#i debated between that and a city elf for a while because the city elf backstory was way more fucked up than i was expecting

[depresseddepot]

SO THERE'S THIS TEMPLAR NAMED CULLEN........

[darklinaforever]

It makes me laugh when I see people saying that Orlok can't be Ellen's soulmate, because apparently it would obviously be Thomas. Under one of the pretexts that destiny, what Orlok is to Ellen, does not necessarily mean soulmate. We will discuss the other points that apparently would make Thomas Ellen's soulmate at the end because that is another subject...

But honestly, who, between these two men that Ellen loves equally, is more likely to be her soulmate ?

Orlok, technically her fiancé, the one who like Ellen does not belong to the world of the living, is not human, is a supernatural creature, knowing that Ellen is herself throughout the film compared to various supernatural creatures, the one who accepts her true nature and pushes / forces her to embrace him, the only one capable of understanding her, the only one with whom Ellen nourishes a real true connection, the only one also capable of satisfying her sexual passions, who precisely represents on the symbolic level Ellen herself, more precisely the parts of her not accepted, judged and demonized by Victorian society, a world that rejects Ellen and that Orlok mistreats, the one who is her destiny, with whom she unites her soul forever at the end of the story and therefore with whom she ends up ?

Or Thomas, her husband who loves her sincerely (and in a more or less pure way) and with whom their marriage is a sacred (since it is a Christian marriage), who accepts the society in which he lives without questioning it and desperately wanting to correspond to the perfect patriarchal male model of the time in the same sense as his best friend Harding, that is to say by accessing wealth and having the perfect cliché of the perfect Victorian wife with their beautiful children, but to which he technically conforms precisely already since he doesn't listen Ellen, doesn't take her seriously, constantly sees her as a damsel in distress, and thinks he knows better than her do what's best for her, who a part of him dismisses her because he is incapable of understanding this supernatural part of elf, who, yes, still loves her despite the demonstrations of her dark aspects but he is still horrified by it, therefore still not in complete acceptance, and who also isn't capable of fucking Ellen properly as an aside, therefore of satisfying her passions, him who blocks for a time Ellen's innate magical abilities when he meet / married her, therefore fundamental aspects of her person as an individual, which he is not her destiny and with whom Ellen does not end ?

Seriously ? There's really a debate about who is better for Ellen in this situation even if she loves them both equally ?

Also, apparently for some, the fact that Thomas & Ellen are the true soulmates of the story would be because Thomas is apparently her sanctuary against the great evil (which I guess translates into the fact that Ellen's magical abilities are restricted once she meets Thomas and marries him, and also that he tries to protect her), and that Ellen sacrifices herself to save Thomas her love at the end.

Except that, first, Thomas tries to protect Ellen but fails, so I don't see how that would make him Ellen's soulmate. Wanting to protect someone is a classic thing when you're in love normally. It's not exceptional. Unless they try to make a parallel with the fact that Ellen sacrifices herself for him and therefore they are the same in that sense except that... I already said it... but...

She is not only doing this to save Thomas because she loved, but also the city / the world, as much out of kindness / altruism as obligation because she brought Orlok into this world, and she is the only one who can take him away. But also and above all embraced and accepted who she really is in her union with Orlok (they get married in a specific ritual that binds their souls forever in the spirit world), while succumbing to her desire and feelings for him by uniting body and again especially soul with him forever in the spiritual world. So no matter where they go now, it will always be together. She is essentially taking advantage of her "sacrifice" to give free rein to her desires and love for Orlok.

That's the real reason for Ellen's sacrifice at the end, and not so much for her love for Thomas and the desire to save the world.

There is also this excellent post that talks in depth about the true meaning of Ellen's sacrifice in the 2024 version, which has nothing to do with the 1922 and 1979 versions as many are absolutely trying to claim to avoid the reality of the new version of Ellen, namely that she is not the embodiment of purity :

So we'll go back to this soulmate argument just because Ellen would sacrifice herself out of love for Thomas and it would serve as a parallel to Thomas' failed attempts to save Ellen... 😂

And I've already talked about this too, but no, Thomas partially blocking Ellen's abilities after he met and married her is not a good thing. To get your answers go here :

So, once again, we will return to Thomas' two-bit argument, apparently being the sanctuary of Ellen against the Great Evil.

Knowing that this Great Evil literally symbolically represents his wife...

Oh and she dies looking at thomas so he's apparently the one she would really love. Not like she's already half gone by then and she's bound to be with orlok forever anyway... And anyway, Ellen loves both of them equally. It's not a competition on this point.

But apparently according to the person who commented under one of my posts "to love is to understand and SACRIFICE. That sacrifice happened when Ellen decided to give in if only to protect her love ; Thomas" (although we've already established in this post that Ellen's sacrifice isn't really about Thomas centrally speaking at all).

In fact, I also just remembered her saying :

"Even after seeing Ellen become completely possessed, violent and then breakdown, he holds her in her arms and calms her down. That man is literally her sanctuary from the great evil."

Although I don't see why Thomas deserves a medal for comforting Ellen and staying by her side while she was being possessed by a being who hurt him too ? When you really love someone, it's logical behavior again. But the Thomas & Ellen fans are trying to turn this into something exceptional and incredible from Thomas when it's the bare minimum he has to do for me ?!

Not to mention I love how they always forget to mention the super awkward, performative sex scene that is almost filmed as a form of rape (even though I know that Ellen technically says yes, but the way of filming remains very particular) that happens before Thomas makes this big, super romantic gesture towards Ellen according to these people. They always forget to mention that Thomas initially acted on his wounded male ego for being judged as less good at sex than a vampire with a rotting body, and so decided to prove how good he was sexually, and in the end, he was nothing but pathetic, once again failing to satisfy Ellen.

Not even able to kiss her on her heart like she asked him to, which Orlok on the other hand will do during his own wedding night with Ellen without her asking him to.

By the way, notice how the sex scene between Ellen & Thomas lacks intimacy and romantism compared to Ellen & Orlok's ?

So this is what shows that Thomas would be Ellen's great sanctuary against the great evil ? Because of this very disturbing scene ? When he doesn't help in any real way during Ellen's possession, other than comforting her at the end which is... the normal thing to do ? Okay...

Again, this is a real glorification and romanticization and simplification of Thomas and his relationship with Ellen. They are not the great pure and perfect love that these people want them to be. They don't even really work together ! But they loved each other and try to be good for each other in the way society has educated them to do it, but finaly fail in this sense. And especially because Thomas manages to conform but Ellen doesn't, because she don't really like this way of do things.

Also... saying that love is understand and sacrifice... Doesn't that remind you of Ellen & Orlok, ironically ?

They understand each other, and both make a blood sacrifice at the end to unite their souls, something that Ellen has always wanted deep down with Orlok (cause she desires him, loves him and he represents the buried aspects of herself etc), even if she also does it for the other reasons that I have already stated. But the fact is that it is with Orlok that she checks both aspects. Understanding and sacrifice. Not with Thomas where there is no understanding between the two. They have never really understood each other, and Thomas is again far from being the main reason for Ellen's sacrifice. It's more about herself and Orlok than anything else.

The fact that we always come back to the same truth. Ellen loves Thomas as much as she loves Orlok. But only one really suits her, and that's the one she'll end up with.

And don't come and talk to me about the fact that the Ellen & Orlok relationship is toxic. I know it. We're talking about a vampire who embodies death, a demon. Obviously there's also toxicity in this relationship like with Thomas (but that doesn't change the fact that Orlok is a better fit for Ellen). It's a gothic romance.

But the fact is that the symbolic heart of Ellen & Orlok's relationship is not really based on this toxicity, at least not in the way people would classically understand it. Really go read @apoloadonisandnarcissus analysis to really understand all that (the movie and the relationship of Ellen & Orlok), she does a wonderful work.

[fuschiarulerinthebluebox]

Hi Folks! I thought it’s time I finally shared my Rook Sabine!

While she is a technically a City Elf, being raised in Nevarra, she frequently seeks out the Dalish so she can keep records of the different oral traditions between clans. Growing up in the Necropolis did not affect her the way growing up amongst humans does for most city elves, presumably because of the close proximity to spirits, and she retains excellent dark vision (her pupils do appear vaguely cat like in low light conditions).

Her style tends to be typically Nevarran, with frequent adornments of oxidised brass, and a dark color palette of black, greens, and burgundy. She does really love the contrast of bone white though… Like most Mourn Watch and corvids she loves shinies.

While she doesn’t have a “birthday” Sabine was found on the last day of a week long Hunt Ball, which ended on Wintersend. This celebration day stuck, and she has maintained an intense love of weaselling her way into any Hunt Ball she can manage (invites or not), and keeps an unreasonably large wardrobe of gowns and formalwear.

During Veilguard she:

Had an established pen pal/ friendship with Bellara because of her records of oral histories. She’s also fast friends with Davrin for similar reasons and writes down all of the songs he’d sing to the Halla

Sabine had an intense crush on Professor Volkarin during her time in the Necropolis and frequented several of his conference lectures. At the Lighthouse she spent a lot of time swinging wildly between flirting and being awkward, then dishing to Bellara.

She cooked meals organised girl dinner for the group before Lucanis came, and had to win kitchen privileges from him later with a batch of orange cardamom braided sweetbread. She immediately developed a crush when she tried the first meal he made

Sabine, Emmrich, and Lucanis (and Spite) form a series of self care checks and balances for each other in their relationship. They’re all equally hopeless romantics and exchange small casual gifts, often just trinkets like a pressed flower, nice rock, or colourful feathers or scales

Neve and Sabine spend an inordinate amount of time going over logistics to “adopt” a cat for the Lighthouse, and seriously debate the finer points of trying to get the ghost/cat duo in Treviso to come live with them

During their travels Harding started teaching Sabine different embroidery stitches and techniques, and they’d spend time together at the lighthouse keeping that routine. Lace’s favourite technique for Sabine is goldwork, and she gifted them a vest with bullion worked in glittering wisps

Sabine’s favourite hobby is trying to recreate rules for “lost” games they’d encounter in the Necropolis tombs, and introduced a game night to go along with their book club

Bonus of a fantastic piece of art I got of Sabine from LaLaLaurenBoyle!

