#curious girdle

[scripture-pictures]

[kiralamouse]

Am curious how many ways this commentator will pronounce Saskia Oettinghaus's surname.

[mortalityplays]

Hi! I really liked and agreed with your post on purple prose, and I was curious what books if any you'd describe as having purple prose. Not even necessarily as shorthand for calling it bad! just examples of it, especially from non-classic literature. Unless the term is entirely subjective lol. Feel free to reply to this ask publicly or privately; I don't mind either way

Have some Conan the Barbarian (sorry about! the racism):

TORCHES flared murkily on the revels in the Maul, where the thieves of the east held carnival by night. In the Maul they could carouse and roar as they liked, for honest people shunned the quarters, and watchmen, well paid with stained coins, did not interfere with their sport. Along the crooked, unpaved streets with their heaps of refuse and sloppy puddles, drunken roisterers staggered, roaring. Steel glinted in the shadows where wolf preyed on wolf, and from the darkness rose the shrill laughter of women, and the sounds of scufflings and strugglings. Torchlight licked luridly from broken windows and wide-thrown doors, and out of those doors, stale smells of wine and rank sweaty bodies, clamor of drinking-jacks and fists hammered on rough tables, snatches of obscene songs, rushed like a blow in the face. In one of these dens merriment thundered to the low smoke- stained roof, where rascals gathered in every stage of rags and tatters—furtive cut-purses, leering kidnappers, quick- fingered thieves, swaggering bravoes with their wenches, strident-voiced women clad in tawdry finery. Native rogues were the dominant element—dark-skinned, dark-eyed Zamorians, with daggers at their girdles and guile in their hearts. But there were wolves of half a dozen outland nations there as well. There was a giant Hyperborean renegade, taciturn, dangerous, with a broadsword strapped to his great gaunt frame—for men wore steel openly in the Maul. There was a Shemitish counterfeiter, with his hook nose and curled blue-black beard. There was a bold- eyed Brythunian wench, sitting on the knee of a tawny-haired Gunderman—a wandering mercenary soldier, a deserter from some defeated army. And the fat gross rogue whose bawdy jests were causing all the shouts of mirth was a professional kidnapper come up from distant Koth to teach woman-stealing to Zamorians who were born with more knowledge of the art than he could ever attain.

Conan is an interesting example imo because it displays a lot of the highs and lows of pulp. Robert E. Howard could also write very punchy, straightforward action, and often did - but part of the selling point for the emerging genre fiction of the era was that it was lurid and lascivious. While the extract above is. Well. Bad. It is worth recognising that within its context it was also kind of experimental.

Howard wrote these drooling, sort of bewildering, sensory passages for the same reason Marvel movies punch you in the face with saturated colours and rapid cuts and a billion VFX. You see it in the work of H.P. Lovecraft too, and I will grudgingly acknowledge that that's something worth recognising about his literary impact. I also think Lovecraft was a pretty bad technical writer, personally, but that's a whole other soapbox.

My point is that a lot of truly purple prose today (in the sense that it is extraneous, distracting, undermines its own function) traces its legacy to this era of pulp where there was a distinct secondary purpose to overwhelming the reader with ornamentation. It was self-consciously indulgent, and strikingly distinct from the more genteel floridity of equally bad literary novelists. For instance, compare the above with the even purpler prose of the famously awful Irene Iddesleigh:

On being introduced to all those outside his present circle of acquaintance on this evening, and viewing the dazzling glow of splendour which shone, through spectacles of wonder, in all its glory, Sir John felt his past life but a dismal dream, brightened here and there with a crystal speck of sunshine that had partly hidden its gladdening rays of bright futurity until compelled to glitter with the daring effect they soon should produce. But there awaited his view another beam of life’s bright rays, who, on entering, last of all, commanded the minute attention of every one present—this was the beautiful Irene Iddesleigh. How the look of jealousy, combined with sarcasm, substituted those of love and bashfulness! How the titter of tainted mockery rang throughout the entire apartment, and could hardly fail to catch the ear of her whose queenly appearance occasioned it! These looks and taunts serving to convince Sir John of Nature’s fragile cloak which covers too often the image of indignation and false show, and seals within the breasts of honour and equality resolutions of an iron mould. On being introduced to Irene, Sir John concluded instantly, without instituting further inquiry, that this must be the original of the portrait so warmly admired by him. There she stood, an image of perfection and divine beauty, attired in a robe of richest snowy tint, relieved here and there by a few tiny sprigs of the most dainty maidenhair fern, without any ornaments whatever, save a diamond necklet of famous sparkling lustre and priceless value.

Christ. Hopefully you can see the depth of the scale here - the Conan extract is muddy and difficult to read, but this is near incomprehensible. Part of the reason this passage is so much worse is that there is even less intent behind the author's use of language. Here, she is working overtime to evoke a kind of dramatic-intellectual style borrowed from writers like the Brontë sisters (imo at least - not an expert, that's just the sense I get as a reader). The further these flourishes get from lending purpose to the meaning of the prose, the harder they are to parse.

BUT my other point is: far fewer writers these days set out to emulate Irene Iddesleigh's arch, roundabout, society conscious voice than they do the hallmarks of classic pulp. We're inured to sex and violence, sin and debauchery in fiction today, so extracts like the Conan example feel even more bloated than they did in their time. And that creates a real pitfall for amateur genre writers: the instinct to pay homage to the stylistic choices of the classics can lead them right into Irene Iddesleigh territory.

Too often, the purpose of these overwrought, leering descriptions isn't calculated to thrill the audience, but to establish a piece in the company of older works the writer admires. And that's what leads to truly purple prose in contemporary genre writing, which makes readers scoff and laugh, which makes authors self-conscious and timid, which leads us here to a point where wordy description is inaccurately identified as the problem. It's not. The problem is excess - and when something has purpose, by definition, it's not excessive.

[aotearoa20]

correspondence and revelations shortly after Dagor Bragollach for @silmarillionepistolary

To, Caranthir Morifinwë Fëanorian Lord of the East

Dear cousin, it is with great sorrow which I greet you. The attacks of the Enemy took us all by surprise and I mourn the blow the loss of Thargelion will surely have on us all. Though I had never the chance to visit I had heard many great things of the eastern mountains, they were fair to behold, I am told, and I know that you loved it there. Still it gladdens me to hear that you and yours escaped for the most part unscathed. Know whatever aid and support we can spare is already on its way to you as you receive this letter.

I'm sure you know already that Celegorm and Curufin have taken up refuge among my people. You should know you they are well and whole. They, along with I, have sent letters detailing their arrival and stay. I have also sent some papers detailing preliminary adjustments to traderoutes and logistics for delivering aid among our people and allies. I am sure you have more than enough plans of your own and as always i defer to you judgement on such matters.

But all this aside I had another matter I wished to inform you of concerning one of the people of Haleth in Brethil. I have kept it to myself for some time but if anything has come from these last days is that none of us knows when doom will rear its head.

The Lady Haleth herself I met only a few times, when negotiating the terms of her people’s dwelling, and found her to be a woman of brusque and bright countenance. Indeed, when I learnt of her dealings with you I thought that the pair of you must have gotten on like a house on fire, else hated each other entirely. But I digress.

It was upon one of those meetings when I saw a child, I reckoned at the time, perhaps five by the count of Men often about her dwelling. No husband she ever spoke of nor did I ask. The child had her likeness and hearing of the tradgey that claimed the rest of her family, I thought perhaps his father had perished with her kin.

In truth, I thought little of it at all until some years ago, on a visit to the city of Menegroth, when I found a youth milling about the edges of the Girdle. It must have been two hundred years since I’d last seen him, the Haladin had since had two chieftains but the boy looked no older than twenty. He named himself a changeling in his own tongue and told me his father was one of the Eldar.

Erestor he called himself in Sindarin for though he’d lived among his people, at on the request of his mother had not taken her title. Instead he stayed as a counseler for his cousin and later his children and grandchildren. (The translation is a bit off I deem but he having learned more seems loath to correct it and resistant to advice) Either way, wishing to learn more of his father’s people and had come to Doriath to see if he may by his blood be permitted. I spoke with him a while and finding him genuine in his desire, brought him with me and vouched for him before Elu Thingol, the King.

Since then he visits the city every few summers and then returns to his people before the snows set in. He has had little trouble of it, for his mother’s features hide much of his fathers heritage and he is wont to pass through, drawing as little attention to himself as he can. But I found him curious and upon further investigation and despite his protests to the contrary, I am certain his father is Noldorin. In fact, on those rare occasions he does smiles without restrain cousin - were it not for his quiet temperament I know he did not inherit from his mother - I would have wondered if he was your own.

At any rate, considering the time and circumstances I first found him, it's likely it is that his father is among your people. I can think of any number of reasons such a thing would have been hidden from offical records but I truly doubt it could have happened without your knowledge. To the point, I thought, especially in the chaos of these days, you might pass on some news of the boy’s well being. I have had news from Brethil, written in the the his hand, they are well, if overwhelmed with refugees from Dor Lomin. But he is safe. Perhaps that might comfort his kin in Amon Ereb. And perhaps you could tell him that his child is a scholar in training. That he is happy, as much as any of us can be, and untouched by doom or darkness. May he remain so.

