hopes that he might swoon over my cruelty. I do not force people to like me. And yet.. I won over Father. I won over his Court. You made yourself Queen and yet you're still unlikable.”

“You forget yourself. You are no more tool, a plaything to the King than I. You think he will commend you for tormenting me? You think you'll win his affections and tell you he's proud of you, his little girl? He will cast you aside as he did I.”

I let go of the chair, allowing her air to breathe as I stepped back. “He has already commended me. I am High Commander of all his forces. He's crowned me heir apparent in your absence. Father loves me. His court respects me.”

She lets out a mocking laugh, bitter and fake. “You fool yourself, Niamh. Pray tell, what do you hide under those gloved hands?”

“Power. Power he didn't think, not once, to give to you. Tool I may be. But I'm his favourite weapon to wield. I have worked hard and I have earned the love and respect of my court. Queen you are, but only in name. This is not your land. These are not your people. The power you wield isn't yours. You're a pretender through and through. Perhaps if you yield now Father and his court may be merciful. Save them from this embarrassment of a conquest—”

A loud thud echoed through the room as Amarantha unleashed her fury, her clenched fists slamming into the arm of her chair, splintering the bone.

“I. Do not. Want. His mercy. I do not want to be in his Court. I never want to be his tool ever again!! You of all people should know the horrors he inflicts upon people. He's truly broken you, hasn't he?” 

“Perhaps. And maybe I am stronger for it. I've never been more myself.” The lie felt like sand on my tongue as I uttered it.

She walks towards me now, daring to close the space between us. “What do you want? Why have you come here, Niamh, truly?”

A smirk fades into my face while I tilt my head. “Do I need a reason? Maybe I merely enjoy tormenting you. Everyone needs a tormenter. These people have you. I have the King.. And you have me~”

“You are awfully interested in Prythian affairs. What have you done to those children I gave you several decades back?”

I pause. “I brought them to a feast.”

“Did you?”

“Hm. Young ones are.. so full of fresh blood.” She narrows her eyes as if trying to figure me out. “Why? Any more gifts for me..~?” I asked which earned me a scoff.

Amarantha scoffed and crossed her arms. “You've overstayed your welcome. No more gifts.”

I clicked my teeth. “Pity.” I step towards the balcony.

“Any rebellion brewing beneath the caves these past decades?”

“If there were, I've put them down.” She leans back in her seat, curbing her fury that I could still very much feel even from a distance. “A few Courts tried years back. They failed. And so I took their young from them and wrought havoc to their Courts.”

I flinched. “How many?”

“Two dozen from the Winter Court. Pity, you were not here to.. take them with you.”

“A shame.” I look back to the grey skies of the a Middle. There's an ominous fog that enveloped this place. Though, I hoped that what lay beyond the mist would be the Prythian Velaria and the children always talked about.

“How do you keep the citizens in check outside the Mountain? Those who did not join their courts?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I cursed the land so they may not leave their borders. snuffing out any seeds of rebellion before they even take root. Clever little things they are though, managed to lure in mortals to serve as messengers. A pitiful attempt. One that I've crushed and continue to look over.”

I know. I saw them mounted to the walls with the butchered fae during our tour. A twisted form of trophy. I am no stranger to such displays, much of Father's palace decorations are from mortal remains. Another reason why I cannot stand to visit the dreadful place. It reeks. Even more than Under The Mountain.

I feel the snake– Velaria, slither around my neck. ‘He's not here.’ I speak to her little reptile mind. ‘I haven't seen him all day, not even during the tour. I do not know where he is.’ She hisses and hugs my neck tighter as if to say, ‘Find him.’ 

I sigh and turn to Amarantha. “And where are the High Lords now? Still hiding them from me? Too afraid I might belittle you in their presence?”

“I think they rather not see you. Not after your little display on your last visit, taking their children like that.” 

Right..

“And where is your.. errand boy?” I look to the door, as if a small part of me hoped that the male would interrupt us as he did during our last visit.