[missblissy]

The Painter - Astarion X Reader

Summary: While out shopping in the city you come across a strange book. You decide to give it a read and get a few ideas… Maybe this was something you should share with Astarion?

Warnings: 🤷🤷 There isn’t really anything to be worried about, maybe suggestive themes but?? It’s mostly pinning, angst, kind of intimacy 👀 GN! Tav as always tho UwU)/✨

A/N: 🔫💀 I am here to bring more non-sexual intimacy with Astarion because I love healing a traumatized man. The poem used later in the story must get its credit where it’s due, and is Acquainted with the Night by Robert Frost. As always, enjoy!

There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique with time and practice. A brush stroke can be equal of that to the hand caress along the inner thigh and bringing pleasure beyon-

“Hmm? Reading something new, I see?”

The binds of your book screamed out as the pages slapped such, cover to cover, while your skin nearly jumped off your own bones, “Astarion! H-hey!”

Peering over your shoulder from the back of the couch was the keeper of your heart and destroyer of any sense of sanity you had left. Astarion raised a cursed brow at you and leaned a little closer. The night was young and the floors below the Elf Song rang with customers coming and going as they pleased. Thankful the top floor was all to yourself but still, the liveliness below could still be heard.

“Why aren’t you down stairs with everyone else?” You asked as you set the book down beside you, even managing to slip it between the pillows and cushions.

Most of the others had joined the music and drinking below, Astarion was down there the last you checked, getting into some kind of heated debate with Wyll and Gale about who could flip a coin better. Sometimes those three could be so…

You shook the thought away as Astarion crawled over the back of the couch and smoothly sat down beside you, “Well I came looking for you of course,” He gave a wave of his hand then a side look, “You don’t normally hide away reading,”

There was a soft laugh from you and a half shrug, “We’ve been here for weeks now. There is only so much fun a drunken tavern can provide, and spending every night down there isn’t my cup of tea,”

“Hm, you’re no fun. What’s another night of drunken debauchery?” Astarion teased with a nudge of his shoulder into yours, but you gave a little shake of your head and he got his answer, “Fine, fine~” He sang out then threw his arms behind his head as he stretched, “One boring night, coming right up,”

You knew he was only teasing and meant nothing by it. Seeing as the flicker of amusement in the corner of his eye told you he would rather be up here with you anyways.

Without a second thought or a slight of hesitation, Astarion made himself comfortable. He laid down with his head in your lap, you letting out a little giggle as he shoved your hands out of the way to make room for himself. His feet dangled off the arm of the couch and he shuffled a bit as he kicked off his boots.

“So, tell me about this book you're reading, my love. I’ve seen your nose in it since we left that book shop,” Almost as if by instinct, your fingers started combing through his white curls, “It must be a terribly lascivious fantasy, no?”

You could hear the little giggle bubbling behind his words as he spoke as well. How many times has he mentioned the book now and you’ve just ignored him? “It’s not that kind of book,” You didn’t stop playing with his hair, but you did look away with a faint blush. If he was going to be persistent about it then you had little choice to put up a fight.

He started to reach over toward the book tucked beside you but you slapped his hand repeatedly, “It’s not that kind of book,” You huffed then grabbed it for yourself. Just to prove your point you leafed through the pages then stopped on a specific one.

To say it wasn’t just any kind of book would be an understatement. You held the book open and showed Astarion. On the page was a simple diagram. Well… perhaps not simple.

The vampire spawn tilted his head a little, not exactly sure what he was looking at. Slowly he lifted his hands up and held the book open himself, “That pain priest really did a number on you back then, huh?”

“In a way, yes. But… Not exactly,” You said, while gazing at the page as well. It was hand drawn by someone tied up, very tied up, and very restrained, hanging from bounds of ropes off a ceiling. You flipped to an earlier page, one that shows exactly what knots where needed to achieve such a complex picture.

You then flipped a few pages back, “You did too,” You were hesitant to say those words, but there was no reason to lie. Nothing good came from it so why hide. You stopped on a different picture with a person fully in the nude but covered head to toe in painted on words. Then to another page that required both you an Astarion to nearly tilt your heads in a 90 degree angle to get a better look at whatever it was you were seeing.

A moment of silence passed and Astarion narrowed his gaze softly with a raised brow and looked up at you, “What is this book?” He closed it and looked at the cover, no title, then the spine, nothing. He went to the first page and only found a table of contents.

You gentle took it from his grasp and started fingering through it, to somewhere in the middle where the title was hidden, “Peculiar Pleasures,”

Astarion sat up fully, his head no longer in your lap as he straightened out beside you, “What did you mean, when you said you did too?” There was a slow growth of worry on his face, like he was about to be in trouble.

But you have a quick wave of your hand to dispel such worries, “Nothing bad,” You softly smiled and placed a gentle hand on his, he quickly took it but still had a silent question in his face waiting for you to explain, “I…” You started, not exactly sure where to start, “… I Was looking through the books at the shop, just wandering about. I saw this book, and it reminded me of you. And what you said about this kind of stuff feeling… Tainted?”

He didn’t say much but he did raise a brow and held an open hand out with a curl of his fingers. You passed the book to him and watched as those same fingers flipped pages with care and curiosity.

Still a little frazzled, you felt your shoulders tense up and rise to your neck while letting out a nervous laugh, “I just thought it was interesting…” You started to ring your fingers together with that same empty laugh, “And maybe this book could, I don’t know… It’s sex without sex!” You blurted out louder and than you expected then got yourself all sorts of frazzled, “Like… ya know… that kind of stuff. I just thought-”

“You thought it could help,” His voice was cool like ice and just as slick, “That’s very sweet of you,” You finally looked at him to see a smile in the corner of his lips. He leaned into the distance between you two and placed a kiss on your cheek, “I’d like to keep this for awhile, if you don’t mind,”

“You actually want to read it?” The surprise in your voice was hard to hide, why wouldn’t you be? You gave him an odd look full of questions regardless.

He gave you another side look, one more playful as he turned to full face you with a tip of his head slightly to the side. Your noses barely touched as he smirked, “I’m just reading it, love, we aren’t doing anything,” It was cruel of him to flirt like this, and to give such a teasing tone.

It made the tips of your ears burn and your cheeks match, “I know!” You huffed and turned away sharply, “I mean- well. Good.” You smoothed out your shirt as some form of distraction or action to seem casual, “I’m glad you like it then,”

A soft laugh escaped his lips and you felt a smile tug at your lips. Soon the giggles came from you both. Astarion raised an arm, inviting you in by his side and you quickly took the offer, snuggling up and resting against his chest, “How far have you gotten? I shouldn’t have that much to catch up on,” With how fast he reads? It’d only take him a few hours you guessed.

Astarion opened the book again once you had both gotten comfortable on the couch. With a shrug you told him, “I’m not that far, maybe a few chapters?”

“Wonderful,” His grin was cheeky, “Means you don’t have much rereading to do,”

A curious brow was raised on your face, “Oh?”

He snuggled himself closer and began flipping to the first few pages, “Of course, everything I could want is right here,” His voice was laced like honey, sickeningly sweet, “Why would I bother leaving?” He teased, “A beautiful paramour by my side, a saucy book for the ages, and the rest of the night to ourselves,” A stray hand of his began combing through your hair, all the while he focused on skimming pages with ease. It was rather perfect.

You let out a little hum, “You have a point,” The curl of his fingers through your hair was enlightening yet calming. It was like a call of tranquility. Another hum as your eyes fluttered shut, “Wake me when you get to chapter 4? Around page… I don’t know, half way through,” To hells with him if he thought you’d reread the damn chapters a second time.

“Mhm,” Was his simply and soft reply, then followed but the subtle turn of a page. He never stopped twirling curls of your hair between his fingers, something of a rhythmic pattern that was predictable and pleasant.

Sometimes you’d get pulled from the lull when he’d pause, his hand stopped and a strange chuckle could be heard escaping his chest. Even peaking an eye open you could already tell what he was reading. You saw a silly but errotic picture from before, someone clad with no clothes being tickled by countless feathers and… other peculiar things. You laughed at that one too.

Or a few pages later there would be an image of someone experimenting with entire blocks of ice and nothing else, or toying with magic in stranger ways than normal. Even a few pages were dedicated to the art of chanting and just calling out sounds and how to seek orgasmic pleasure from just screaming. Though you couldn’t deny, some things in the pages seemed entirely thrilling. It was indeed a book of peculiar pleasures.

So the half chuckles and chortles from Astarion every so often put a smile on your face. Though you still drifted in and out of a half sleep, despite the ruckus downstairs still raging on. After some time with a vampire you grew to love the coolness that always radiated from Astarion, like a freezer, he was naturally chilled and cool to the touch.

After a while however you felt a little jostle on your shoulder. Then more of a shake. Your eyes shot open and for a split second you were expecting a surprise attack. It was just your beloved vampire, though, seeing as you nearly forgot with your little power nap, “Star-bite..?” You yawned the nickname and rubbed some sleep out of your eyes.

You eyes flickered to the book beside you, still in his hands, you noticed he was nearly to where you left off, he only had a couple pages left to catch up though.

“This one,” Astarion’s voice surprised you, causing you to snap your head towards him. You caught a look of what could only be described as determination. He fully turned the book to you and pointed his finger to the page with an image you had already seen.

There was a drawing of a woman painting on herself. She was, keep in mind, nude, but her body was covered in runes and words alone. They covered her from head to toe. Your eyes traveled to the paragraph below, you still remember what it said.