I hope I have not overstepped in my assumptions. Always I have hesitated in speaking on this subject. I just have with the loss of don't want to leave anything unsaid that ought to be.

That is all.

As I detailed before, i have sent ahead letters pertaining to more practical means. I have no doubt in your prompt reply. I wish you well, cousin. May Tilion watch your steps before the Dawn breaks.

Finrod Felagund King of Nargothrond

[gallusrostromegalus]

Do mermaids exist in tpof?

There's exactly one "Classic" Mermaid. A pregnant woman on the west coast of Ireland was afflicted by a curse where she'd give birth to a Lingcod instead of a human baby, but since she was carrying twins, the curse was split between them. One sister has a human head, chest and abdomen, and from her pelvic girdle on she has the powerful and beautiful tail of a Blue Lingcod. She's the current record holder for long-distance swimming, starred in several movies and holds multiple modelling contracts- but she's always been notably jealous of her sister, who has the head and chest of a Lingcod but the pelvis and legs of a human and (the source of her sister's ire) a devoted husband.

There's a few things that European sailors could have mistaken for human women while they were on long voyages, dying of syphilis and scurvy too- Dugong and Dolphins both exist in great numbers in TPOFATGIF, along with some very large Mimic Octopodes. But the most likely, or at least, most startling candidate is a creature only described in 1996- Ziphiius andersoni, or "Anderson's Beaked Whale", after the first ...semi-credible witness.

Ziphidae is a family of deep-diving whales whales known almost entirely by beached corpses, and Z. andersoni holds the peculiar title of the most and least seen member of the family. No body has ever been found to examine, but the animal is (apparently) the subject of many amateur sightings.

Like most Beaked Whales, Z. andersoni is about 13 feet long, and shaped like an extremely hydrodynamic sweet potato- a sharply tapered head, tubular body with small pectoral fins and a minimal dorsal fin, and an similarly sharply tapered tail with small fins, and a mouth with only two teeth- a pair of overdeveloped lower canine teeth that form a pair of tusks. Unlike most marine life, Z. andersoni has reverse Cryptic camouflage- where most marine animals are darkly colored on the dorsal side and pale beneath to hide from predators in the open water, Z. andersoni has a large, bright white pattern on it's back that starts at the head and runs the length of it's spine and across the tail fin, and includes both pectoral and pelvic saddle patches. between the whale's darkened and unusually anterior blowholes and the gloom of the twilight waters they inhabit, Z. andersoni's peculiar markings bear a STARTLING resemblance to a human woman with a piscene tail.

The species is named after the famed Fairy Tale Author, Hans Christen Anderson, who in 1835 saw what he described as a "Mermaid" swimming near the surface of the North Sea coast near Hanstholm, Denmark, when out in a rowboat with a cousin on a summer holiday. The Mermaid was "Ghostly pale, with large, dark eyes that stared up at us as she passed. She circled the boat thrice, seemingly regarding us with sadness, before she vanished into a cloud of sea-foam and we could not find her again." This encounter inspired him to write The Little Mermaid the following year. Despite his and his cousin's insistence that the event took place exactly as described, it was largely written off by the general public, and Anderson was discouraged from sharing it by his publisher.

In 1996, a family had a similar experience while Kayaking, save that this time the encounter took place in the sunny clear waters off Baja, Nihofornia, and the family had a video camera. A juvenile Z. andersoni approached them, circled the family a few times and even hung out under them for almost 12 minutes. This video proof sparked international interest, with dozens of other pictures, videos and oral accounts coming forward about encounters with these strangely friendly yet elusive creatures.

Most Recently, an exceptional individual, thought to be an old bull from it's size (i and scarring was seen following underwater welders as they repaired an underwater naval installation, picking off the curious squid that came to investigate the lights. The Naval Engineers have nicknamed the animal "The Duke", short for "Ducolax" on account of one of the engineers realizing there was 16-foot long, multi-ton carnivore floating just over his shoulder and (understandably) shitting himself.

[citrineandrosmarin]

Athena and Childbirth

Book: Athena by Susan Deacy (Highy recommend)

"One of the most distinctive aspects of Athena in Athens is her association with Erichthonios, whose extraordinary conception and birth is due largely to her, and whom she strives to protect by placing him in a chest and eventually rearing him in her temple."

"In some versions of the myth of Apollo’s birth, Athena is said to have loosened the girdle of Leto to enable her to give birth. One account (Pausanias 1.31.1) locates this act at a place called Zoster (‘Girdle’) on the coast of Attica. Leto then went on to Delos, the site of the birth of Apollo and Artemis."

"At Delphi, too, Athena may have been envisaged in this role. […] As Athena Pronaia (‘before the temple’), she functioned as guardian of the temple of Apollo. That she seems to have had the role of guardian of the god himself may be indicated by the presence in the sanctuary of an altar of Athena Zosteria (‘of the girdle’) which may recall the assistance that Athena gave Apollo’s mother Leto in childbirth."

"It may look curious that the virgin Athena should have been linked with childbirth. The notion of a virgin goddess with power over childbirth, however, is attested widely in Greece and beyond, in the Greek Artemis, for example."

"What lies behind Athena’s interventions that enable the production of children is not so much a safeguarding of childbirth per se, but an ability to allow individuals to be born in unusual circumstances, from her own ‘son’ Erichthonios to Apollo and Artemis, whose birth had been prevented by Hera until Athena’s intervention that enabled the children to be born. With this in mind, let us turn briefly to a story told by Pausanias (5.3.2) about a sanctuary of Athena in Elis:

The women of Elis, it is said, prayed to Athena to make them conceive as soon as they next slept with their husbands because the country was deprived of its youth. Their prayer was answered, and they established a sanctuary of Athena Meter (‘mother’) and because both wives and husbands experienced extreme delight in their union, they called the place Bady (‘sweet’)."

"Again, it is due to Athena that children come to be born when circumstances had been preventing this. The Orphic literature, too, draws on these abilities of Athena, here in relation to Dionysos. The young god had been lured away from his protectors, the Kouretes, by the Titans, who killed him, dismembered his body and ate him (West 1983: 74.) But Athena managed to get hold of his still-beating heart, which she placed in a chest, out of which the god was reborn. Dionysos, the ‘Twice-born’ god here has a third birth under Athena’s patronage out of his still-beating heart.

Athena was herself born in strange circumstances: contained in the body of Zeus until the blow from Hephaistos’ axe allowed her to leap forth. She is involved, too, in the production of children in comparably strange circumstances. Pegasos and Chrysaor emerge from the severed neck of Medusa in a way that comes closest in myth to her own emergence. Chrysaor especially evokes Athena in the manner of his birth in that he is born as a warrior. His name, ‘Golden Sword’, is also fitting for a figure who emerges in armour, paralleling perhaps the dazzling display of Athena’s birth.

When Athena functions as a goddess involved in childbirth, what she brings to bear is her capacity as a situation inverter. This provides us with yet another instance of her role as the power able to bring about what was seemingly impossible, here the production of children in unusual circumstances."

[serene-faerie]

Doriath Dashboard Simulator

🍃 leafyboi Follow

Oh to meet a Maia in Nan Elmoth and just get lost in her eyes for 200 years

#i want whatever thingol has with his wife

( 2,450 notes )

🌳 daily-doriath-pics Following

Neldoreth under the Stars

#doriath photos #sindar #neldoreth #beleriand #middle earth #my pics #night skies

( 600 notes )

🌺 queen-melyanna Follow

Baby girl is growing up quite well.

She's a very curious child, and she has a tendency to glow when she's playing with her toys.

I suppose having a child who is half-Elven and half-Maia can yield some interesting results.

#adventures in parenting

( 190 notes )

🌌 princess-tinuviel Following

Dark hair and rugged beards have got me acting rather.... unwise

#shut up tinuviel #do not rb

( 2 notes )

🌲 beech-girl Mutuals

ngl I did not have "Princess Lúthien falls in love with hairy mortal man in the forest" on my 465 bingo card lmao

#honestly??? good for her #go get that mortal dick!

( 1,569 notes )

🦌 king-elu Follow

Call-out for the Noldor

I cannot believe I am doing this. But it is my duty to inform the people of the deceivers we have been harboring in Doriath.

And yes, this is about Alqualondë and the kinslaying that has been wrought upon Olwë's people.

TW: Violence against Elves, kinslaying, theft and destruction of property, lying, deceit

Read More

#personal

( 350 notes )

🏹 strongestbow Following

Fellas is it gay to hold hands with your human best friend when hunting in the woods together???

( 2,600 notes )

🍁 maidenofneldoreth Mutuals

Just curious:

⭐️ feanors-second-wife Follow

Excuse me???? How are we "treacherous" when the Teleri literally wouldn't give us their ships when we asked???

If they didn't want to be slaughtered, they should've just given us their swanships when we told them to. Besides, the Teleri aren't even Thingol's people! And it's not like your king was there to watch us kill the Teleri! He was literally hiding behind his wife's skirt!

🦋 flutterby-of-nivrim Follow

Wow, what an entitled piece of work you are.