“Rhysand is off making errands, as you say.”

Velaria hisses quietly below my chin. “What dirty work does he do for you?”

“All good work for his Queen~ Out of all the wretched little things under us, all are worthless to me. But Rhysand.. he is a doll.”

I fight the urge to cringe. “Another bedwarmer?”

“He offered himself willingly.”

“And his Court?”

“Some of them live here away from their little Hewn City. A wonderful place really. I had Under The Mountain moulded in its image. You know? To make my Rhysand.. feel more at home?” She grinned and Velaria's snake body darted out as she hissed at her, which only earned her a scowl from the pretender Queen.

“Control your animal, Niamh.” Amarantha snapped at me, scowling at the creature wrapped around my neck.

I could only smile, putting a hand in front of the snake's head. “The little one does not like you~”

She snarled at the creature, “I mislike snakes.” She muttered.

“Really? What a surprise. Considering yourself..”

“If you do not have anything else to discuss with me you are free to leave and return to Hybern.”

“I shan't. I'm on.. vacation~”

“Vacation?”

“I'm to travel around the island. Fulfill errands of my own.” I said, which wasn't a lie. Father told me to scan the island and draw out any magic that will lead him to the missing parts of the Cauldron. And while I do that I shall also enjoy my time and treat it as a vacation.

“I hope you haven't ravaged the lands so much that I cannot enjoy its beauty?”

“Unfortunately I have not. I'm getting to it. I assure you Prythian is most beautiful when its lands are ravaged..”

I roll my eyes, fighting the groan in my throat. “Then I bid you goodbye. Till the next I torment you again, My Queen~”

     — —

I carry the snake around my neck only to find her sulking in my hands. “I revoke my curse.” I command in whispers and a dark aura envelops the snake before returning her back to her original form, with her slender figure and big Illyrian bat wings folded behind her. She stumbled a bit so I had to grab her wrist to ground her.

“He.. He wasn't there.”

“He wasn't.” I frown when I see her dejected face. “I'm sorry.”

She breathes the wretched air of the Middle then her features softened. “At least he is alive. Thank the Mother.. he is alive.”

“Gods, Niamh. It's even worse than I thought. That place.. is as dreadful as Hewn City. Even more.” She shook her head. “We need to help them.”

“I fear their is not much I can do. I can torment Amarantha all I like. But I cannot interfere with her reign. That is.. the one rule Father gave me.” I look down. “The experiment continues.”

“She’s turned the Middle into.. into..”

I inhaled, “A cheap copy of Hybern, I know..”

“What do we do now..? Will you actually search for those missing pieces?”

“I have no choice. I’ll have to. Returning the information I’ve found, however.. is another matter entirely.” I managed to smile. But not even that lasted.

“First.. I need to know more about the curse she put onto the High Lord of Spring.”

She tipped her chin upward, her eyes hinting silent surprise that quickly faded before she nodded.

"We’ll get to it. But first things first.." She trails of as she took my hands. "Let me show you around Prythian as I promised” She suggested instead and I felt my heart skip a bit, a my lips curling into a smile.

"Alright.."

Velaria links her arm with mine and we begin walking away from the dreadful Mountain. “Where do I even start? Autumn and Summer are close. Winter is right below but it's awfully cold there. I would rather not freeze to death on the start of our.. tour. And I’d do anything to be far, far away from this ghastly place.”

She stood behind me and covered my eyes before I heard the snap her fingers, winnowing us away from the Middle within seconds.

And immediately I felt the air shift.

Slowly she let go of my head, gently uncovering my eyes. Gradually, the world around me emerged—warm colors danced everywhere, the cold breeze swayed leaves in odd shapes and carried the crisp fragrance of soil mingled with the soothing scent of rain-kissed earth.