Pleasure can come in many forms, this one being the pleasure of touch and grace while healing, and exploring the mind and body so intimately that nothing but a brush stroke is needed. This practice is known as The Painter. Its purpose is to form bonds either with yourself or with that who holds the brush. There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique and with practice. A brush stroke can be equal to that of a hand caressing along the inner thigh and bring pleasure beyond what a touch could ever do. Paint into you what you’ve always wanted to hear, or secrets you can’t keep any longer. You could even scribe poems, or runes, whatever means most to you.

“I want to try this one,” Astarion’s voice caused your mind and eyes to drag up to him.

You felt a rush of blood run to your cheeks as you forced an awkward laugh, “R-right now?” He couldn’t be serious. Your eyes flickered around the room, wondering if anyone had come up from the tavern yet.

Astarion only answered you with a quick and sharp nod of his head. Well then…

You blinked a few times, still somewhat surprised by his forwardness, “O-okay,” Then you said it again with more confidence, “Okay!” You shot up from the couch and looked around then made your way to the door, Astarion was close to follow behind you. He did manage to grab an ink well and a brush, however, as you managed to slip away to the solo suite down the hall. He had not forgotten the book either.

“So, what do you want painted on you?” You closed the door as he followed in, then turned and watched as he kept his nose in the book and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Without lifting his head, he raised only his ruby eyes and gave you a staunt look, “I was thinking a poem,” That was rather interesting, or so you thought. A little fitting even.

But you still had to ask, “Are you sure? I mean,” You made your way over to him, sitting side by side while taking the ink well and brush that we’re still tucked under his arm, “I only ask because it wasn’t that long ago we thought it was just a poem on your back,”

“I’m sure,” He closed the book with a swift snap as the pages shut together, “Besides,” He leaned a little closer to you with a smirk, “I get to choose what it says this time,”

A soft single giggle of a laugh escaped you. You then clicked your tongue with a little shake of your head, “Alright, where do you want to start?”

You watched as he proceeded to think, mule over what he wanted and what he didn’t want. Which was still a foreign concept to him that he hadn’t quite yet settled into. Eventually and with caution he said, “Let’s just start with my arm. I don’t think I’ve got enough words to cover me… Nor do I think I want to,” He gave a small and nervous, boyish chuckle at the end.

“Okay,” You nodded with a smile and waited as Astarion shed a few layers, then undone his shirt and exposed only his torso. You had nearly forgotten how beautiful he was, but only soaked in the view for a moment before giggling giddy with bubbles, “You talk, I write,” You hummed and dipped the tip of the brush into the ink, tapped away the loose drops, then hovered it over his one of his shoulders, waiting with anticipation.

His breathing slowed, and Astarion thought. He even closed his eyes trying to envision the words appearing on his own skin. Soft, but not a whisper, his voice traveled deep from his lungs. A strange sounding roughness filled his words.

“I have been one acquainted with the night.”

Slowly with each word, you carefully wrote every letter with deliberate delicacy, as if you were painting on the world’s thinnest canvas, ready to break under the smallest weight.

“I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.”

His voice carried a world hidden within it, one that you could only ever catch a glimpse of in moments like these. Each faint brush stroke along his skin sent small and welcomed shivers from each place the hairs prickled his skin. Astarion even had to take long moments between each entry, to give you time to scrawl down his tainted words.

It was incredibly intimate, much to his surprise. Especially when he’d turn his head just enough to see you, and see your hard stare more focused on the brush strokes of each word than staring back at him. He couldn’t explain it, but having your attention still be on him, but not actually looking at him…. His chest felt light and his blood began to pick up speed. Your focus filled eyes would only glance back up at him when you were ready for the next verse. It was enough to make his breath hitch, for the candle light to reflect stars in his eyes and turn his head away once again.

“I have passed by the watchman on his beat, and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped to the sound of feet… When far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street,”

You carefully worked down his arm, making your way to his wrist, to gently clasp it with your free hand and turn his arm over, palm facing up. There wasn’t a moment of lapse or pause as you continued on working your way up the other side of his unpainted arm. For you this was just as intimate. You could see the shift in his chest, the way his breathing would quicken and slow again depending on where the brush stoked along his skin. In all fairness, it was a learning experience, but still one that made your cheeks burn. Especially when you could feel him staring.

You were keen not to look back at him, or away from writing down his words. As much as you wanted to steal a glimpse, to see the half lidded look on his face, the glaze over of his eyes and the way his lips parted with each intentional word when he was speaking… As for now, all the two of you could hear was each other's shallow breathing, then of course Asterion's little quick in tack of air as you finished the verse and looked up at him waiting patiently.

“But not to call me back… or say good-bye… And further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right….” He paused, and waited, and even more still once you caught up. He said nothing for a moment, nothing at all. But soon he sighed out his next and final words as if they were more personal to him, as they were becoming words of affirmation rather than confirmation, “I have been one acquainted with the night,”

He didn’t move, and neither did you. You couldn’t place your finger on it, but you watched him slowly flutter his eyes close and take in a few low breaths. The ink on his skin had started to dry and you carefully traced your fingers over the black words once more. There wasn’t any tension between you two, rather, a longing.

You’re voice came as a subtle surprise to him, just to hear it that is, “I have become one acquainted with the night,” You echoed, still tracing the words along his arm, “It’s a beautiful poem,” You leaned closer and place a light and loving kiss on his shoulder, “And a little sad,”

Hearing so made a bittersweet smile curl onto Astarion lips and he breathed out a soft and low hum of a laugh, the kind that came from his nose as he sighed along with it. He tipped his head towards yours, a loving nudge as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head, “It is sad, but true,”

“Hmm,” You smiled a little more as he placed a kiss on your forehead. You fell into each other, into a loose embrace by simply enjoying the closeness. You still traced your fingers lightly along his painted arm, then softly gave a loose chuckle, “You know this doesn’t look to bad,” You gentle lifted his arm, in the process you hooked your arm around his and locked yourself at the elbow while slipping your hand into his, “I bet you’d be able to pull of tattoos if you wanted,” A banter was in your voice, light and airy.

A quick laugh came from him, and he raised an eyebrow at you, “You think so?” His giggle was laced into his words, he peered down along his arm and took a moment to imagine the words being replaced with more permanent art, “Is that your way of saying you’d like me more with ink?” The tease in his voice was harmless and playful.

With a dramatic, “Noo!” You nudged your shoulder into his, swaying a little together as you each laughed, “Only if you wanted to, of course. I like you just as you are,” Though you wouldn’t mind at all… the back of your mind flashed you images of Astarion honestly covered with tattoos.. hmph.

Astarion placed a little kiss along the side of your temple to ease his teasing and said, “Honestly I’ve never considered them before. The idea of a needle poking me for hours on end sounds like torture… Though…” He looked back down at his arm, gave it a little twist and a full view as he admired the words, “You are right, I do look pretty good,” He smirked with sharp teeth.

You burst into a fit of giggles and nodded your head along with him, “You really do,” You gestured back to the brush and ink well beside you, “I can do more if you like?”

His eyes flickered to follow your hand then he gave a little shake of his head, “This is a good start, for now,” He reached over and took your hand in his, bringing the back of it to his lips and placing a tender kiss against your skin, “Thank you. For doing this, I mean,” Then he gave a cheeky little shrug and a slight harmless roll of his eyes, “And maybe for getting the book too… I… I think I needed this,”

“Of course,” Your brows knitted together but with a sweetness as you place a hand on his cheek, “Of course!” You repeated with emphasis, placing a kiss on his forehead and pressing yours to his, noses just brushes against each other while you humed, “Anything for you, my sweet Star-bite,”

[stormlit]

a rundown of brenna's major game choices. note: none of these are decisions i will push onto other writers, and will leave all companion choices up to those writers. they're just what i will go with by default. i think there's a lot of fun in exploring different options!

default romance: zevran

origin: helps nessa and her family stay in denerim. fights her way out of the arl of denerim's estate. kills vaughan. takes sole responsibility for the murder.

circle: sides with the mages and has some very choice things to say to cullen. irving lives. recruits wynne.

redcliffe: assists in the town's defences, convinces as many people as possible to fight, and leads the charge against the darkspawn. gets the circle's help with dealing with connor; both he and isolde live. speaks in favour of jowan's release after his help.

urn of sacred ashes: does not defile the urn. seeing the ashes work rekindles some faith in brenna, though she has issues with the chantry as an institution.

brecilian forest: takes the grand oak's path. brokers peace between the elves and werewolves, and breaks the curse. feels incredibly uncomfortable around that many dalish elves at once and her companions see her at her most sharp-tongued.

orzammar: supports bhelen for king (though continually refuses to make the decision; she's an elf who hates nobility, why should she?). sides with caridin, killing branka and destroying the anvil. helps dagna go to the circle. does not help the chantry gain a foothold, believing the dwarves should be allowed their own beliefs. elevates the legion of the dead to nobility at the shaperate.

alienage: does everything she can to help her people, including any little fetch quests, smuggling food and weapons in, and while she's usually fine with theft, doesn't let her companions steal from the elves. pretends to be sick to gain access to the hospice. kills every tevinter slaver she can, no mercy.

warden's keep: kills sophia. reluctantly allows avernus to ethically continue his research if he focuses on curing the calling. does not take the power of blood concoction.

landsmeet: does not get to unilaterally decide the monarch of ferelden (nor does she want to). goes back and forth between wanting her best friend to be happy and thinking alistair is her best bet at a ruler that's good to the elves because he's her friend; ultimately supports him for king, for all the good the opinion of a city elf who kills nobles does. loses the landsmeet debate and starts a brawl. duels loghain herself and executes him.

epilogue: dark ritual is undertaken by default. brenna becomes bann of the alienage, specifically seeing it as the only way to bring about change (which is true, up until the humans riot, things get worse again, and she survives an assassination attempt).

factions: assists the blackstone irregulars and mages collective. does chanter's board quests. completes crime wave and becomes the dark wolf. refuses the antivan crows side quests (she's heard enough about them from zevran to want nothing to do with them). helps the red jennies.

companions: recruits all companions, including dog, sten (by picking the lock), and shale. completes all companion quests, including killing flemeth and refusing to let the crows have zevran. alistair is hardened, leliana is not.

awakening: reluctantly persuaded to take part. allows nathaniel to do the joining specifically because she hopes it'll kill him; learns over time that he is not his father. recruits all other companions. fully upgrades the keep. saves both the keep and the city. disappears in the aftermath, giving up the warden-commander title, and refuses to participate in anything else the wardens want.