First of all, way to victim-blame the Teleri of Alqualondë. They had every right not to surrender their swanships to a bunch of entitled jerks like you. You guys just stormed their lands, slaughtered them for saying no, then took the ships anyways.

Second of all, I don't understand your logic. So because Thingol wasn't there to see the kinslaying, he shouldn't be angry about it??? Girl, we Sindar are literally descended from the Teleri! Some of us had relatives who were killed in Alqualondë! And King Olwë was Thingol's kinsman! Of course Thingol has every right to be upset about the kinslaying!

Thirdly, Thingol was not "hiding behind his wife's skirt". We were literally fighting Morgoth before you guys even left Aman. We're more familiar with the evils of Morgoth than you Noldorin Elves. The whole reason why the Girdle was put up was because we lost a good chunk of our army.

Lastly, why are you even on the Sindarin side of Tumblr? Shouldn't you be kissing up to the Fëanorian princes on your own blog???

🌼 bloomingblossoms Following

🦋 flutterby-of-nivrim Follow

Lmao they blocked me

Guess I scared 'em good

#typical noldor #they can dish it out but they can't take it #finrod doesn't count tho #he's a sweetie and we all love him

( 8,901 notes )

🕊️ dior-of-doriath Following

Reblog if you think the Fëanorians are gutless, craven cowards

🌿 lord-0roph3r Follow

Damn you just woke up and chose violence today huh?

🕊️ dior-of-doriath Following

Damn right I did

There's two more Silmarils in Morgoth's crown

They can go and steal those for all I care

#no way am i giving up the one that my parents risked their own lives to get #you want em so badly #go on and fight morgoth for the other two you cowards

( 750 notes )

🌸 flowermaidenofmenegroth Follow

Did anyone else have "Thingol gets killed by Dwarves" and "Melian's girdle fails" on their bingo card this year???

#got a bad feeling about doriath's future

( 1,500 notes )

🌱 thr4nduil-the-fair Mutuals

It's been a long journey, but at last, we made it to the Havens of Sirion.

Unfortunately, our king and queen fell in battle, and Menegroth is in ruins. Even worse, we couldn't find the twin boys in the forest. Though I pray that they are alive, deep down, I know that the worst has come to pass.

Luckily, we managed to escort Elwing to safety, but my heart aches for her. She's still so young, and in only one day, she's lost her parents and brothers.

But though her family is gone, I will do my best to help in raising her. I feel that she will grow into a strong young lady one day.

For now, it's time for us to rest. Thank you everyone for your thoughts and prayers.

From tomorrow, we must start healing.

#personal #ruin of doriath

( 79 notes )

[scripture-pictures]

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

I give her maybe a thousand years, at most. More likely around 500. She's strong, and I do like Melina, but realistically, she can't beat Morgoth, Thauron, seven balrogs, Ungoliant, Thuringwethil, and armies upon armies of orcs by herself forever. Like it or not, Fëanáro saves Doriath.

If you pick "Indefinitely" please share your thoughts! I'm curious. :)

[actual-bill-potts]

I’ll second that Finrod’s hunting trip with Maedhros and Maglor ficlet ask, if that one resonated at all with you (if it didn’t, please just disregard this haha). I’d be really curious to see what you did with that!

Many thanks to you and @melestasflight for the wonderful prompt! This fic fought me every step of the way, but I'm at least reasonably happy with it, so I'm just going to go ahead and post it. I hope you enjoy!!

By the time he reached Himring, Finrod was weary to his bones.

He had set out from Nargothrond to visit Doriath; since being allowed back beyond the threshold of the fenced realm, he had made the journey as often as he could spare the time. He yet had hope that Thingol and his Queen could be softened towards the rest of the Noldor, and in any case his sister and her betrothed dwelt there, and he missed her company and wisdom dearly. 

Often Finrod found nothing but peace and joy in the court of Doriath, for despite his grudge against the Noldor Thingol was kind and wise in the ways of the forest, Melian was generous with counsel and teaching, and their daughter Lúthien - now nearly full-grown - loved to hear about Nargothrond, and told him in return many merry stories of her latest escapades. 

But this visit had brought dark tidings, and with it concern for his cousins in the North. It seemed that strange creatures had been sighted north and east of Doriath, and that some had managed to make it nearly past the Girdle by some yet-unknown sorcery. None knew what type of beast they were, exactly, only that several of the outermost marchwardens had been found with their throats torn out, and survivors with little memory of the events besides shining green eyes and a sense of dread. 

"I recalled all of my guards immediately further within the Girdle, of course," Thingol had said, "for my lady wife assured me that nothing has passed fully through, and that they cannot match her power."

Finrod had made a bow towards Melian, but then said, "my King, would it not be worthwhile to take a company out beyond the Girdle, and hunt down these things? I myself would be more than happy to assist or even to lead the effort, if it would be of use - those beyond your borders may not yet be aware of the threat -"

Thingol’s face had darkened. "You will not lead any of the Sindar into danger!" he had snapped, before softening his tone. "You are valiant, nephew, and I do not fault your softness of heart - but beyond our realm are those who slaughtered my kin and burned the works of their hands. I will not spend the lives of my people in defense of such, when without loss we may remain in safety here. I advise you to do the same, until the danger is passed," he had added; but Finrod had refused as politely as he could, and left that day to ride to Himlad. 

He was sick at heart, for if the knowledge of such danger to the Noldor who dwelt by his borders would not move Thingol, what would? He was reminded forcibly of the tensions of his childhood: Vanya in face, Noldo in body, followed by whispers no matter where he went; expected to laugh at Noldor gaudiness in Alqualondë and Telerin flightiness in Tirion. This was the same, but deadly serious, and he did not know how to resolve it; he had not been able to gracefully walk that line even in Aman, and now so many lives rode on his ability to do so here. Even Galadriel was no help, for she had thoroughly repudiated her Fëanorian cousins and advised him to do the same. She had been born late, long after everyone but the twins, and so did not have many memories to set against the terrible sight of blood on sand and distant flame. She had not grown up with Maglor as a merry third in her games; she had not gone running to Maedhros for advice or comfort; she had never seen the expression of mingled joy and desolation upon Finwë’s face when he looked at Celegorm, the child who in face and body was Míriel come to life. 

Pursued by such dark thoughts, Finrod had made his way quickly to Himlad, where he found Celegorm and Curufin away at Amon Ereb. He had warned their seneschal of the tidings from Doriath, and without stopping had gone on to Himring. After all, if anyone would have an idea as to the identity of Morgoth’s new creatures, it would be Maedhros.

Now Finrod sat in the great keep of Himring with Maedhros and Maglor - who was, apparently, visiting; so social, the Fëanorians! - weary and heartsick.

"These are ill tidings, Cousin," Maglor said at last, "and we will arrange a hunt for these beasts as soon as we may. The power to nearly breach the Girdle: that is alarming indeed. For now, though, you should rest and eat. I’m sure Maedhros has a room prepared for you already; we sighted you several hours ago - Maedhros?"

Maedhros’ face was set, and his eyes were flaming. "Eyes of emerald, and terrible teeth…I know these beasts of yours, Cousin. They are nauror: gaurhothrim, it would be in Sindarin." He turned to Finrod, and Finrod nearly shrank back, so terrible was his expression. "He - Sauron - took fëar and forced them into the bodies of great starving wolves, with green eyes that screamed without sound. They had the power of untethered spirits, though they were bound to such terrible forms, and they could do - things -" he broke off, breathing heavily.

Maglor’s face was pale, but he asked, "Why then have we not encountered them long since?"

Maedhros laughed. It was not a happy sound. "They died, over and over. Fëar cannot escape Angband; but they revolted against their forms so wholly that the wolf-shapes were rent asunder, and the spirit left in tatters. Hardly useful. Sauron used to -" he pressed his lips together and did not continue.

"Then - these creatures are Eldar," Finrod said faintly.

"Aye. But slaying them will be no evil, if I am right," Maedhros said. "Death is the kindest gift in our power to offer."

He stood. "But my brother was right, earlier," he said, and it seemed that the great flame in his eyes was banked as he turned again to Finrod. The granite lines of his face softened near-imperceptibly. "You are weary, and I have had a room prepared. Go rest. You are welcome to join us in the great hall for dinner, or to send for a meal to your room, whichever seems best to you. I will leave at first light with my brother and a company of warriors. I advise you to delay your departure until our return, but if you must go, tell me and I will arrange for an escort."

"No - I wish to come with you!" Finrod protested. "I would not have my cousins ride into danger without me."

"Thingol’s reaction, should the King of Nargothrond fall in our company, does not bear thinking about," Maedhros said wryly. "It would not be wise."

Finrod set his jaw. "I can help," he said, and found he meant it. The thought of a spirit tethered so cruelly smote his heart. "I have learned much of songcraft from Melian the Maia: songs that can counter the necromancy of Sauron. Perhaps I can - at least ease the passing of these creatures."

"I sing, also," Maglor observed with a trace of humor, "and have faced the fruits of Sauron’s labors before, if in lesser bodies."

"Two voices will be better than one, surely," Finrod countered. He looked at Maedhros. "Please, allow me to accompany you."