I can feel Velaria stifle a chuckle as my face betrays the look of wonder, my eyes showing yearning for the smallest of things. Even my heart began to race that I felt a twinge of embarassment for it. It is pathetic, I'm sure. And I ought to contain my childish excitement. 

Velaria lets out a heavy sigh after she inhales the fresh, autumn air. And I did the same. I breathed in the air that was so strange, unfamiliar, nice. And I kept sniffing the air like every breath was a need and I have suffocated for years and years on end. Because I have. 

“Ah.. That's the smell. Gods. It smells soo nice here. No offence but Hybern air could not compare.”

“I know. None taken.” The words came out of me without thought, my eyes focused only on the view below, a sea of warm coloured trees stretched before me. An ocean of red and orange and yellow leaves gently swayed by the wind. It was as if the Mother herself had used the Earth as her canvas, lavishly splashing brilliant, warm colors across the landscape. I have never seen anything so colourful. 

“The forest.. It's.. big.”

“Is it not?” She gushed as she smiled happily. “Autumn and Spring are very well covered with trees and forests. The High Lord of Autumn has his abode set at the heart of the Court, built not with stone but through trees called the Forest House!"

“But that is horrible. How would the place hold when enemy attacks with fire?” I asked. A genuine question. 

But Velaria laughs softly, thinking my question to be silly. “Magic, maybe? Fire is Autumn’s especially. But I can't believe that's your first question. Come, we'll explore together.” She holds my hand.

I smiled and I let her lead me wherever she pleased whether or not she knew where to go. And all the while we explored the lush forests, I kept admiring the canopy of leaves up above, and how the sun peeked through the cracks, mildly blinding me. And more often than not, Velaria had to remind me to watch my step, to look forward and not upward when I could trip on twigs and branches hidden under the pool of maple leaves that swallowed my ankles. 

Maple leaves. It is what they're called. 

“Aurelia asked me to bring her some big maple leaves. So she may preserve it and put it on her bedside table.”

“Ah, right. The list. We can grab a few. The biggest maple leaf for her to preserve.”

I summon the list before me, looking for the things the children back at the Lighthouse requested. “Clem wants knitted scarves. Rory did not list anything but.. I'm going to get him scarves too.” 

Velaria chuckled. “Then we better start looking for their things.”

     — —

Autumn is warm and vibrant, even as an endless canopy of leaves blankets the sky, veiling the sun. Yet, the people of this Court are visibly on edge. Expected, given the blight infecting the lands and their High Lord nowhere in sight. I learned that there are several princes, all of them stuck Under the Mountain save for one. The one in Spring just next door.

I feel my heart clench inside my chest. Not yet. I cannot go there yet.

Velaria had whisked me away to a territory south east of the mountains that border Winter and Autumn, leading me to a quaint village tucked deep within a forest, weakly warded with magic I easily walked into. Some sections of the place bore the faint signs of destruction, with children claiming that they had been attacked by forces loyal to Amarantha. It seemed that the damage was old enough that the villagers had made significant progress in rebuilding. But the trauma of such an attack, no matter how minor, no doubt still lingers on the people’s faces.

I had myself glamoured like the commonfolk as did Velaria, my mask long discarded since leaving Amarantha's abode and my silver strands turned to a dark amber color. We strolled through the town in silence, trying not to draw attention to ourselves before Velaria pointed to a market square at the center of the town. She turned into a walking encyclopedia for the many things that were foreign to me. Jams. Scented candles. Roasted nuts. The infamous pumpkin I keep hearing about.

Amazing. It’s like a whole new world of things in this humble little square.

And, and, while Velaria was off exploring more stalls, I have been introduced to the art of crochet. Knitted scarves line several vendor's lineup of products, many of them a variety of colourful scarves, the threads often representing repeated patterns and images of acorns and pumpkins. I’ve commissioned an artisan for several scarves, one for every Autumn-born child, and watched as she made them for me. Apparently, I’ve made her uncomfortable with my ogling her work and so I stopped staring and just sat there looking at something else.