[sparklecryptid]

*laughs forever*

Oh man, the picture of the Feanorians going, "Are we SURE this is Adar" and watching Ace BRISTLE at that like an insulted cat and going, "Yeah no that's him!" is PRICELESS.

Also him freezing Eonwe's feet to the stone floor is an amazing picture too. "Yeah no that's MY evil relative thanks. He serves NO ONE. Emphatically."

YES, Ace polycule rights! He's probably really nervous about Nyx and Nerdanel meeting, but probably not for the right reasons. He's probably worried about tensions regarding the past marriage to Nerdanel and the current marriage to Nyx, and his memories about how Finwe's marriages went-

When really, I'm thinking they meet and it's more like;

Nyx: *awkward pause* Hi?

Nerdanel: *curious* Hello?

Nerdanel, after another awkward pause: So, does he still tap his feet when he cooks in the morning? And tear sweet rolls open to eat the filling first? (or you know, fill in random cute stuff here that better fits him, lols)

Nyx, suddenly grinning: YES. Did he used to-

aaaand then they're off and giggling, heads together an hour later while Ace watches simultaneously suspicious (not BAD suspicious tho) and relieved.

AH, and just think of when they all ask about Ace's current life and they learn he runs a BAR. Like, they were told he's a Prince. That did not surprise them. They learn he's the Kings oldest son. Yeah, that checks out. But then, he's a bastard, his little brother is the actual heir and he's got a dive bar on the far side of the city.

This they HAVE to see.

And then Ace's former siblings also show up (Arafinwe jammed the crown on the first kid he could grab and came too! He's NOT missing this!)

Dalksjdaslkjdas YES I LOVE THE NREDANEL AND NYX BIT

Don’t mind me just-

-

Nyx loves his husband. He does. But he can say that half the shit Ace has brought into their life has been baffling and weird. This current instance of their lives being baffling and weird takes the cake.

Ace has introduced Nyx to his - former? The question mark is there because Nyx does not know how elf marriage works - wife and then had been promptly called back to his bar for some reason or another.

Ace had only left after being reassured by both Nyx and Nerdanel that it was fine. Really.

It’s not like anything is going to happen.

“Would you mind if I asked you a question about - Ace? That’s his name now yes?” Nerdanel’s voice is pleasant and despite the awkward tension between them Nyx finds himself more curious about her than anything.

“As long as it’s nothing he should answer himself,” Nyx says.

“Oh, nothing like that.” Nerdanel pauses. “Does he still sing when he cooks?”

Nyx laughs.

“Yes, he does. Did he used used to tug at his hair when upset?”

Nerdanel grins. “He did! Does he still favour spices that burn?”

“Yes! Did he-“

They continue like that until Ace comes back.

Meanwhile

Ace stares at all three of his brothers standing in his bar. He blinks once, he blinks twice.

He stares at Noctis and suddenly debates encouraging Gladio and Cor to spend more time training Noctis.

Noctis grins at him, sheepishly and shy.

“Uh,” Noctis says while rubbing the back of his neck, “They wanted to see where you live?”

Ace turns his gaze to Finarfin and Fingolfin. They look the same as they always did. Finarfin is grinning as he looks down at Ace and Ace feels indignant at the fact his younger siblings are taller than him.

(Noctis better not become taller than him. Ace will riot.)

“You work here?”” Finarfin sounds delighted and Ace feels like there are shenanigans coming.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Fingolfin asks, “We were told you are a Prince.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to be one,” Ace says dryly and takes great pleasure in how Finarfin and Fingolfin pause, “I’m not even the heir to the throne.” A pointed look at Noctis has Finarfin and Fingolfin looking down at the teenager in front of them.

Noctis flushes under their gaze. He’s embarrassed.

Serves him right.

“But if you work here, where do you live?” Finarfin asks.

“Upstairs,” Ace says.

Fingolfin looks aghast.

[bookwyrminspiration]

thoughts on how grady was practically the first one to out-right "accuse"/"voice" that sophie started a war by burning down the warehouse? i was rereading it and that part made me feel a bit icky(?)

Okay I gotta be honest this (as in Grady doing this, not your ask) infuriates me, but also I can kinda understand the whole debate over the "war" situation, Sophie apparently being the one to turn it into a war and everyone else being like "Sophie I hope you understand the consequences of your actions."

But before I get to the Grady thing, there's this one scene that I think Shannon was using to get us to this mindset to feel icky about it and for us to side with Sophie--as far as I know, there are almost none to no people who disagree with Sophie's actions in the fandom; we've all supported her calling it a war and think it has been a war for a while, none of us siding against her or shocked.

There's a line in Legacy that goes like this: "'The thing is[...] this isn't a game,' she warned Maruca. 'I've called it that before too, because it's easier to think of it that way. But it's not. It's war. Not the global, multispecisial battle that Mr. Forkle things we're building toward--yet. But still. War" (pg 391). Sophie has been thinking of this fight against the Neverseen as war for multiple books, and this is one of the clearer, more recent instances where she makes it very obvious. We, reading from her perspective, have then thought of the battle as a war for a while as well because we're influenced by her. But as far as I can remember, there are very few, if any, instances where war are mentioned by anyone else--and not nearly as plainly as Sophie does.

I think when it comes down to it, Sophie is used to war. Not that she's fought in them before or likes them, but she was raised human and humans have wars and violence and so she more readily applies those labels despite her distaste for them. Those raised in the elven "peaceful" world are more reluctant to use those words and only did when something dramatic shifted--Sophie going on the offense. They never thought it would come to that and were fooling themselves into believing they weren't at war on a technicality. Sophie doesn't have their reservations, so she didn't realize how much everyone else had fooled themselves into thinking it wasn't a war yet.

Now back to the Grady thing: him being the one to first voice that it was Sophie who turned it into a war is kinda icky, because we've come to associate him with complete support and someone she can always rely on to have her back. I mean think about it, what times has Grady spoken against what Sophie was doing? The only times I can remember are times where she was in danger or could be at risk in some way, and that's what he was against. Otherwise, he's supported and agreed with her almost 100%. This is a major change where suddenly...he's not on the same page as her, and actually kinda disagrees with her from what we can see. He still loves her and cares for her, but he didn't think of it as war until after she'd burned down the storehouse.

As much as he's been open to Sophie being in his life and the changes she's trying to bring about, he is still an elf. He was born and raised in the Lost Cities and he thinks like an elf. The main way he deviates is that he has experienced loss and grief, had an intense battle with guilt, and knew of the Black Swan and "what they were capable of" (though he had it wrong) before the rest of the world did. While that does make him more open in his thinking, none of that is nearly as radical as Sophie, so there's that disconnect between them. At his core, he still thinks and lives like an elf. Sophie, on the other hand, thinks like a human. That's a lot of what it is with everyone, actually. All of her friends think like elves while Sophie thinks like a human, and while it's what she was made for and the entire purpose of project moonlark, it was going to cause a rift eventually. And now it has.

Grady being the first one to speak on it I think was more for shock than because he is the most against Sophie. Because it being Grady is like...what? But he's been there with her since the beginning? He's always supported her? Why would he do this? If it had been someone else, like...Wraith or someone, it wouldn't have had that impact. It would just be another person who didn't see eye to eye with her, but this was Grady, which showed that this was serious. It conveyed the impact of her choice and how different her thoughts are from that of her companions. It really singled her out because someone who had been at her side through and through suddenly wasn't in the same way anymore. And that was the purpose of Grady speaking first, and he wasn't needed as much after that. That's why Tiergan stepped in.

So I agree, nonsie!! That scene did feel pretty icky to read, but that was also the point. It was meant to be a shock, because it was a defining point in where the fight, where the war will go from here. And it's put things into perspective, who is on her side and how people think. As icky as it was, it did serve its role effectively.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Do you have any personal headcanons about Celebrimbor's mother and her relationship with Curufin? I always thought that it's weird we don't have even the barest information about that considering Celebrimbor's unique position as the only next gen Feanorian. (Sorry if you already talked about this somewhere!)

thanks for the ask! i have, but i'm not going to pass up an opportunity to blather on about my ocs for several paragraphs

curufin's wife (she lacks a name because i hate giving characters names and will delay it until i absolutely have to) is noldorin, she lives in valinor in the years of the trees. i haven't thought much about her family, but i suspect they're middling nobility at the highest the did-valinor-have-social-classes debate is a whole different rabbit hole. she's a metalworker like her husband (she probably specialises in a slightly different subcategory but idk enough to say what) and is a member of the same tirion artisan guild. it's in that context that they meet and begin their Intense Crafting Rivalry

you know that trope where a pair of rivals are so obsessively devoted to one-upping each other it's blindingly obvious that what they actually want is to kiss? that's them, that's their relationship. their specialties are just similar enough they do a lot of the same stuff but just different enough their approaches tend to be radically divergent. what starts as the two of them trying to prove the superiority of their own artistic circle or whatever evolves into them trying to show up him/her specifically, s/he's wrong about x and i know i can do better, why does my family keep asking if we're dating yet????? their competition gets absolutely ridiculous in ways only a pre-scarcity society can get, like building an entire fountain out of solid silicon specifically because he said she couldn't do it (he actually said shouldn't but screw him (not literally cousin oh my valar))

but yeah. their relationship grows an undercurrent of the-only-one-allowed-to-push-around-my-archnemesis-is-me, and they find themselves fighting back to back (occasionally literally) when tirion guild politics takes a turn for the tirion guild politics. they just slowly come to trust each other, more than anyone else, and soon there comes an appropriately dramatic moment for them to suddenly kiss. they're still always trying to out-craftself each other, celebrimbor grows up in a house that's about 70% forge to the background noise of his parents insulting each other's work, but they're comfortable with each other in a way neither of them could have imagined in the early days, and when things get rough they always have each other's backs

things do, in fact, get rough. maglor won't meet his wife until beleriand, caranthir's relationship with his spouse slowly falls apart along with the political situation in tirion, but curufin's wife is loudly team fëanor. she suffers from an acute case of finwean spouse disease, she thinks going to middle-earth to build their own world is an awesome idea, she's deeply embedded in the tirion artisan scene with an entire social circle as think the same way, and when the inevitable civil war flares up she'll probably be even more eager to fight the fingolfinians than her husband. she goes with him and their-still-pretty young son to formenos, and when the trees get eaten and fëanor does the speech she prepares for the adventure of a lifetime

then, alqualondë. i stand by my conviction that nobody on the noldorin side walked in planning to steal the boats, let alone murder the teleri, but it was dark and the world was ending and everybody had sharp things. like everybody else involved in the first kinslaying, curufin and wife got caught up in the battle because somebody shouted 'they're attacking us!' in the distance. she is at first more trying to stop them from stabbing her, obsidian fishing spears glancing off ornamental steel, but then she lashes out and she hits someone in the chest and -

there was this recurring trope in her and her husband’s endless mutual critique. she’d create something beautiful, artfully devised and elegantly constructed, showing off a whole ton of design principles and doing things with the material no one had ever done. he would look at it skeptically and go ‘okay, but what use is it? what is it for?’