Maedhros looked at him for a long moment. "Very well, Cousin," he said at last, "if only because I suspect it would be difficult to prevent you from following. You have the kindest heart of us all, I deem; and perhaps you will be able to do these nauror some mercy. I do not have it in me. We leave at dawn; be ready."

"If you find yourself too weary, do not come!" Maglor added. His sharp face was full of concern. "None will hold it against you."

"Thank you," Finrod said. He smiled at his cousins. "I will not let you down."

The next morning, refreshed in body if troubled in mind, Finrod rose before dawn and was ready in the courtyard when Maedhros and Maglor emerged. They were in light armor and leathers, as he was; and they were followed by a dozen grim-faced Elves. 

Maedhros nodded at him; Maglor said, "Good morning!" and even offered a smile.

Finrod smiled back.

"I have procured a horse for you," Maglor said, gesturing to a beautiful roan he held beside the one he rode. "Your own horse needed more than a night of rest."

"Aye," Finrod agreed. "I thank you." He approached and stroked the mare’s nose. She whickered a greeting in return, and nosed his hair. "What is her name?"

"She is called Hirfindë," Maglor replied, laughing a little, "for as a filly she had a terrible habit of chewing on one’s tresses, no matter how tightly plaited."

Finrod looked down in some alarm; but Hirfindë was only sniffing, not chewing. "You have grown out of that habit, I trust?" he said aloud to her in amusement.

She whuffed, as if to say, of course.

There was a general rush of mounting and a flurry of orders from Maedhros; then the company passed through the great gate of Himring, going south and west towards Doriath.

The first day passed without event; Finrod strained all of his senses, but could not detect even a trace of the wrongness that signaled creations of their Enemy. By their expressions of frustration, Maedhros and Maglor did not have better luck. They did not stop that night, picking their way softly by the light of the stars; and by late afternoon of the second day they picked up a trail. The horses became nervous, shying at nothing; and sharp-eyed Maglor spotted the faint outline of a paw in the grass. But even without those signs, Finrod would have known that the creature was near. Despair was in the air. It was so thick he could nearly taste it, and had to set his will to prevent dark dreams from flashing before his waking eyes. I am sorry, he thought sadly to the creature, we will release you, if we can.

But despite the miasma that could be sensed by everyone in the party, the nauro - or nauror, Finrod supposed - proved elusive. The second day and night passed without success. Maedhros rode stone-faced at the head of their party, responding to Maglor’s tentative conversational sallies in monosyllables at best; Finrod tried to engage the rest of their party in conversation, but the other Elves were quiet and withdrawn, and in truth he himself found that talking sapped his energy more than he was accustomed to. The air felt heavy and filthy in his lungs.

But on the third day, they ran the creature to ground.

Maedhros was the first to spot it, of course: as the horizon faded from gold to blue at the start of the day, he sat forward suddenly and said: "There."

Finrod followed his gaze and caught the barest flash of grey bristle between trees.

"It will flee from us, I expect," Maedhros said, signaling for speed, "Its self-preservation instincts will be strong. We must run it to ground."

As he leaned forward to keep pace with his cousins, Finrod wondered for a moment why the creature was not stalking them in turn; then he remembered what Maedhros had said of the nauror in Himring, and felt abruptly sick. Doubtless any spirit successfully tethered in such a way would have had to be - warped, or changed, such that survival of the body became paramount over all other considerations. And indeed it continued to flee from them, until in the early afternoon they ran it to ground.

The first sign of such was Maedhros’ abrupt, "It is nearing the end of its strength; be wary." A short minute after, Finrod could sense it for himself: a thickening of the poison in the air, a sudden sense of weariness that dragged at his limbs. There was a stench, too, so close. Old sweat, rotting meat, traces of filth: the scent of a creature that did not wash itself, and cared for nothing but its own ravenous hunger. 

Mingled pity and revulsion welled up in Finrod’s breast; he felt nauseous. By their expressions, Maedhros and Maglor’s chosen hunters were not doing much better. Maedhros and Maglor themselves were twin walls of impassivity, though if Finrod looked closely he could see faint lines of worry about Maglor’s mouth. 

Following the smell, the sound of the nauro could be heard: it was crashing through underbrush, growling low in its throat.

As one, the hunters drew their bows.  Maglor in the lead dropped back to Finrod, for their role would be as Singers only. Finrod tensed, every nerve alight with anticipation as he scanned the brush for the source of the heaving breathless growl - there! A flash of green in the shadows! - a hail of arrows whistled through the air and the terrible eyes winked out for a moment - then suddenly the Wolf with three arrows in its throat leaped upon Maedhros with a terrible gurgling roar. Elf and nauro rolled together from Maedhros’ horse, landing heavily upon the ground. Maedhros had his dagger out and was slashing grimly at the Wolf’s head with his left arm; his stump was driven into the nauro’s neck, forcing its jaws backwards. The creature was tearing up great clods of earth with its claws in its frenzy to get to Maedhros; the hunters had swords in hand and were approaching with faces set.

"Hold!" Maglor cried suddenly from behind, a clarion that filled Finrod’s ears and slowed everyone for a moment, even the Wolf, "I will Sing! Hold!"

He began a Song of sleep, which dragged Finrod’s eyelids down despite the warning. With an effort he shook himself and saw the archers about him doing the same. Only Maedhros seemed unaffected, grimly holding the Wolf off. Its struggles slowed slightly as Maglor sang, and Maedhros flipped it onto its back and plunged his dagger into its head.

Still it would not die, though it was bleeding from half-a-dozen arrow wounds and should have been killed instantly at Maedhros’ last blow. It whined once, short and sharp, and flung itself again onto Maedhros. 

Watching it, Finrod felt sorrow well up in his throat. He thought of the Quendi who had loved their freedom under the stars, and found as their reward servitude without end to a cruel master. A song came unbidden to his lips: a song of traps broken, chains wrenched apart, the empty shackle upon Thangorodrim. After a moment he heard Maglor’s voice join with his own, deeper and more resonant.

The Wolf stood stock-still, panting terribly, its blood dripping to the ground; then as Finrod kept singing with Maglor, it wavered  visibly and finally lowered to the ground. It was breathing heavily now, the sounds of an animal wounded to the death. For a moment it seemed to Finrod as if the nauro had two sets of eyes, one green and one silver; the green wolf-eyes were confused and terribly hungry, the silver eyes heavy with sadness and a relief so profound it was almost a pain of its own.

As they dimmed, both terrible eyes met his, and suddenly it seemed to Finrod that the Wolf spoke with a voice of spirit: well-met, master of illusions. Your teeth are sharp and your nails long. I thank you, freedom-bringer; and I am sorry.

Finrod blinked - master of illusions? - and suddenly in the time between one blink and the next he Saw -

eyes that were weary as the Eldar were never weary, looking into his own with love that seemed rooted in the very earth -

laughing beside a fire, with the owner of those selfsame eyes, the giggles and shrieks of children at play in the background: so many children! He had never seen so many even in Aman -

nut-brown locks and a bitter mouth, spitting wisdom angrily -

The same bitter mouth, now framed by white hair, hurling insults with fondness behind them -

Mud in his hair and his ears, caking his clothes, deep spreading pain in his shoulder and wetness following, creeping dread chased away by the low sound of horns that were familiar yet strange -

Dark stone, and chains, and green eyes that glittered feverishly in the dark, and his head resting on wasted legs as the breath whistled strangely from his chest -

Finrod came back to himself with a ragged gasp. He felt a shift in the air, a barrier melting away, and there was only a dead animal on the ground.

He had to go East. He felt it, the call of the vision. It could not be gainsaid, terrible as it was - and the love in those old-young eyes - and so many children -

Maedhros picked himself up off the ground and approached. "My thanks, Cousin!" he said, almost smiling. "Your skill with Song has grown greatly since last I heard you."

Finrod inclined his head and smiled in return. "Thank you for allowing me to accompany you," he said warmly. "But I fear I must depart."

"So soon!" Maglor exclaimed. "Why? There may be more of those creatures roaming about, and you must let us treat you to a full supper back at Himring -"

"Maglor makes very free with my hospitality," Maedhros interjected, "but he is quite right about the danger, and about the dinner too. What is the matter?"

"You needn’t worry," Finrod said almost gaily, "But no gaurhoth shall touch me yet. It is not my fate. I must go East," he added more soberly. "I have Seen it."

His cousins continued to protest; but he held firm, and at the last they yielded and sent him on his way with his borrowed mare, all the provisions they could spare, and kind words aplenty. He directed Hirfindë due East, and gave her her head. 

Out in the open, wind against his face, cousins receding rapidly into the background, he was not sure whether to laugh or cry. Such a fate - such a fate! The joy - the love - the children! Not his own, but they loved him, and he them: he had felt it. 

But no light at the last! It was terrible. Could anything be worth the creeping hopelessness he had felt, in the last seconds of the vision? He could turn around, go back to his cousins, leave Fate alone in the East. Perhaps she would not call a second time, and he could go forth in hope to an unknown ending.

But those eyes! He had never seen anything like those eyes! And the children!