When Velaria returned she came back to me now sitting beside the young crochet artisan with a thread of yarn and hook of my own, my eyes set on the artisan's skilled, furry little hands, imitating her every move.

In the end, I got my knitted scarves and managed to make.. a hat. Though.., too small for my head. I have neglected the measurements it seems. The artisan also gifted me the crochet hook along with a bundle of yarn for my extra payment. I thanked her kindly and erased everyone’s mind of me and Velaria's visit before setting off.

“Wow~ Quick learner, aren't you?” She bumped into my arm as she looked at my creation.

I couldn’t help but smile proudly. “Thank you. Do you like it?” I watched as she put on the small hat on her head. It did not fit her either. 

“It's pretty. In no time, you'll be a master knitter.”

“It is called crochet.”

“Crochet–er..”

“I want to taste pumpkin.” I suddenly blurted out. 

And Velaria wasted no time in leading me to a nearby inn, eager to treat my stomach to the delicacies of the Autumn Court. Velaria ordered me a bowl of pumpkin soup. She did not warn me of the spice part. And so when I ate my fill I did so with my face as red as the owner's beard. I didn't want to be rude so I finished it, every spoonful tasted sweet and warm and.. different. Despite the tears that began to form in the corner of my eyes, I was happy because I finally knew what pumpkin tasted like. Velaria on the other hand, had her head rolled back as she laughed at me and my reddened face.

I am used to her doing that. More often than not, my reaction to the smallest of things amuses the hell out of her. 

“Good?” The owner asked, his voice just as amused. 

I nod, unable to say anything as I gulp down the final drop of burning soup. “M-mhm.. A-amaziiing..” With my compliment, the owner smiled happily and nudged my shoulders.

We winnowed to the borders of Autumn soon after for the Summer Court. We walked in silence, the only sounds being the crunching of leaves beneath footsteps and Velaria's stifled giggles. 

My tongue still burns..

“Velaria. Enough.” I sigh. “It is not that funny.”

“It's a little funny..”

“I find you often laugh at my misery.” I pout. 

“Oh, I cannot help it, you are cute when you're utterly clueless.”

“I wouldn't have been clueless if you warned me of the soup's spice. I don't know if I tasted more spice than I did pumpkin. What if you ruined pumpkin for me forever?” I sigh.

“You overexaggerate.” I hear her snort. “High Commander of Hybern forces.. cannot handle spice..” She bursts into giggles again and I roll my eyes. Yet there is a smile on my face. 

“Any other spicy foods I should be wary of in Summer because I..” I was about to continue speaking when the sun's warm rays suddenly hit me, no longer shielded by the leafy canopy above. 

The heat was.. intense, the brightness nearly blinding. I shut my eyes instinctively, and when I opened them again, I was stunned by the sight that greeted me: a vast expanse of open skies painted with fluffy white clouds.

Never could I imagine Hybern with such scenery. In Hybern, the land is bleak, the skies perpetually covered in a haze of murky clouds and fog, barely allowing the faintest touch of sunlight.

“I never knew.. that clouds could arrange themselves to create a canvas of such beauty, or that the sun could shine with such fervor,.. that it's warm when it touches me.” My voice cracks as I whisper, my eyes narrowed and blinded by the sun and yet I could not tear my eyes off of it.

Velaria was silent behind me, still shielded by the shade of Autumn trees. But I sensed her turmoil within. Maybe she pitied me. For being imprisoned in the shadows for so long that even the most mundane of natural wonders felt foreign to me.. I would pity myself as well.

She gently touched my hand, her touch firm yet soft as she gently tugs at my fingers, silently beckoning me to follow her. “Come. I'll take you to Adriata..” 

I did not budge.

“Niamh?”

“Wait.” And I stare for a while more. Then more. Until I found myself under the shade casted by Velaria's large wing above my head.

“Can we.. go.. now?” She asks, and I gently swat her wing away.

“Wait.”