red liquid running down the fuller of the exquisite sword she forged herself, light guttering out of another elf’s eyes as he coughs up blood, she knows, sure as once were the light of the trees, what the piece of metal in her hands is for

the next few moments are a blur. she threw the sword into the water, she knows that. somehow she wound up running out of alqualondë, tears streaming down her face, as buildings burned and people screamed behind her. she found a concealed spot by the road, tore off her armour, peeked outside, and watched. when the fires were dying down and the boats were clearly gone, she mustered her courage and went to save her family

in the centuries to come, very few people believe celebrimbor when he tells them his mother tried to get his father to come back by, among other things, appealing to his better nature. nobody believes that it almost worked. but curufin was still only starting out on the road to hellbeastery, and his wife was his eternal partner-in-crime. right there at the beginning, staring out over a burning city, she saw where the road the noldor were walking would eventually lead them, no matter how much they tried to deny it. no dreams could be worth that, she told him. no ideals. and she was always the idealist, wasn’t she?

she was. maybe that’s why he, who had so very few ideals to mark his path, refused to abandon this one. their discussion rapidly devolved into a screaming argument half the camp could hear, much like curufin’s last argument with celebrimbor, centuries later. soon enough, though, it became clear that he wouldn’t turn back, and she refused to go on, and neither of them could change the other’s minds. the only thing left between them was celebrimbor

celebrimbor was eight (-ish in elf years), and completely freaked out, and eight, and knew almost nothing about what was going on, and eight, and had grown up listening to his grandfather’s dreams, and eight, and was surrounded by adults who very loudly thought going to middle-earth would solve all their problems, and eight, and couldn’t tell why his mother was abandoning them. panicking, on the spot, he buried his face in curufin’s smock to wipe away his tears. when he looked up, she was gone

so yeah, curufin’s wife went back with finarfin, that’s why she didn’t go to middle-earth. she initially stayed with nerdanel because almost everyone else on both sides of her extended family remained by (and later burned) the boats, i’m only just realising the horrible curufin argument probably wasn’t even the only one she went through that night, jeez. also she really needed a hug. the sun rose, alqualondë started rebuilding, and she ended up head of her and her husband’s former mutual craft guild, mostly because nobody else with the skills to do it was left. decades turn to centuries, news slowly filters back from beleriand, and her worst nightmares are proven so awfully right

probably the biggest emotion she feels towards curufin in the aftermath is betrayal. they were partners, in every sense of the word, they took on the world and they did it together, using their constant competition to drive each other to ever greater heights. they listened to each other, they trusted each other’s judgement, and she knows he understood the point she was making. him continuing on anyway, and diving face-first into the void - the elf she thought she knew would never have done that. as time passes by, the grief and the loneliness get subsumed by a deep abiding rage. if she ever sees the thing her husband let himself become again, she’ll throw a welding torch in his face

but that anger, that heartbreak, none of that applies to her son. when the hosts of valinor began gearing up for war - she’s the leader of tirion’s most prominent metalworking guild, she can’t not go. while they’re unloading supplies and siege equipment and stuff onto the isle of balar, she happens to pass by this relatively short dusky-skinned noldo hauling some smithing equipment about. as soon as he gets a proper look at her, he gasps. she looks back in confusion, and then she meets his eyes

later, she’ll hear his tales of his adventures in the hither lands, all of the hardships, yes, but also all of the brilliance. later, she’ll learn about the person he’s grown into, someone she can be unreservedly proud of in his choices and works. later, they’ll talk about the future, about his ambitions of making his grandfather’s dream come true, but with open hands and a light to be shared with all the peoples of middle-earth. for now, though, she wraps celebrimbor in a massive hug, and lets the tears flow down her face, because no matter how much they’ve lost, no matter how deep the darkness around them, right here and now, her son is alive

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Eleven-Part One)

Summary: Asgard hosts a ball in honor of the visiting Alfheimian delegation, and (Y/N) is conflicted about meeting the Light Elves and the possibility of discovering her mother’s fate.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Eleven (Part I) October 16th, 2015 Asgard (Previous Chapter)

“C’mon, Loki, is that the best you two’ve got?” (Y/N) shouted over the thundering noise of Aurora and Samson’s hooves and glanced sideways at Loki with a teasing grin. After a week’s worth of horseback riding lessons and bonding with her mare, she and Loki were finally able to put their skills to the test in a ‘friendly’ race through the forests of Asgard.

Loki chuckled and leaned closer to Samson’s ear. “You’re not going to take that, old friend, are you?” The stallion neighed and picked up his speed. “That’s it!”

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) gripped her reins tighter and helped Aurora gallop around some shrubbery. “Aurora, I know that we’ve only known each other for a week but do you really want the males to win this race?” Aurora nickered, speeding up and coming in neck-to-neck with Samson. “That’s what I thought!”

“I never pegged you as the competitive type, darling!”

(Y/N) shot Loki a smirk and yelled back, “And I never thought that you would be a sore loser!” With that, Aurora sped past Samson and darted between two yellow-leafed trees, and (Y/N) let out a victorious cheer; tugging lightly on the reigns, she waited until Aurora slowed into a walk to glance back at Loki, who looked miffed while he slowed Samson to walk beside her. “I win!”

Loki frowned as he worked to catch his breath. “It was simply beginner’s luck.”

“Mm-hmm, sure it was, sweetheart,” (Y/N) ginned at the look he gave her as they guided the horses out of the forest. “What? It’s not my fault that Aurora and I bonded quickly!” Loki remained silent, his green eyes staring stubbornly ahead. “Oh, don’t be like that! Would you feel better if I gave some of the credit to Aurora’s trainer?”

“…It depends on how much.”

“How about…twelve percent?” She couldn’t help but giggle as she uttered the words and even Loki couldn’t fight the smile that was spreading on his face as he rolled his eyes in faux exasperation.

For over a week, she and Loki had been making up for lost time; they’d visited the city and all of the different shops it had to offer, they spent an entire day sailing both on the water and through the skies around Asgard and (Y/N) learned the hard way that navigating churning waves didn’t agree with her stomach, and Loki had also been teaching her how to ride a horse. Because she was mastering horseback riding so quickly, she and Loki spent a lot of time out riding with Aurora and Samson and exploring the forests of Asgard; Loki had even taken her to his secret grove to collect flowers for his mother and fruits for the horses. This week’s been a dream come true, she thought with a content smile, and there’s no one I’d rather spend it with than Loki.

“Once you’ve finished gloating, darling, we should head back to the palace for some lunch before we have to prepare for the ball tonight.” Loki glanced at her, his expression becoming a little uncertain as his green eyes filled with concern. “Are you going to be all right meeting the Alfheimians?”

(Y/N) sighed and nodded, looking down at the reigns in her hands. “I thank so. It’ll do me some good to try and learn as much as I can from them while they’re here.”

Ever since she learned that an Alfheimian delegation would be visiting Asgard for their bi-millennial peace treaty negotiation during their stay, she couldn’t decide if their impending arrival excited or worried her. On one hand, she welcomed any opportunity to learn more about her heritage and Alf Seidr but on the other hand, she was a little nervous about the possibility of learning of her mother and father’s fates. For twenty-six years, (Y/N) had assumed that her parents were dead and she eventually got over the fact that she’d never see them again, but when Loki told her all those months ago that her mother was a Light Elf from Alfheim, a small flicker of hope had grown inside her that perhaps her parents were alive. She was afraid that after months of quietly hoping that she might finally be able to meet her parents, she would only discover that they really had been dead for all those years.

I don’t even know how I’d begin to deal with that news, (Y/N) thought to herself before looking back up at Loki. “Whatever happens tonight, we’ll handle it together. I promise.” Deciding to change the subject, she said, “Truth be told, Loki, I think I’m a little more nervous about going to my very first ball. I wouldn’t want to wind up making a fool of myself or anything…”

“Darling, you could never; you’ll fit right in and I’ll be by your side the entire evening, I promise.” Loki held Samson’s reigns in one hand and held the other out for her to take, bringing hers up and pressing a delicate kiss onto her knuckles. “You and I will dance into the stars, my love.” (Y/N) matched his soft smile and a short while later, they reached the stables and were taking care of the horses as they playfully debated which Avenger could last the longest in a fight with Sif when Thor hurried in. “Good, you can settle our debate, brother; who do you think would last longer in battle against Lady Sif, Stark or Romanoff?”

“That’s hardly fair; Lady Natasha would simply befriend Lady Sif and both would team up to defeat Stark together.” Thor grinned as (Y/N) shot Loki a smug look and Loki childishly stuck his tongue out at her. “I came to inform you both that the Alfheimian delegation has arrived and that they seem to have brought their king with them.”