"I will go, Hirfindë," he said aloud. "I cannot do otherwise."

As he rode towards Ossiriand, he thought he heard snatches of song on the wind: too deep to be Elvish, too fair to be Orcish, in a tongue he did not know. Who was singing? Such joy, in the bitter East!

He raised his own voice in answer.

[animatorweirdo]

The woodborne witch

You had been gifted with magic and you have used that to protect your family and people for many years. However, you find yourself lost when you’re unable to confess your feelings to Maedhros, who had stolen your heart, especially when someone in the dark is on its way trying to get you. 

Requested by Anonymous

Warnings; mentions of violence in the past, magical mischief, crushing, pining, feelings left unknown, werewolves and kidnapping. 

-------------------------------------------------

The woodborne witch. That’s what they began to call you after many years of protecting your people from Morgoth and his creatures of darkness. It was a strange nickname since people often associated witches with evil, but for you– it was a title. 

You were a human born with magic. It was thought impossible for humans to be born with magic unless you had elven blood in your family, but you didn’t, so you were a strange hazard to humans and elves alike. 

The first time you used magic was when you were just an infant. You were playing with toy cubes, and your touch made them grow branches and cause plants to overgrow in the pots and through the floor. Your parents were shocked when they found their house covered in plants. It took them hours to cut the plants off and replace the flooring. 

They were worried that you were ill, but after testing your strange abilities with several objects. They were worried someone had placed a curse on you and decided to seek help from the elves of Doriath. It was a difficult journey for them as they had to get through the girdle of Melian and convince the elves to lend their ear. The elves almost turned them down till they witnessed your strange abilities. They then allowed your parents to get through and seek an audience with Melian, who was more familiar with the powers of nature. 

The Sindar were curious by their arrival in Menegroth and fascinated when your parents expressed their concerns to Melian and bore witness to your strange magical abilities. 

Melian was surprised because she had never seen or heard of the possibility of a human wielding magic, especially without having any blood relation to another being. But when you held her finger with innocent glee, she knew and felt the magical connection with you. She assured your worried parents that there was nothing wrong with you. You were simply born with a unique bond with magic. 

Your parents were relieved and worried as they knew nothing of magic, so they had no idea how to teach you to control your abilities when you grow up. Melian proposed that she would mentor you when you’re old enough to study. She also suggested you would come live in Menegroth for the time being. 

Your parents hesitated at the thought of sending their only child away, but they accepted the offer as they thought it would be for the best that you learned from people who knew about magic better than anyone. 

Your parents returned to their home village, and their people were glad to see them return and shocked when your parents shared the news about you wielding magic. They first felt anxious at the thought of you having powers because they knew what dark magic could do thanks to the past attacks from orcs. However, they warmed up to it as they saw you grow into a lively child. 

You were mischievous. You often used your abilities to prank people and sometimes steal pastries and treats from the local chef, who would always yell at you after finding traces of overgrown roots. They sometimes complained about your antics to your parents, but since you never went overboard or did any harm, you often got away with it. 

You liked being mischievous, but you often did good with your abilities and helped fix some items and walls made from wood. You even helped grow some herbs for the local healer. Those gestures made the villagers appreciate your abilities, especially when the day finally came when your parents were to send you to the elves. 

You were scared and begged your parents with tears in your eyes not to send you away to a place with weird pointy-eared people. They hugged you and assured you they were friends, and this one friendly lady would teach you how to use your abilities which didn’t convince you until they promised you would see them again and get nice things if you were brave and studied hard to use your powers. 

Wanting to make them proud, you sniffed in your tears, packed your things, and left with a couple of guides after bidding farewell to your parents, who waved and watched with tearful smiles as you left the village. 

It was scary to be outside your village without your parents, but the journey was quick, and you arrived at Menegroth. Your eyes were wide as plates as you looked around, and you felt terrified of everything so strange and seemingly humungous. 

You were brought to Melian, who greeted you with a kind smile. You felt comforted by her presence. She felt oddly familiar, and she explained you had met before when your parents had come to Menegroth to seek aid for you. You grabbed her finger, which allowed you to feel each other’s fea which helped her discover your magical connection, so that might have been why she felt familiar to you. You got comfortable rather quickly– even though her husband almost scared you to tears. You got yourself ready and started learning under her guidance. 

You grew a deep connection with nature and light. You even learned how to conjure fire and lighting, though your link with them wasn’t strong.  You tried to study hard even if some subjects did not interest you. You grew a liking for making different concoctions and finding other uses for herbs and things like salt, which some of the elves found strange.  

Living with the elves was different. They taught you their language and parts of their culture, even though it was hard to understand sometimes. They were patient with you and liked taking you to celebrations and feasts, which sometimes turned into a courtly drama. It wasn’t terrible though. You did make a couple of good friends who were like your odd older siblings. 

You grew used to living with the elves after a couple of years, and you sent letters to your parents from time to time, sharing news and well-being on how you were doing. You had grown into a young adult and become almost a master in sorcery. You had learned almost everything you could from Melian, and she was proud of your growth.

There were some things left to learn, but when you received news that your village had been under several attacks. You were worried about your parent’s safety and spoke with Melian about leaving to help them. She understood your concerns for them, and despite your instruction still pending, she decided to let you go. She gifted you with a wand she herself made from the oldest trees of Doriath and bid you farewell. 

You bid farewell to those you made friends with and made haste to your village. You arrived just in time to assist them with another attack that nearly destroyed them. Your parents were overjoyed to see you again and embraced you with tearful hugs. 

Your people celebrated your return, and they made you tell all about your time in Doriath. It was a joyful reunion. 

You had then remained with your people, protecting them from the attacks while continuing your studies. You kept in contact with Melian through letters and your old friends, who often sent their good wishes and questioned if you would visit them soon. 

It was tiring to stand against the orcs and other creatures of the dark. It was like there was no end to their coming. You asked Melian for a spell that could help protect the village, like the girdle that protected Doriath, and she helped you create a smaller version that was enough to keep them away– and it wouldn’t take too much of your strength. Magic had come easy to you. It was like your second nature that felt natural to wield as a defense. However, it was harder to maintain when challenged by a foe greater than you. Such stress often leaves you devoid of consciousness. 

Your human body was less tolerant of stress caused by magical use, so you had to be careful and watch how much magic you used. 

You have faithfully defended your home from Morgoth’s creatures. But when the attacks became more frequent, and the protective barrier around your home began to fail– you took the matter to your people and convinced them it would be for the best if you moved to another place where it would be safe and less likely to get attacked. 

Many were reluctant but listened to the reason. You all packed your things and started moving, aiming to take refuge in Himring for the time being. You have known its lord, Maedhros, for a long time as you have assisted each other in the past. He was glad to let your people stay for a while and help you find a safer home. 

You appreciated his help. He didn’t treat you like many others when they discovered your magic. You were used to people fearing you initially, but when Maedhros got over his first shock, he treated you like every other person and valued you as an ally, like you weren’t a strange freak of nature like many others thought. It made you treasure his acceptance. 

You have heard about the deeds of his house– you almost found it hard to see him as the ruthless kinslayer everyone made him out to be especially when you started to grow somewhat infatuated with him. 

Maedhros was one of the tall elves you have seen, right next to Elu Thingol. His noticeable scars and cold exterior intimidated people, but you were not bothered by any of that. On the contrary, you found him very attractive. However, the softer nature behind his impenetrable facade was the thing that pulled you to him. 

He wasn’t always scary and kinslayer-like. With time he only got more relaxed around you when you started seeing each other often. Hidden behind that strong-willed front was a gentle ellon, who showed his care through subtle actions. You guessed it must have been that which made you like him more than you should. 

You thought it was just a temporary crush and it would be gone in a month or two, but it persisted, making you frustrated because there was no way you could be with an elf. 

You wielded magic, but you were still a human, and you would eventually die from old age while elves remained bound to Arda. And you have met a couple of his brothers who didn’t seem to think highly of humans, so you didn’t see Maedhros willing to love a human. You also believed he thought of you as nothing more than an ally he could turn to for help. 

You stopped to take a breather, to think about how everything would turn up for you and your people. Maedhros had helped you point out a place that was nicely away from the north, near the sea. The dark lord’s influence did not reach far, so orcs should be less on those parts. It was a days’ journey, but your people would be safe and live more peacefully when you create your new home there. 

The downside, it was far away from Himring. The distance was large, so there wouldn’t be any sense in traveling there and back just to keep up with an alliance. It would be more practical to end it there, so this might be the last time you see Maedhros again. It made you feel rather glum when you thought about it. 

Your mother had tried to encourage you to confess your feelings when she learned about them, but you ignored her words instead of focusing on your work and duty to protect your people from the orcs and creatures of darkness. However, when you thought you should let your feelings be known to Maedhros. You might never have the chance to say them, but this might be a chance to get rid of them because either way– it would have never worked out. 

“(Name),” You heard someone say your name. You turn your head and see the elf approaching you. You collected yourself and prepared to talk to him formally. 

“My lord, is there anything you need?” You asked with a respectful bow from your head. 