And so we wait for a few more minutes. Maybe an hour. Or two. Velaria is sitting in the ground now, her huge wings shielding her from the sun since I refused her.

“Can we go now?” I hear her muffled voice from inside her wing shelter.

“Wait..” My eyes are burning. I might be blind. A little woozy, even. But Mother above, does it look beautiful.

“Niamh, you will literally get a sunburn.” She stood up at last and covered my head with her wing once more.

“We're leaving now.” She grabbed my hand and winnowed us someplace else, under the shade of a peculiar looking tree.

“Gods above, you're red. It’s like the Cauldron have boiled you!” She was torn between horrified and close to bursting into a fit of laughter again. “You look like you've been cooked by the sun!”

I smiled wide and touched my face. Oh. It stings. “Really? Am I tan like you?”

“More like.. red.” She snorted and hesitated to touch my apparently burnt face. I was still smiling. And she was on the verge of cackling again.

“Does it look bad?”

“Heal yourself before we waltz inside Adriata looking like I have a fried chicken walking beside me.” She cackles. “If you show your wings you'd actually look like fried fowl. Raw, barely cooked.. fowl.”

“You are a very mean Illyrian..” I mocked a pout and did as she told and healed myself with a pat of the palms to my cheek.

Velaria took me to the main city of Summer called Adriata, near the beach, overlooking the harbor. Unlike the dense forests of Autumn, Summer's territory was largely composed of flat lands veiled in sparkling sand. And unlike Autumn, the people here seemed much more downtrodden. The golden castle once perched regally atop the water now lay in ruin, its once-brilliant walls scorched by flames. The docks that lined the harbor were torn asunder, with sections now sunk into the depths of the sea. The air was tinged with the scent of the sea and decaying fish as many fishers frantically came and went carrying baskets of fish they claimed to be dead. 

So it seems she poisoned their oceans too.

These poor people. What could they have possibly done to deserve this? And what could I do to help them? Before I could think, I was pulled away from the busy harbor and winnowed to empty shores.

“I will show you around first. You thinking of ways to help these people can come later.” She crossed her arms.

“It is.. beginning to become difficult to enjoy this.. ‘vacation’, given the circumstances.”

“I know. And I want to help them, too but.. I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

“Waiting for what?”

She let go of my shoulders and pointed at the ocean. “Showing you the beach, silly Niamh.”

“Oh..” A smile creeped onto my face. I can’t deny that I was feeling excited at the thought of dipping my feet into the water. “Of course.”

Before the water could touch me, I summoned the scroll of requests and read Soleil and Tesni’s writing. “What's a conch?” I looked at Velaria as she ran to the shore, then stopped immediately as I asked a question. 

“Are you serious?” She deadpanned, her voice tinged with disbelief. I responded with a shrug and a shake of my head, a small smile present on my face.

“Seashells, Niamh??” I shake my head again.

“I will bite your father's head off, I swear to the Mother above.” She muttered under her breathe before inhaling. “Come here. I'll show you.”

Hesitantly I followed her to the approaching waves. She took off her shoes and told me to do the same. When the waves came and swept under me, seemingly pulling me towards the ocean, I lost my balance and struggled to stand, the sand slowly sinking beneath my feet as Velaria reached for my gloved arm. She laughs and I couldn't help but do the same. Water splashes onto my clothes, droplets hitting my face and I taste salt in my tongue when I smile. 

Velaria looked down to the sandy floor, the water, despite being cursed by whatever Amarantha did to it, was still pristine blue and clear. Vel reaches out to the floor, occasionally being pushed forward by waves.

She then presented me with tiny stones. 

“This is a seashell.” She says, showing me the circular looking thing, pale blue and yellow colours twisted to the centre of its body. “And this is a conch.” She presents me a larger shell, one not so circular, spiral shaped with tiny spikes twisting into a small spire.