Loki’s brow furrowed as he poured a pail of water into Samson’s trough. “That’s odd, but then again, Alfheimians are known for their unusual actions…” He smiled mischievously at (Y/N), and she only raised her eyebrows imposingly in response to his teasing.

“Father also asked me to inform you that he wishes you to join our negotiations in the council chambers, Loki.”

Loki’s smile fell instantly at the mention of the Allfather. “…Oh, this should be fun; we’re going to spend hours trapped in a room with the Allfather and be forced to once-again listen to his idiotic demands that Alfheim should abandon their non-interventionism in favor of a completely unfair trade agreement that only serves to benefit Asgard.” Loki remarked, his earlier cheerfulness gone and replaced with annoyance and sarcasm. (Y/N) could tell, however, that his adoptive father’s invitation had taken him by surprise.

Thor frowned. “Loki…”

“Save it, Thor, I’m in no mood to hear another lecture about my attitude,” Loki grumbled. He turned to look at (Y/N) and the hard look in his green eyes softened a little. “I’ll see you later tonight at the ball, darling.”

“See you later, Loki.” (Y/N) stood on her tiptoes to plant a brief kiss on his lips before he turned and began walking out of the stables. Thor also wished her well before leaving, but (Y/N) could tell that the Asgardian’s smile was forced. When both brothers left the stables, she turned back to Aurora and leaned against her stall door with a sigh.

After learning about Loki’s entire past, (Y/N) finally understood why he was so angry with his adoptive father; Odin had kept his distance from her throughout their visit, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he thought her beneath him or because he was wary of her. It’s too bad because I’d love nothing more than to give that man a piece of my mind about how he raised Thor and Loki, she thought with an annoyed huff, her mind flashing back to all the heartbreaking memories her boyfriend had shared with her.

“I’ll see you both later!” (Y/N) patted Aurora and Samson on their snouts and smiled. “I have to go get ready for a royal ball…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, (Y/N) stood in front of her chamber’s enormous mirror and pressed the button to make her glasses invisible before inspecting her nearly unrecognizable reflection. She wore a stunning beaded emerald-green gown, its neckline cut low and its straps hung off her shoulders. The bodice hugged her chest, and layers upon layers of delicate gold-embroidered fabric flared out from her waist to create a full skirt. She chose to wear a pair of short green heels, applied only a minimal amount of makeup and her (Y/H/C) had been carefully styled with the help of Sif, who had suggested at lunch that they should prepare for the ball together. I feel like Cinderella when she got to go to the ball, she thought, twirling in a circle and giggling in delight as her shimmering skirts swirled around her legs.

“What are you laughing about over there?”

(Y/N) stopped twirling to look over at Sif, who was smiling bemusedly at her as she ran a comb through her freshly-straightened hair by the open window. She wore a gown similar to hers, but it was long-sleeved and silver, and the skirt wasn’t nearly as full. “Oh, I just realized that I feel like Cinderella.” When Sif’s brow furrowed in confusion, she elaborated. “Cinderella is the main character of a very popular fairytale on Midgard; she’s an abused servant in her step-family’s home and with the help of her fairy godmother, she gets to go to a ball and winds up meeting the prince, and then…well, to make a long story short, they fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“I seem to recall a story similar to that from my own childhood, but doesn’t the prince feed the step-family to a rampaging dragon?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Um…I don’t think that I’ve heard that version before but in a different version written by the Grimm Brothers, both stepsisters’ eyes are pecked out by birds.”

Sif looked impressed. “Interesting…well, in any case, you certainly look like a princess. I’m sure that Loki-”

Just then, there was a quiet knock on the chamber’s door. (Y/N) hurried to the door and opened it to reveal Frigga, dressed in a glimmering golden gown complete with a tiara made of diamonds and gold. “Oh no, are we late?”

“Of course not, my dear, we still have time before the ball begins. I’m here with gifts for the two of you.” Frigga gestured to the large box in her hands as she entered the chamber. She set the box down on the table in the center of the room and opened it to reveal sparkling jewelry. “You both already look enchanting, but I figured that you might enjoy some added sparkle.”

In no time, the two of them were decked out in the most beautiful jewelry (Y/N) had ever laid eyes on. Sif chose not to wear a tiara but instead a silver hair clip designed to look like a vine of leaves, and she wore a simple silver and ruby necklace. Since she was accompanying a Prince of Asgard, Frigga insisted that (Y/N) wear a stunning gold and emerald tiara and (Y/N) picked a plain gold necklace to match. As the three of them left her chambers, (Y/N) caught a glance of herself in the mirror and was again awed by her royal appearance.

“Loki said that he’ll meet you here,” Frigga said once they reached the massive golden open doors of the ballroom; inside, faint music was playing while countless people milled about and chatted. (Y/N) nodded once, and the queen placed a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. “Just breathe, my dear. Everything will be perfect, just try and enjoy yourself.” With one last smile, she and Sif entered the ballroom.

(Y/N) fiddled with her hands, her earlier nervousness beginning to return so to distract herself, she thought about her aunt. She’d be treating this like prom if she were here, she thought as she glanced up at the ceiling with an amused chuckle. The mental image of her aunt holding a disposable camera and fawning over her and Loki gave her the comfort she needed, and she felt herself beginning to relax a little.

“You truly are an angel.”

She turned around to see Loki, a look of unabashed awe on his face as he stood several feet away from her. He wore a long-sleeved emerald-green coat with accents of gold thread and black trousers tucked into a pair of black boots. His raven locks were neatly combed back, making his face appear even more angular, and the green of his jacket brought out the stunning color of his eyes. He’s so beautiful, she thought to herself, her heart hammering away in her chest as he neared her.

“I think that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration, Loki.”

“Trust me, darling, from where I’m standing it’s anything but.” Loki stopped right in front of her, cupping her cheek with one hand and resting the other on her waist as he leaned down and captured her lips in a passion-filled kiss. After several moments, they separated and he gently asked, “How do you feel?”

“A little nervous, but ready. And by the way, you look very handsome tonight.” (Y/N)’s fingers traced the embroidery on his chest and she met Loki’s gaze with a growing smile. “You look amazing in green, sweetheart…though I can’t help but wonder how you’d look in purple.”

Loki hummed thoughtfully, his eyes darkening as his lips curved into a crooked grin. “In your color? Darling, does the thought of me wearing your favorite color entice you?” The hand on her face prevented her from ducking her head in embarrassment while the one on her waist tugged her closer to him. “There’s no need to be bashful; I’ll admit that seeing you dressed in my colors makes for a rather…appealing sight.” His fingers gently caressed her face before trailing down the side of her neck to rest on her bare shoulder, his tantalizing touch making (Y/N)’s breath hitch. He leaned down and just as she tilted her head up to kiss him, he placed a halting finger against her lips and grinned. “As tempting as you are, my love, we should head in before they start looking for us.”

“You’re such a tease, Loki!” (Y/N) playfully shoved her boyfriend’s shoulder while he chuckled, taking a moment to smooth out the skirt of her dress and fan her warmed face. “Before you distracted me, I was going to ask you how you’re feeling but you seem to be doing okay; I know that this is your first ball since Thor’s banishment…”

“I feel more at ease than I thought I would and as long as you’re by my side, (Y/N), I know that I’ll be fine.” With a charming smile, Loki bowed and offered her his arm. “My lady, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you this fine evening?”

She couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics as she gave him a small curtsy. “Why, of course, my prince!” They both grinned and she wrapped her arm around his. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that, Loki.”

“I had an inkling of an idea after seeing your impressive Netflix viewing history. Honestly, I’ll bet you’ve seen every single Regency-Era film and movie that the streaming platform has to offer…”

Loki led her into the ballroom and down the staircase, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but gawk as she took in the beauty and grandeur of it all; the room was lit with magnificent chandeliers, the floor shone and the most beautifully dressed men and women mingled and talked as musicians played a melodious tune. There were a handful of nearby Asgardians who examined her curiously as she and Loki made their way down the stairs, but she just raised her chin and continued walking until they reached a familiar face at the bottom.

“You look stunning, Lady (Y/N)!” Thor exclaimed with a bright grin. His long blonde hair was tied back and he wore an outfit similar to Loki’s, except his was dark red instead of green. “Green suits you.”

(Y/N) smiled and bumped him lightly with her shoulder. “Thank you, Thor, you look nice as well!”

“I welcome you, Asgardians!” (Y/N)’s head whipped around as the music stopped to see Odin and Frigga standing arm-in-arm at the top of the grand staircase. The Allfather was dressed in shining gold armor and held an ornate spear in his free hand, and Frigga’s bright smile lit up the room. A little ways away from the pair stood an extremely tall man, dressed in an ornate magenta tunic and a golden crown. He had straight golden-blonde hair, pointed ears and vivid charcoal-grey eyes, and his tanned skin shimmered faintly in the light; although his face was lightly lined, (Y/N) could sense that he still had strength and vitality in him. Her eyes widened a moment later when she realized who he could possibly be. “We are gathered here tonight to honor our guests, King Tarian of Alfheim and his delegation.” The ballroom erupted into applause as he gestured to the man behind him, who gave a small bow. “And we are here to celebrate the renegotiation of our realms’ peace treaty. May our two realms continue to flourish and grow as we support each other on the battlefields and one day, through the trade routes.” Loki rolled his eyes as everyone clapped again.

Frigga’s smile widened as she called out, “The ball shall commence with the first dance, led by Prince Loki and Lady (Y/N).”

(Y/N)’s heart began to race at the Queen of Asgard’s words; Frigga gave her a small wink, which in turn gave her the burst of courage to take Loki’s hand and allow him to lead her through the whispering crowd and onto the massive dance floor. Once they took their place, Loki flashed her a grin as he bowed and (Y/N) couldn’t help but return it with a smile and a wink as she dipped into a curtsy. When she rose, Loki clasped her hand in his and placed the other on her waist, and she clutched a handful of her skirt in her free hand; the musicians began playing a beautiful waltz as Loki started to twirl them around the floor.