“(Name), I told you that you can drop the formalities when we’re alone, and no. I simply wanted to check on you since you seem to be under the weather, so–” Maedhros started. “Are you feeling alright?” He asked. 

You unintentionally let out a loud sigh while relaxing your shoulders. “It’s just— moving. We’re going to have a long journey ahead of us, and I can’t stop thinking about if something goes wrong,” you explained. “I have been having a hard time falling asleep as well. There are just a lot of things to do,” you said. 

Maedhros looked at you softly. “Do not think about it too much. You should rest as much as you can, and you do not need to worry about anything going wrong,” he explained. “Nothing will happen to you and your people as long as you’re in Himring,” he said. 

“I know, but it’s not just that or the current attacks,” you said. You took a deep breath before finally mustering the courage to tell what was really bothering you. 

“Sauron has become active lately. His werewolves had harassed us till we came to Himring,” you explained. “I do not know his sudden motivation to catch me, and I prefer not to find out. The only reasonable explanation is that he was ordered to, even though his attacks had been strangely relentless. I almost fell into his traps a couple of times if it wasn’t for someone looking out for me,” you explained. 

“We are safe from him for now, but I can’t stop worrying if he suddenly decides to attack us on the road,” you said. You held on to your arm, trying to stop yourself from shaking at the thought. It was a habit when you were nervous or anxious. 

“I know how you feel–” Maedhros started, grabbing your hand and gently rubbing it with his thumb, which managed to soothe your nerves. “ And trust me. I know better than anyone what Sauron can do, but I can assure you that he will not try anything beyond the borders of his master’s lands. It would be too risky for him to do anything, especially when this route is on mine and one of my brother’s lands.” He explained. 

“He will not get to you. I promise you that,” he said. 

“I trust your word,” you smiled at him before looking down and seeing how he was still holding your hand. He let go when you noticed, and you almost smiled again, little heat rising to your cheeks. 

You heard your parents suddenly call out for you, telling you it was time to depart. 

“I think this is a goodbye. I do not think we will have a chance to work together in the future,” You said. “It was my honor, knowing you, (Name),” Maedhros said. “Likewise, Maedhros,” You said and then began to walk to your parents. 

You and your people packed your things and began to leave Himring. You saw Maedhros one last time as he stood at the doors, sending you off on your journey. You looked back at him. He looked strangely sad as he watched you walk through the gates to find your new home. 

You walked on the road alongside your mother, holding on to your horse’s reins while your father rode in front, leading everyone through the path. Your mind was occupied with thoughts, leaving you with a blank expression as you stared into the nothingness that stretched in front of you. 

“You know, my dear. You should have told the elf,” your mother started. You turned to look at her, confused. “What do you mean?” You asked. “You know what I mean. You should have told him about your feelings,” she explained. 

“Oh, that? It doesn’t matter anymore, and besides– it would have been awkward having a rejection as our last memory,” you said. Your mother snorted. “I might be getting old, but I can still tell how people feel– no matter how much they try to hide it. He wouldn’t have rejected you. He was looking at you the same way your father once did when he was too shy to come to talk to me,” she chuckled at the memory while your father coughed in embarrassment. You could not help but smile for that brief moment. 

“Even if he did feel the same. It wouldn’t have worked out.  He’s an elf who will live thousands of years, while I will only live up to my ninety.” You explained. 

“Now that you mention that. I have noticed that you haven’t been aging much by the looks of it,” your mother said. “You’re almost thirty years old, yet you are not showing any signs of age. Do you think your magic might have something to do with it?” She asked. 

“I–” you started, thinking about it for a moment. “--don’t think so. I have a lot of years, so let’s not start theorizing that I might stop aging like a normal human,” you said. “Well, it could be a possibility since you already wield magic, so who knows if you turn elf-like and live more than a hundred years,” your mother said. 

“However, you should have told him,” she said. “You might have regretted it less if you told him than kept them hidden forever,” 

“Hmm–perhaps,” you replied, imagining what would have happened had you confessed your feelings to Maedhros.  

The journey was long, and when the night came, you and your people settled down to make a camp for the night. The moon graced the sky with its light, and the stars twinkled. The owls and the grasshoppers filled the night with their songs as you sat brooding about your mother’s words. 

Your father arrived, adding wood to the mellow campfire before sitting down beside you. He glanced at you and saw how deep you were in your mind through your eyes. 

“Is there something wrong, my girl?” Your father asks, breaking you from your reverie and making you look at him. “It’s…nothing,” you replied. 

“Are you sure? You have been quiet ever since we left Himring, and your silence has only grown since you’ve talked about your feelings for that elf with your mother,” he explained. You remained silent, feeling lost for being caught like that. 

You let out a sigh. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” You stated. “Maybe I should have confessed my feelings to Maedhros,” you answered, feeling somewhat gloomy about the lost opportunity. 

“I’m sorry that you feel that way, but– who knows, maybe fate will be strange and give you a chance to see him again,” he said. 

“It could happen since fate gave you to us, and we went on that journey to find the elves in the forests of Doriath just to discover you possess magic.” He said, then laughed. “I can still remember how you cried when you saw the gray-haired elf king and wouldn’t stop till he was out of the room,” he continued laughing. You chuckled, feeling embarrassed at your past self’s actions. 

“Well, lord Thingol still gave me the scares when I lived in Menegroth,” you reminisced. “I think he would definitely be the one to discourage me from sharing my feelings with Maedhros,” you stated. “Who cares what he would have thought? What matters the most is that you do what you feel is right and makes you happy,” your father said, looking at you with a comforting gaze. 

“But if it upsets you that much– I might as well send you back on a horse so you can finally get it over with,” he said, making you snort with a red face at the thought. 

“Thank you, dad. You always knew how to lighten up the mood,” you smiled. “Just doing my duty as your father,” he smiled and then looked behind you before letting out a scoff. 

“Children! Stop running around, and don’t go into the woods!” He called as you saw three children run into the forest. “Seriously! Those children are either deaf or filled with nothing but trouble. And– of course, Charlie just has to be one of them. His parents are going to nag me if he gets into trouble,” your father muttered under his breath, ready to get up. You beat him up. 

“I’ll go get them. They couldn't have gotten too far,” you said, then proceeded to walk toward the woods where you saw Charlie and his friends go. “Alright, be careful,” your father said as he watched you leave. 

Twigs and sticks crunch under your boots as you walk through the forest. You carefully push the branches and bushes out of your way as you try to spot the children. The light from the moon and the camp were enough to illuminate your path, so you didn’t see a need to use your wand to conjure light. 

You follow the footprints on the ground and eventually find the trio standing in the opening, staring at something. 

“Charlie! Jenna! Markus! What are you doing?” You called out to them, but they didn't respond. They kept staring into the dark. You had a strange feeling, so you walked closer to them till you stood right next to them. 

“Kids!” You said and finally caught their attention. “What are you guys doing? You know your parents get worried if you play alone in a place like this,” you questioned. They looked back at you in confusion before finally answering. 

“Sorry, (Name). I don’t think we know how we got here.” Charlie said, making you frown at his answer. “What do you mean you don’t know how you got here?” You asked the confused trio. 

“We were at the camp playing, then we started hearing these strange voices.” Charlie explained. “And now we’re here,” He added. 

You frowned when he mentioned voices. “What did the voices sound like?” You asked, crossing your arms. “Like someone whispering, telling us to come here.” He explained. 

You tried to think of an explanation until you heard something snap behind you. You look back to find nothing, yet you feel like being watched by something, something sinister. It gave you an awfully familiar feeling. 

You backed away, urging the children to follow your example, and they backed away while staring at the darkness with you. “What is it?” Jenna asked with a frightened voice. 

As you carefully observed your surroundings you started hearing noises like something moving in the bushes. It wasn’t just one, but several. 

“Get back to the camp,” you whispered frantically, taking out your wand. You silently muttered a spell, and an orb of light conjured from the tip of your wand– lightening the area around you. Several giant werewolves looked right back at you from the bushes. You noticed some others from your peripheral vision that your naked eyes wouldn’t have been able to spot in the dark. Your heart dropped, and the children gasped as they stared at the werewolves with fear in their eyes. 

“Run!” You said and the children screamed. They turned around and began to run back toward the camp while you whipped your wand around your head, aiming the orb of light at the werewolves. It struck right into one of the werewolf’s faces, causing it to explode into a flash of light. They yelped, staggering and blinded. 

You took the chance to escape and follow the children back to the camp. 

The camp was just behind the corner, but before you had a chance to take another step. You got engulfed by a cloud of darkness. You stood frozen with fear. Your heart began to pound harder against your chest as you tried to find a way out– you then sensed something familiar or rather someone. 

You forgot how to breathe when you saw something move, but before you could do anything to defend yourself. A hand grabbed you by the throat. You stared right into the eyes of someone you had tried to escape. Those golden flaming eyes flickered, and you screamed until everything turned dark. 

Maedhros was writing down on the paper with his quill, silently signing the document before taking another to get signed. The candle on his desk has long burnt. The sun rose in the distance, and the cold wind flowed into his chambers, making him sigh and drop his quill for a short break. 