“Conches and seashells are alive actually. But these ones are dead, I think. Just shells. Makes for pretty decor. Maybe we can make a collection for Soleil and Tesni.” She hands them to me and keeps looking for more while I follow behind. 

We spent a good while looking for conches and seashells. I lost the first ones Vel found when I was pushed to the water by a big wave. The water was salty, truly. I had swallowed a good mouthful of it. Velaria, of course, found it funny, dropping her collection of shells to hold her tummy as she laughed at me and the seaweeds that newly adorned my head. How dare she. In retaliation, I flung water to her face. In which resulted in a battle that had us both drenched in sea water from head to toe.

She decided that the shell collecting could wait and before long she was dragging me to the deeper parts of the ocean that the water reached my collarbones. I whined and cried and begged her to bring me back to shore because I.. could not.. swim..

“Oh, you'll be fine. I'll fly you out if you drown.” She clicked her teeth and winked at me.

Velaria is many things. A good swim teacher is not one of them. I lost count on how many times she let me get swept by the waves. In the end, I gave up and just clung to her arm like a slug. We stuck to shell collecting on shallow waters soon after. And when we were satisfied with the amount Velaria suggested: sand castle building. And so while I watched her make a horrendous looking hovel made of sand, I looked through the list of requests again.

“Tesni wants a spider.” I said and Velaria looked at me weird.

“Why would she want a spider?” 

I shrugged and showed her the list. “Is this not a drawing of an arachnid?” I asked.

She looked at the paper for a moment and looked me dead in the eye. “Niamh. That's a crab.”

“What's a crab?”

     — —

Crabs. Crabs are wonderful creatures. I spent a good hour watching them head to sea in a beautiful line while Vel stood watch with her wings spread, protecting the crustaceans from prying seagulls. Crustaceans. That's what they are. Not arachnids. 

Vel gave up on her sand castle after the waves took over and left nothing but a lump of sand in its wake, which was no different from the structure she was working on anyway. Then we head to the city, glamoured like the common folk and still soaking wet because Vel wanted me to try ice cream. And I am proud to say that ice cream has completely altered my brain and that I will have to recreate the dessert back in Hybern. 

I also learned what a coconut was and drank from it and ate its insides. Very nice. Very refreshing. Not spicy at all.

“Do you live under a rock?” The little water wraith child pointed at me. I hear Velaria’s chuckle behind me. ‘She does.’ She murmured.

I asked the child about Amarantha’s curse upon Spring and he thought I’d been playing dumb. Apparently, everyone knows what happened. 

“There was a ball before the first year of Amarantha's reign came to a close. A.. what’s it called? Masquerade ball? She invited the people of Spring to make amends. She offered a seat beside her for the High Lord, to serve as her consort! He refused, of course. Insulted her to her face and faced her wrath for it!”

I hear Velaria suck a breath beside me. “What did she do?” I asked.

“She glued the masks to their faces. Everyone in Spring apparently has them now. She turned the High Lord's heart into stone, putting him in a curse that entails.. that if he doesn't break it in forty-nine years, he will have to surrender and uhm.. ‘bend the knee’, as my brother said..”

“And the curse.. What was it?”

“He had to find himself a human who has hatred for Fae in her heart. He had to bring her to Prythian and make her fall for him. Fall for him truly. Only then.. the curse will be broken and the people of Spring will be freed”

“Only the people of Spring?”

She nods. “If he breaks it, his powers will return to him. He can kill her!”

“And.. has he.. begun the search?”

The girl frowned. “We do not know. We do not know what's happening in Spring anymore. We used to have people.. informants. Human mortals. My brother suspected.. they've been found and killed. There's no way to know now. Less than a year remains.. We're at the mercy of The Unfading one now.”

I was silent for a while as I processed her words.

The weight of not just the Spring Court weighed on his shoulders now. It’s the entirety of Prythian. All the while his powers have been weakened. I felt my heart sink in my chest that it might’ve stopped beating. 

He has to break the curse. He has to..