“I thought that you always share the first dance with your mother?”

Loki smiled and murmured back, “After the peace treaty negotiations, she told me that she wanted the two of us to share the first dance of your first Asgardian ball and she simply wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

She smirked as he held her hand above her head and twirled her in a circle. “Now I know where you get that stubborn determination from.” By then, other couples had joined them on the dance floor and (Y/N) couldn’t help but marvel at the entrancing sight as she and Loki performed the dance moves that they’d been practicing all week; but while she was enamored with the scene around her, she felt a twinge of foreboding, as if something horrible was about to happen that would shatter the picturesque moment…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk

Chapter Eleven-Part Two

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie1129 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @destructivebliss @outoftheregular​ @itscomplicatedx​ @0-artemis​ @vivloki​

[blarrghe]

FOLLOW UP. How would he bring up having a family to Dorian? HOW DOES IT GO?!?! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh

I HAVE A VERY FLUFFY FIC ABOUT THIS. I posted a part of it a long time ago but then I wrote a follow up and I’ve been debating posting it for months because it’s supposed to go into a story I may never finish writing but you know what? You know what??? You have enabled me :D Dorian brings it up. -- “You know, once we clear away all the demons, this place could be rather lovely.” Dorian said, pondering aloud. “You could build a nice little cottage here.” “A cottage?” Taren was looking at him over his book, already sitting leisurely on his bedroll. Dorian finished crawling into the tent and scooched ungracefully up beside him. How did he make sitting on a bedroll look comfortable like that? “You know, like a house, but more...quaint.” Dorian said.

“And what would I do,” Taren closed the book and leaned back, looking at Dorian with that amused, sideways smile of his, “with a whole house?”

“I don’t know, plant a garden?” suggested Dorian, shrugging in a nonchalant and deliberately casual sort of way, leaning into him -- leaning in to tease him, “adopt one of those dogs everyone seems to obsess over down here? You’re always saying what a tragedy it is when mage children from the alienages flee to the Dalish clans only to be turned away, you could take in some urchins.”

Taren raised one skeptical eyebrow. “You’re suggesting I adopt a gaggle of city-elf mages on the run from Templars?”

“Well, no Templars anymore, so they’ll likely be even more lost than they would have been before.” Dorian shrugged again, “all the more reason to offer guidance, no?”

Taren chuckled. “And where are you, in all of this?” he asked, the lopsided smile still resting lazily on his lips. Dorian stretched his legs out beside Taren, and his toes grazed the far wall of their tent. He attempted to fluff up the pile of cleaner clothes that served as his pillow.

“Oh, probably hunched over a cauldron, trying to work out a remedy for the dog-smell.” He replied with an easy smile. Taren started to laugh, his face breaking out into that joyful grin Dorian so loved.

He stopped fussing with his bedroll. “What?” He protested against the laughter, “it’s bad enough I’m going to stay in a cottage, I’m not going to smell like a dog too!”

Taren was still laughing lightly. He extended an arm and wrapped it around Dorian’s waist, pulling him closer. “You’re not serious,” he said.

“Why not?” Replied Dorian, enjoying the firm hold of Taren’s arm at his waist. “It’s a good fantasy, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Taren  leaned over to press his smiling lips to Dorian’s with a kiss that was still partly laughing, “very.”  ---- “So, a cottage.” Taren began, mouth smirking like he was gearing up to tease.

“I know, I’m a ridiculous man.” Dorian headed the teasing off with his own self-deprecating remarks, “do try not to tell anyone I’ve gone soft, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I don’t know about ridiculous,” Taren responded, bringing his smirking lips in close for an amused little peck at Dorian’s -- exactly the sort of light and happy kiss that had led him into ridiculous daydreams in the first place. And they were fireside, in view of trusted companions and unfamiliar Inquisition scouts alike. Being bravely public with his affections was starting to become a regular thing, so much so that he had almost stopped internally noting it when it happened; his reputation evidently already in great peril. Taren drew back and finished his thought with a smile, “I’ve been offered plenty of land. We could do it.”

Dorian scoffed, a full day of fighting demons and cultists now between him and the hopeful little fantasy. Such thoughts were easier to have in the quiet of a darkened tent, only minutes away from dreams. Still, his protest was not born of a lack of faith - his days of disbelief around the subject of love were over. This faith in it was part of his reality now, hard though he had tried to keep it at bay. It was only that there was a great deal more to his reality that made saccharin little fantasies about cottages impossible. But Taren seemed not to notice his head-shaking return to realistic thinking, because he continued on: “find a quiet spot in the forest to retire, take in that gaggle of children you want,” he teased at Dorian’s suggestion from the evening before, laughing while he spoke. It was a funny thought, to picture himself raising kids. Dorian shook his head again, making a mental note to cut that part from future daydreams. But he was not dismissive due to a lack of want, watching Taren treat he idea with his characteristic earnestness.

“When?” he said, instead of why or how. Of course he could -- and would, in a heartbeat -- retire to some quaint and quiet place with him, of course he would spend the rest of his life in contented peace, waking up to light happy kisses and taking on new projects at his own pace, without the stresses of apocalyptic threats and civil wars. He might, even, be unopposed to taking on young pupils to train. Taren could handle the parts that looked like actual parenting, and he could count it as enough to simply never lock any of them up in towers after the fashion of his own father… Fasta vass, this was a hard fantasy to shake. But it remained an impossible one. When? The future was a complicated beast, a looming figure that hurt his head to look at for too long. Taren might be putting on a confident show of hope for the moment, but he knew better than anyone that what awaited them both would mostly be chaos.

“I don’t know,” Taren admitted, though he didn’t sound at all daunted, “but one day.”

Dorian allowed himself a moment to run through a string of curses in his head, because blight it all, he believed him.

“Whatever happens,” Taren went on, leaning into him and sighing contentedly; a comfortable weight on Dorian’s chest, “I want you in my life.” Kaffas.

“You had better not die, then.” Dorian scolded teasingly, but as he mumbled the command into Taren’s hair he reached unthinkingly to clasp a hand around his. Clutching the left one, the marked one that he had seen time and again spit green fire through his lover’s bones; making him tremble with pain he tried valiantly to hide. The future was a complicated beast that hurt too much to look at. 

[scary-lasagna]

Hey, could I have headcanons about how the boys became interested in they’re s/o? I’ve always wondered what set them “apart” or how they meet them. I hope you have a good day and that quarantine isnt driving you bonkers!

I would’ve totally done Masky and Hoodie/any others but I’ve already written too much lmao

Jeff

When out of his usual Friday night killing spree, he was caught off guard by a scream from outside rather than inside where he was currently doing the stabbing motions.

He was intrigued to say the least.

Jeff ventured outside, and upon seeing your frightened face, he knew he just had to make you scream a little bit more before landing a final blow.

He chased after you down the city streets, desperately trying to corner you like a cat chasing a mouse.

And then he saw how frail, how weak you looked as you cowered against the brick wall of the alley.

He wanted to toy with you before he killed you, so he dragged you home with him.

He was surprised, nonetheless impressed, with how quickly you found a way to stab him without a weapon.

You still ended up being dragged home by the killer.

He just couldn't bring himself to hurt you. You looked so beautiful b how your skin glowed, and the way your eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

And whenever he managed to get a smile from you proved his mood better for the rest of the day.

And instead of toying around and scaring you, y'all just kind of lived as roommates until you eventually grew feelings for him.

Ben

When Ben is bored, he likes sifting through webcam and security cameras from his hometown.

Or at least what he believes to be his hometown. He doesn't exactly remember, but some of the faces look familiar.

But everyone w sleeping at 3am, so there wasn't much entertainment for the elf.

And then there was you, a new resident who was raiding your fridge for yogurt, pudding, chocolate, Doritos, and whatever else you could find in the middle of the night.

Ben found himself watching you more than usual, contemplating if he wants to strike you as his newest victim or not.

But the Majora cartridge somehow found it's way onto your living room couch, along with a battered down N64.

You thought it was just one of your friends who put it there, a few of your close friends/family has a house key in case you ever get locked out.

What a nice house warming gift.

But what was not a nice house warming gift was the blonde fucker that climbed out of your television screen.

He found your reactions cute and funny, so he lingered around for a bit. He was a ghost, it's not like you could attack him or anything.

But honestly?

You felt yourself vibing with him, and you found yourself becoming good friends, and eventually more than that.

Eyeless Jack

What Jack thought to be a midnight snack was actually a start to his random act of kindness for the day.

You wore a necklace to bed that night, something you thought would never make you cross paths with Death himself.

It got caught on your Smartwatch, tangling and twisting around the face until you woke up gasping for empty breaths of air.

Jack hopped through the window just in time.

As if it were his instinct, he was quick to break the necklace and rip it off of your neck.

By this time you were fading out of consciousness.

A pair of hands held the back of your neck, and a gaze of darkness inspected your breathing.

You awoke to a very rough jostling, a metallic smelling finger going as far as opening one of your eyelids.

When you start coughing the stranger steps back silently, cocking his head to the side as he watches you recover.

Why this man was in your room you had no idea, but you were very grateful that he was here when he was.

The silence between the both of you was thick. His prying eyes were observing you, and it sent goosebumps along your skin despite the sweat clinging to your skin.

And then he took out a knife, or was it a surgical tool? You had no time to double-check because you were already chasing him out with a tennis racket that you KNEW how to use.

He came back though, perched on your windowsill like an unwanted cat.

"Do you want to come in?" The man in black slowly nodded.

"Do you want to hurt me?" A hesitation, but nonetheless he shook his head side to side.

He observed you once you allowed him entry, not really making effort to talk except, "You smell nice." Which made you sweat nervously.

With more interaction, you noticed that he's not /too/ weird, and he's very intelligent with a side of sarcasm.