He rubbed his brows after spending the whole night doing paperwork. It was normal for him to work through the night since elves can last long without rest, but for some reason, he has not been able to focus. His mind keeps coming back to you. 

He hoped you were doing alright and you had reached your new home. He felt anxious when you mentioned Sauron, but he was confident the route was safe, so you should be safe.

However, he couldn't explain the disappointment he felt watching you leave with your people, knowing he might never see you again. It was a new feeling, just like when he realized how much he enjoyed being around you. You were confident and self-reliant, which he found admirable. He reminisced your first meeting the way– you planned, the way you made your people listen to you like a leader while being rather casual and shy in person made him yearn for your company even more. 

He was in love with you. It was that obvious, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you because you both lived in different worlds. You were unique for a human, but you had your duties to your people while he had his. And he possibly couldn't bring you to a mess which was his oath. He didn’t want to hurt you like that, so he said nothing. 

All he could wish for you now is that you live a happy life while he continues opposing Morgoth. 

He hears the door creak and sees his brother peeking in. “Have you worked the whole night?” Maglor questions, walking in without an invitation. “These papers needed to get done. I can handle one night without rest,” Maedhros picks up the quill. “Perhaps that is true, but rest is still important dear brother mine,” Maglor says, crossing his arms and leaning against his desk. 

“You know you should have told her,” Maglor started. “What do you mean?” Maedhros asked, making Maglor chuckle. “You might be able to hide your feelings from anyone but not from me, dear brother.” He explained. “I’ve seen the way you looked at her. If you told her and let her know of your feelings, it might have lessened the heavy feeling you’re feeling now that she’s gone.” He added. Maedhros stood quiet, staring at his brother, who looked back at him. 

The two brothers then hear knocking on the door. “My lord, I bring you urgent news!” The messenger called out behind the door. Maedhros dropped his quill. “Come in.” He stated as the door opened.

“What seems to be the matter?” Maedhros questioned as the messenger stood in front of him and his brother. “My lord –” The messenger bowed his head. “Lady (Name) and her people got attacked on the road last night,” he answered, making Maedhros almost jump from his seat. “By whom?” He asked, almost demanding. “It was apparently the werewolves, and that’s not all– lady (Name) had gone missing,” Maedhros felt his heart drop when he heard that. “Missing?” He questioned, almost in disbelief. 

“She had vanished without a trace. Her people are asking for your help in the search for her.” The messenger explained. 

“Maedhros?” Maglor looked at him after he stood quiet for a moment. 

“Get the horses ready. We’re going to see (Name)’s people,” Maedhros stood up and left his chambers in a hurry. Maglor followed right behind, trying to keep up with him. 

The Horses whined and galloped till Maedhros and Maglor reached your people, who were in disarray and trying to clean up what seemed to be an aftermath of a fight. Maedhros saw some of the men dragging the bodies of the werewolves into piles to be set on fire, he heard children crying while their parents tried to comfort them. 

All the noises and the sight made him anxious as he rode till he found your father trying to comfort your crying mother. She was loudly sobbing as she held something against her chest. 

Maedhros was about to say something till his horse whined, and it caught your parents’ attention. 

“Lord Maedhros!” Your mother almost screamed as she stood up and ran to him, your father following behind. Maedhros jumped down from his horse and almost stumbled back when your mother grabbed his cloak with pleading eyes. “Please help us! We can’t find (Name) anywhere!” Your mother cried as he tried to help her keep steady. 

“Please, could you give me closer details on what happened?” Maedhros asked, and your father stepped in. “They…came out of nowhere. I was talking to (Name) at the bonfire last night until I saw three of my people’s children running into the woods. She decided to get them, but then we heard the children scream, and the werewolves attacked us. We managed to fend them off, but then I heard (Name)’s scream…and she was gone,” He explained, then turned toward your mother. 

“We tried to look through the whole forest, but the only thing we found was her wand, broken and tainted in this strange dark matter.” Your mother handed him your wand, which was snapped into two pieces. Maedhros felt dread settle in when he laid his eyes upon it. 

“Can I see it, please?” He asked, and your father handed your wand to him. He took a closer look and saw dark veins-like things covering the wood, which was an obvious sign of corruption. He had seen it before. It did not take him long to realize who was behind the attack and your sudden disappearance. It was enough to make his heart stop in fear for your safety and well-being. 

He was almost in denial, but he could not ignore the truth no matter how much he wanted to. It made him feel horrible since he was so adamant, he was the one who assured you that you would be safe. He was wrong… you were gone, in the hands of the worst being on the face of Arda. 

“He got her–” He silently uttered under his breath. “Who?” Maglor questioned, and Maedhros turned to look at him. “Sauron…he got her,” Maedhros said his voice cracking in despair.

Taglist: @heilith

[crowsandturtlesandbatsohmy]

I've seen bits and pieces of it explained, but what exactly is Fey's backstory? I'm curious

Hi Nya!

Putting it under the cut because I got a little long-winded

Okay, so, Fey was one of Draxum’s experiments-to-be-turned-weapons. While Splinter managed to escape with the boys, Fey was left behind. I’m not sure yet if she just got lost in the chaos or if Draxum kept her separate.

Draxum attempted to raise her from there on out to be an incredibly strong warrior. The problem with that? Fey did not inherit the Lou Jitsu fighting genes. Training tended to activate her freeze response, which is how she got the scarring on her shell. She eventually learned to dodge out of necessity, but still struggled with thinking clearly enough to actually make a strike. Also the idea of killing people makes her sick.

Draxum didn’t particularly care about her in any way other than as a weapon, and he didn’t bother hiding the fact either. Fey learned her needs and wants always come second to those of others as a result. He’s also the reason she’s so timid and scared to take up space. Draxum tended to use more training or being locked in her room as punishment for not obeying or for getting in the way.

I’m still not 100% clear on the how of this part, there’s a couple different ideas fighting in my head right now, but Fey manages to escape with the aid of a trio of Yokai pickpockets. Their names are Moe, Larry, and Curly, and they’re all about Fey’s age. Moe is a gray shovel-headed tree frog, Larry is an armadillo girdled lizard, and Curly is a gold dust day gecko.

Draxum is looking for her, and the trio know this, so they agree Fey can’t stay with them indefinitely. They’ve made a couple trips topside and have seen the turtle boys out and about, so they decide that if they can get Fey topside and to the turtles, she’ll be safe. She crashes with them for about two weeks before they finally get her to the turtles, who are happy to take her in. They are not told anything of her past, but they don’t particularly care because they’re excited about having another sister (April already met them).

Draxum’s hunt for her combined with her lack of social and combat skills are the reason Fey hardly ever leaves the lair. She spends the time the boys are out taking care of things around the house and making sure Splinter’s okay.

I think of Fey as 14, so she’s been with them for about four years, but really she’s whatever age the twins are in whatever timeline. The reasoning for this is because I was very amused by the idea of the Disaster Twins actually being part of a set of triplets, but their third doesn’t have the drive for chaos. So they’re still the Disaster Twins.

So yeah! There you have it! Fey was raised by Draxum and he kinda screwed up her mental state a lot.

There‘re some more complex brain emotional trauma things going in in the background, but I’m not super great at explaining :P But the research I’ve done for her is the effects of a narcissist parent, and Fey’s got a lot of those traits due to Draxum.

Thanks for asking Nya!

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

This is probably a really stupid question, and I apologise if you've answered it before... Why do Royal Python have those little... Claws? Hooks? At the base of their tail at their vent? Are they left over from when they had legs? Are they for hooking onto another snake during mating? I've always been curious, but I find a lot of differing answers.

Not a stupid question at all!!

Those are called spurs. They are indeed the visible vestigial remnants of legs, and they're found in primitive snake families.

Male snakes (especially boas) tend to have bigger spurs, so it's possible that the spurs do have a use for holding on during breeding. The snake can't really move them, though - they're attached to vestigial pelvic girdles and kinda just float in the snake's muscles. Here's what that looks like on the inside:

[profoundlyfaded]

[HC] Wedding Details (Gale x Ayressa)

I’ve been obsessing about Gale and Ayressa’s wedding, in the midwinter of Waterdeep.

Deep crisp snow outside and they are in a beautiful venture, with wooden floors and high vaulted ceilings, pillars stretching up and bright candelabra hanging over them with flickering orange candles.

Gale is princely in his attire, an exquisitely embroidered waist coat of deep blue under a long knee length jacket of the same shade and trousers to match. Open collar though, no tie, a hint of his chest hair that he knows Ayressa will spend the day thinking about. He’s a bit anxious, simply because this level of formality is not one he often wears and he wants everything perfect for his new wife. Morena has to gentle scold him from time to time - ‘stop picking at it or the thread will actually pull, Gale’.

The guests filter in, around twenty members of the Dekarios clan have arrived each with their families making nearly sixty of the guests on their own - aunts, uncles, cousins and second cousins that it sometimes seemed that Morena picked out of thin air were it not for the fact she was one of five children. Gale is unusual in the fact that Morena only had a single child. The Aedihle family is much smaller, elven families tend to be, with her parents and sister in attendance. But she has a wider circle of friends; people she’s helped who stayed in touch, fellow artists, associates who have helped her on many a case.