I felt Velaria’s hand on my shoulders before she knelt before the child in front of us. “Don’t lose hope.” She said. 

The child smiles faintly. “Most of us already have.” She said before running off to catch up to other wraiths who returned to the water to search for more dead fish.

“Niamh.” Velaria calls to me, her hand soft on my arm.

Yet I couldn't hear her..

Masks. Glued onto their faces. I’ve had a mask on my face for as long as I could remember. Amarantha struck me during that one visit. My mask fell. She held it. She held it and the gears in the horrid head began turning. My mask inspired her. I inspired the wretched curse.

And now..

“Niamh..?"

I felt like throwing up.

“I want to go fishing.” I said instead.

     — —

I didn’t want to dwell on it. It’s not my fault. It’s not.. Yet when I do, the guilt gnaws in my chest like a damn parasite. I could only turn to something else to distract myself, distract Velaria because I know well she’s noticed that I’ve been acting strange since the revelation of that curse.

So when the opportunity presented itself, I had volunteered myself to fish near the.. ‘coral reefs’, whatever that was. The fishers needed all the help they could get, after all. Only.. I did not know how to fish. Velaria pretended she could, only to sit there on the raft for hours without anything catching her bait. I stood and watched them, a bit embarrassed to admit I spend a good amount of time just gawking at the colorful reef below the water. A perfect momentary distraction. Only then I knew what corals were. And they were.. so very pretty.

And while I sat there on the edge of the fishers’ raft, I let my left glove disintegrate for a moment, allowing my bare fingers to dip and swirl in the water. I focused my magic, altering the curse that Amarantha had placed on it to.. ease their work. I would only aim to reverse the blight in a small area, hoping to alleviate the fishers' plight without drawing too suspicion. Because Amarantha will find out and the people will surely suffer her wrath for something they once again didn’t do.

The few fishers that were on the raft freaked out when they felt their line tugged beneath the water, thanking the Mother above for such a miracle. Velaria looked at me, knowing well that the miracle was me, and patted me on the head.

The people of Summer couldn't hide their euphoria, now that their bellies were full with the fish. They held a spontaneous celebration by the docks, with some fishermen too impatient to cook their catch at home, instead indulging right there and then. They shared whatever they could do those in need. I needed no fish to fill me, but I was happily shared some either way. 

The people of Summer proved to be as warm and welcoming as the land they lived in.., which is why I regretted deeply that I had to wipe myself and Velaria from their memories before we left.

I do not know what the future holds.. But may there be many more fishes to come to keep those smiles on their faces.

     — —

It's dark when our adventures in Summer ended. Velaria, too tired to enter another Court, suggested we stay on the shores and wait for daylight. So we did. We lay on the sand with the waves still singing in the background and the birds flying overhead and into the sun that sank below, meeting its reflection in the horizon.

I’m not obligated to return to Hybern even if the sun came down as the King instructed me to seek out the three legs of the Cauldron anyway. And so far I have not found nor sensed the priestesses who possess them so.. I dub my vacation extended.

I do not see Hybern in the distance. A good thing. And while Father is out of sight and out of reach, the golden cuffs around my wrist itches still, reminding me that even if he isn't here I am still bound to him and my cage doesn't depend on where I am.. My cage is always with me.

And I am never truly free.

I let the gloves covering my arms disintegrate, letting the cool air brush past the cursed skin of my blackened hands. I fidgeted with the green handkerchief securing the end of my braid, tugging at it until it came undone, freeing the glamour-woven strands. Now revealed was my true hair - a striking silver cascade, shimmering in the sunlight as it fell onto the sand.. 

Slowly, I tie the cloth to my wrist, above the golden cuff, hiding it. Replacing it.

Velaria seems to notice. She lays beside me, her big wings spread freely after a whole day of hiding it.

“Where do you wish to go tomorrow?” She asks, her hand touching mine. 

“Anywhere is fine.. Anywhere is beautiful, surely..” I did not tear my eyes off the clouds as the first tiny silvery specks of stars began to appear, paving way to dusk’s fleeting moment of splendor before night.

“Winter is right up north. Spring to the south.” She says, looking at me as she did.

“Winter.” I say quickly. “Let's go to Winter first. Then Dawn. Day. Then, Night.” I look at her. “To Velaris, if you wish.”

“Do you not want to go to Spring?”

“Do you?”

She said nothing. 

“We can go to Spring last.” I said, turning my gaze back to the changing hues of the skies.

And for a moment, there was peaceful silence between us as we let our eyes rest with the view of the coming of twilight. 

“Why did you snap at Amarantha when she told you of her curse to the Spring Lord?” Her voice was a mere whisper and I fought myself to remain unflinching at her question. Of course she noticed.

Because he is mine..

“Because it was a horrible thing. What she did. I.. The common folk are easy enough to fool. If we wander about Spring with a High Lord present, I doubt we would be so lucky.” I lied. A weak attempt. I know she sees through the lie. Because there is no place and no person I couldn't fool. Not when I could just erase their memories after meeting them. 

Yet she let it slide this time, never prying, always patient.

In truth, it is the High Lord of Spring that I am avoiding. The fear of meeting him and running the risk of the bond snapping for him at last and ruining his efforts of breaking whatever curse Amarantha has brought upon him. I could laugh. That I am here, avoiding my mate when some would commit atrocities to find theirs. Avoiding my mate so that he may find himself a human mortal to make his lover lest he's faced with a worse alternative.

Either way I lose him to another. 

Perhaps I am scared that the bond will snap and I will be unable to control myself. I will ruin him, I will ruin myself and the plans I've well crafted throughout the centuries. The plot against the King, to free my people and myself from our golden shackles.

And so I will sacrifice myself again. And pray.. that in the future I may find him again. And if he's happy with another I will accept the outcome with a stiff lip. 

I close my eyes. My thoughts have not found respite. I have not seen him in what feels like an eternity, his face is all but fading in my mind. And when I close my eyes like this it is gold that I see. Not the gold of my cuffs, or gold of coins. I see golden locks reflecting the shine of the fiery sun. I see green and eternal fields of roses. When we wandered about Autumn, it is to his Court my gaze wanders to and I imagine– I yearn to run to the border and feel the bond tickle at the pulse in my wrist, tugging at it, pulling at it. When we wandered about Summer, the shimmering sand below my feet reminded me of his hair and I wondered if his locks would flow so softly between my fingers as did the sand when it fell through the cracks of my hands.

“Then we will go to Winter.” She held my hand tighter. “I warn you though, it's cold.”

“I got that from the name, Vel.”

The two seasonal courts have embraced me so kindly, with Autumn's warmth and Summer's fresh ocean air, I have no doubt that the others will too. I have no doubt that snow will be as captivating as the children say, nor do the libraries tempt me to stay in Day. I have no doubt that the skies are most beautiful when it's dimly lit like a candle's flame in the quiet of Dawn. I have no doubt that Velaris is as beautiful as Velaria described, adorned with a thousand falling crystals that light up its dark skies.

Yet deep down, I find myself yearning for what lies to the south. Spring consumes my thoughts, beckoning me with its lush plains and colourful blooms. Sights that I could only conjure in my mind. 

It is Spring that I long to experience above all else.

     — —     — —

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.5 ___ Ch.7>>

A/n: She's going through it 😭 Such a yearner, she wants him so bad 😔😔 girl me too. Getting attached with the Lighthouse children ngl. They are important to me and the plot 😔♥ I want more lesser fae that are not literally just humans with pointed ears. I want Holly Black kind of fae people, that's what most of the children Niamh keeps are, not entirely humanlike, but a good balance between humanoid and creature. Myb I'll draw them aaa

Vel showing her around or just her getting to know Prythian reminded me of this song. Niamh is so Ariel-coded ngl 🥹