Then there are their companions, a devastating notable absence is Karlach, who passed away instead of returning to the Hells. Lae’zel is also absent, on her quest in the Astral Plane to fight Vaalkith.

They chose dusk so Astarion could attend, and he is holding court in his disarmingly charming manner. Gale has warned him about not getting his fangs into any of the guests. Shadowheart and Wyll converse quietly, the newest Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate drawing excited and curious glances. Shadowheart looks happy and settled, with her parents alive she is embracing her own family life. Jaheira, her oldest children , Minsc and Boo sit with them, alongside Halsin and Minthara, who have found some way to tolerate each other. Others are there too; Zevlor, Alfira, Rolan and his siblings, Aylin and Isobel, Barcus… so many people that were helped during the Netherbrain crisis.

The music cues and the huge double doors open to reveal Ayressa. Her gown in dove grey velvet, scooped neckline adorned with blue embroidery to match Gale’s suit. The sleeves bellow out from her elbows to match the length of the dress. A girdle highlights her waist with a matching necklace at her throat. A diadem sits across her brow but her silvery white and pink hair falls in soft waves.

She walks alone down the aisle. Her father offered to give her away but she didn’t like the connotation, and walks willingly toward her new life. Her family were a little concerned when she announced her intention - marrying a human is a painful path for many an elf - but accept her decision in seeing how happy she is. (As an aside, they have no idea he is the Chosen of Mystra and will be capable of extending his lifespan).

The ceremony lasts less than half an hour, vows of love, devotion and eternity are made and the hall becomes the heart of festivities. They don’t do a sit down meal, opting for a focus on music and dancing, mingling and conversation - that said, there is an abundance of food, thanks in part to the magical prowess of a number of the guests. Dance cards are quickly filled, Wyll in particular spends a large amount of time on the dance floor, as a flurry of young women flock to the most eligible bachelor of the night.

It’s past midnight when the reception comes to a closed. Those with younger families having left sooner. Soon it is just those they are closest with, the Bride and Groom dance in besotted adoration until only they occupy the room. With a cheeky spell of displacement, Gale whisks them back to the tower to finish out the night in tangled ecstasy.

[Meta Notes] Devastating as Karlach’s death is, I tend to keep it the case in this world. Sometimes you simply can’t save everyone and while I know I could alter it, I want to retain the experience I had as a player and work with that pain as something that is dealt with by the characters.

As for Minthara, I did the whole ‘non-lethal combat’ for her as it had become a proper viable option the first time I did an Ayressa playthrough. I do like that you can do this in-game now without some crazy roundabout method that previously seemed to involve a sheep. So, the headcanon is they think she’s dead, so finding her alive at Moonrise is a surprise for the gang but Ayressa refuses to leave her to be tortured like that. Despite their differences, being polar opposites, Ayressa has a life long ally in Minthara even if they aren’t actually friends.

[ingek73]

India archive reveals extent of ‘colonial loot’ in royal jewellery collection

File from India Office archive details how priceless items were extracted from colony as trophies of conquest

by David Pegg and Manisha Ganguly

Published: 14:00 Thursday, 06 April 2023

Five years ago, Buckingham Palace marked its summer opening with an exhibition celebrating the then Prince Charles’s 70th birthday with a display of his favourite pieces from the royal collection, Britain’s official trove of items connected to the monarchy. “The prince had a very, very strong hand in the selection,” the senior curator said.

Among the sculptures, paintings and other exhibits was a long gold girdle inlaid with 19 large emeralds once used by an Indian maharajah to decorate his horses. It was a curious choice to put into the exhibition in light of the violent means by which it had come into the hands of the royal family.

Emerald girdle of Maharaja Sher Singh, c 1840. Photograph: Royal Collection Trust / © His Majesty King Charles III 2023

As part of its Cost of the crown series, the Guardian has uncovered a remarkable 46-page file in the archives of the India Office, the government department that was responsible for Britain’s rule over the Indian subcontinent. It details an investigation, apparently commissioned by Queen Mary, the grandmother of Elizabeth II, into the imperial origins of her jewels.

The report, from 1912, explains how priceless pieces, including Charles’s emerald belt, were extracted from India as trophies of conquest and later given to Queen Victoria. The items described are now owned by the monarch as property of the British crown.

Plundered stones

To fully understand the context behind the jewels, and their place in India’s history, it was necessary to visit the archives.

A journal records a tour in 1837 of the Punjab area in north India by the society diarist Fanny Eden and her brother George, the governor general of the British Raj at the time. They visited Ranjit Singh, the maharajah in Lahore, who had signed a “treaty of friendship” with the British six years earlier.

The half-blind Singh wore few if any precious stones, Eden wrote in her journal, but his entourage was positively drowning in them. So plentiful were the maharajah’s gems that “he puts his very finest jewels on his horses, and the splendour of their harness and housings surpasses anything you can imagine,” she wrote. Eden later confided in her journal: “If ever we are allowed to plunder this kingdom, I shall go straight to their stables.”

Twelve years later, Singh’s youngest son and heir, Duleep, was forced to sign over the Punjab to the conquering forces of the British East India Company. As part of the conquest, the company did indeed plunder the horses’ emeralds, as well as Singh’s most precious stone, the legendary Koh-i-noor diamond.

The queen mother’s crown sits on top of the coffin during her funeral in 2002. Photograph: Dan Chung/The Guardian

Today, the Koh-i-noor sits in the crown of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, on display at the Tower of London, and it has become an emblem of Britain’s tortured relationship with its imperial history.

Anita Anand, a journalist and historian who co-wrote a book titled Koh-i-noor on the diamond, said it was “a beautiful and cold reminder of British supremacy during the Raj”, the period between 1858 and 1947 when India was ruled by the crown.

“Its facets reflect the fate of a boy king who was separated from his mother,” Anand said. The stone too was “taken far away from his home, recut and diminished”. Anand said: “That is not how India sees itself today.”

Buckingham Palace is plainly aware of the sensitivities surrounding looted artefacts. After the Indian government let it be known that for Camilla, the Queen Consort, to wear the Koh-i-noor at Charles’s coronation would elicit “painful memories of the colonial past”, the palace announced she would swap it for a less contentious diamond.

But, as was discovered by Queen Mary, the Koh-i-noor was not the only gem taken from Singh’s treasury to have found its way to the British monarchy.

Royal with a pearl necklace

Among the jewels identified in the document found by the Guardian is a “short necklace of four very large spinel rubies”, the largest of which is a 325.5-carat spinel that later came to be identified as the Timur ruby.

Its famous name is erroneous: research by the academic Susan Stronge in 1996 concluded it was probably never owned by Timur, a Mongol conquerer. And it is a spinel, a red stone similar to, but chemically distinct from, a ruby.

Elizabeth II was shown handling it in the 1969 BBC documentary Royal Family, and was clearly acquainted with the myths surrounding it. “The history, of course, is very fascinating. It belonged to so many kings of Persia and Mughal emperors, until Queen Victoria was sent it from India,” she observed.

The Timur ruby necklace, 1853. Photograph: Royal Collection Trust / © His Majesty King Charles III 2023

The queen was never pictured wearing the item. However, she may have worn another of the Lahore treasures, identified in the India Office report as “a pearl necklace consisting of 224 large pearls”.

In her 1987 study of royal jewellery, Leslie Field described “one of the Queen Mother’s most impressive two-row pearl necklaces … made from 222 pearls with a clasp of two magnificent rubies surrounded by diamonds that had originally belonged to the ruler of the Punjab” – almost certainly a reference to the same necklace.

The queen wearing pearls at the Royal Opera House in 2012. Photograph: AFP/Getty Images

In 2012, Elizabeth II attended a gala festival at the Royal Opera House in London to celebrate her diamond jubilee. Photographs showed her wearing a multi-string pearl necklace with a ruby clasp.

Were these Ranjit Singh’s pearls? There was speculation they may have been, though Buckingham Palace was unable to confirm either way.

Queen Mary’s interest appears to have been prompted by curiosity about the origin of some of her pearls rather than any moral concern about the manner in which they were obtained. But a Buckingham Palace spokesperson said slavery and colonialism were matters that “his Majesty takes profoundly seriously”.

Shashi Tharoor, formerly an undersecretary at the United Nations, and currently an MP in India, said: “We have finally entered an era where colonial loot and pillage is being recognised for what it really was, rather than being dressed up as the incidental spoils of some noble ‘civilising mission’.

“As we are seeing increasingly, the return of stolen property is always a good thing. Generations to come will wonder why it took civilised nations so long to do the right thing.”

[stcries]

anon wrote: curious of what the madness-invoking idea is. feel free to put it here to gauge interest + i am nosy lol

WELL OKAY, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO ASKED. let's see, how can i put this into simple words without making it sound weird ...

picture this, it's been a long day of working at the shack, maybe not even that, just regular old everyday shenanigans. and i'm thinking, maybe just maybe, a certain older gentleman has been complaining about his girdle all day and maybe there could be a semi intimate moment of him uh, shedding it in his partner's presence? let that tum hang out after a long hard day's work, maybe then some relaxing cuddles after?? IDK THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DESCRIBE IT.