You started to grow fond of the way his body loomed over yours, and the way his teeth poked over his lips with he smirked.

Toby

Toby was severely injured in the woods, practically left there to die by whoever was deemed to be his attacker.

But lucky you, you stumbled upon the serial killer when on your way home from work.

You thought the glowing eyes reflecting off of your headlights were those of a wounded animal, but it was worse than that.

This boy was absolutely covered in blood. There's no way he'd survive out here alone, taking that he's already passed out from blood loss.

You drag him to your car, not caring about the blood on your seats. You patch him up to the best of your ability until you can find a hospital.

But a gasp from the backseat says otherwise, frantically pleading to stop the car.

" I-I-I can'- I can't go to the doc-doctor! Please!!"

"Dude, you're bleeding everywhere, you need help."

"Not all of it is my blood."

That made your tires screech, nearly sending Toby into a panic attack. Flashbacks of a certain car crash keep trying to wiggle its way to the front of his mind.

And then he passes out again.

You don't want to be involved in any type of murder, plus you have no idea what this dude's story is. He could've been helping people that got injured? Hopefully?

It's not like you can just leave him on the side of the road somewhere.

You brought him home and nursed him back to health to the best of your abilities (and google).

He didn't have any interest in you at first, he was more focused on returning home. Toby even debated killing you a few times, and right when he had the hatchet raised, "Toby are you covered up? It's getting chilly."

Toby lolls his head back, letting his forearms meet his forehead and still limply hold onto the hatchet.

Every time he attempts murder, you always seem to have something nice to say. And eventually, you start to remind Toby of his late sister.

You cared about him, which is not something that happens often to the ticing brunette.

After catching feelings, you're not able to get rid of him unless you kick him out of the car like a lost puppy.

So, he'll just have to stick around for a little while longer, cuddling on the couch as you watch Disney films.

[wonderwafles]

Secret Hope

My Tolkien Secret Santa gift for @avantegarda! I apologize, as this turned out to be a little bit, um, much longer than I anticipated - I hope that turns out to be a benefit rather than a drawback! I hope you like it!

News of Middle Earth only trickled in slowly, like a river gone dry. It had been that way since the end of the First Age and the War of Wrath, when Elves had come en masse from over the Sea to settle in Aman.

Nerdanel had watched them all, then, although she didn’t make it look like she was. She carved a relief of their return, of ships coming into Alqualondë, on a piece of ivory.

Since then, art historians had debated why there were no visible Elves in the work, only ships. Nerdanel had thought it obvious, and refused to answer any questions about the subject, on the rare occasions when some of them became bold enough to come to her little cottage in the hills.

In any case, the country around Nerdanel's cottage was still more often than not, and when it was disturbed, it was often her father, come to bring supplies and metals she'd requested. She visited Tirion only rarely, to meet with her family and little else.

This suited her. In quietude she did her best work.

Her pieces after the Flight were reserved, more realistic. She took up painting for a short while, but even as she grew to master it she could tell it was not her art.

It took her a while to find her way back to sculpting, though.

On that morning Nerdanel was woken by the sound of something far more annoying than birds - Elves.

Mahtan? she asked herself, because sometimes her father was very loud. Sometimes he would drop something - wood he was bringing, more often than not - and it would be unclear if his shouting or the sound of the log escaping down the hill was louder.

But no. This was far more than that, and far more than one Elf, in any case.

She went to her window and drew it open. As the light poured in, she became aware of the fact that she was not going to be going back to sleep.

The hills were alive, if only sleepily. The Elves walked, pranced, or otherwise migrated in groups no bigger than five. She would catch one or two at a time, sometimes mingling, most times keeping to themselves.

They looked happy. Mostly.

She pulled the curtain over her window and shrugged to herself. The only thing that mattered was that they left her alone.

She lay back down on the bed, despite her previous realization, and filled her head with thoughts of the day. Progress she could make on her sculpture, a letter she could send to Indis about visiting later that month.

None of this materialized as she continued to lay there. The faint sound of laughter carried over the fields and drifted, gently, through her window.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Dammit," she said. She was now curious.

…

Away to the north, before the gentle plains of Valinor gave way to the chill lands of Araman, there was a forest that had become the home of many Avari and Sindar who did not wish to relinquish their old way of life.

Yavanna had tended it since. In the ages since Nerdanel has lived here, the forest has grown from a smear on her horizon to loom over her house like one of the great dark walls of Beleriand's mightiest fortresses.

She traded with the forest Elves, sometimes, but for the most part, they liked to keep to themselves. 

Now, though, some of the Elves making their way through the fields where Sindar or even Avari. Sometimes they crossed paths with Noldor or Teleri, and talked like old friends.

Nerdanel had never seen anything like it. The grudges of the old days had long been buried, but she had thought the Elves of Middle Earth and the Elves of Aman would always have a divide between them. Born not of hostility, but merely time and culture and pain.

Perhaps -

She was moving before she realized it. The fields of golden flowers crumpled beneath her feet before springing up again in her wake.

The sound of laughter grew closer. A pair of Elves appeared in her vision, walking, talking, holding hands.

"Greetings," one of them said to her, her voice light. Her hair was golden. Were these Vanyar?

"Greetings," Nerdanel responded. Her tongue felt weird, her words heavy. She hadn't spoken to another soul in almost a month.

"Are you journeying to Alqualondë, too?" The other woman asked her. Her hair was fair to the point of almost being white, and her skin was dark. More Teleri than Vanyar, Nerdanel guessed.

"Journeying?" Nerdanel asked. She narrowed her eyes. "What's happening at Alqualondë?"

The two women looked at one another uncertainly, as if they had happened upon a simpleton. Nerdanel bristled with impatience and prepared to snap at them. But she held her tongue.

"Why," the blonde one said. "You haven't heard? The exiles are coming home."

Nerdanel shook her head. "The exiles came home a long time ago," she said.

"The rest are coming home," the Teler said. She grinned like nothing in the world could make her happier than saying those words. "The power of the Rings in Middle Earth is broken. Sauron has fallen. The Elves return."

The Rings? Nerdanel wondered. She had heard the stories, of course. The resurfacing of Sauron, and his deception of her grandson. Arafinwë and Indis had kept her as updated as possible, when they saw her.

More pain for my family. She shoved the thought out of her mind.

"Our cousins from across the sea," the Teleri said, which is when Nerdanel realized by her accent that she wasn't Teleri. She was a particularly tall Avari - even curiouser. “The rest of the Noldor. They’re coming back.”

Nerdanel wanted to say something, but it felt like she was frozen. Her tongue formed words, but none of them would come out. 

“The Noldor?” she managed, nonchalantly, she hoped. “All of them?”

The Vanya nodded. She seemed to squeeze the other woman's hand more tightly. "They say," she said conspiratorially, "that Artanis will be returning with them."

Arafinwë's daughter, she thought dimly. What did that make her? Her niece? Grand-niece?

Still, it was a sign that this woman knew even less than she did. Even Nerdanel knew that Artanis went by Galadriel now - although she was privileged by her acquaintance with Arafinwë, conversations with whom could not go by without news of his daughter in Middle Earth being mentioned at least once.

The Avari brightened. "Would you like to walk with us?" she asked. "For a while, at least."

Nerdanel was just about to ask. She was glad she didn't have to. 

…

Their pace was unhurried - they explained that the arrival of the ships was likely at least a month away. It would take a week to reach Alqualondë on foot, if they quickened their pace.

But, they explained, the point was that something of a festival had grown up around the port city, and Elves of all kinds had come to welcome their kindred home.

Nerdanel left a note for Mahtan, although she was sure word would reach him eventually. Besides that, she made no preparations, no ordering of her house. It would be here when she got back. None of it was as important as those ships.

They traveled night and day, making no distinction between when the sun was out and when the stars shone above them. They slept only when they felt like it. The days were warm without being blistering, and the nights were cool and temperate.

Nerdanel thinks she likes the nights best. The Eldar are the people of the stars, after all, and her father told her many stories of the Night in Middle Earth that came before day, when the darkness was fearless.

“Who are you expecting?” Nerdanel felt bold enough to ask one night. The two women - Wiryarë and Kinnlel - were curled around one another, beginning to settle down to sleep.

“I?” Wiryarë asked. “Not many. All of the Noldor I care for returned at the end of the War. Kinnlel, however…”

She nudged her wife. Kinnlel looked at Nerdanel, her expression not entirely comfortable, and Nerdanel began to wonder if she had overstepped.

“Many of my cousins remained on Middle Earth,” she said. “I was one of the few who left, an Age ago.”

When Elves left for Valinor without their family with them, that never boded well for their time on Middle Earth. Now Nerdanel was sure she was probing a wound that was not meant for her.

“Now I hope that they will come,” she said. “They loved the Earth, all of them. But I hope.”

They lapsed into silence. Wiryarë rubbed Kinnlel’s back and Nerdanel looked up at the sky and thought about a pool of water they had passed, that was probably a lake in wetter seasons. It was filled with stars as night fell. She resolved that, if she ever took up painting again, that lake would be first.

“What about you?” Kinnlel asked. “Who do you wait for?”

They had not asked her name. She would have given it if they had. None in Valinor bore her a grudge - besides Feänor, maybe, or more heartbreakingly, her sons.

She feared that far more than the judgment of strangers. But now she hesitated. She didn’t want to disturb the peace of this night. 

“My brother,” she lied. Lying came both easy and difficult to her, like coaxing a shape out of stone. The path was obvious, but incredibly easy to fall off of if your hand was not steady. “He settled in Lindon after the War, and then Rivendell, and has not been convinced to leave since. He was happy there, I think.” She paused. The words would not come anymore.

Her companions found that satisfactory. “Sleep well,” Wiryarë told her. “Tomorrow we will be meeting with some friends of ours.”

Her lie was immediately in jeopardy. She couldn’t help but find it funny, and though her new friends asked her what she was laughing at she couldn’t say.

…

“There!” Kinnlel said, pointing at the horizon.

Nerdanel squinted. Her eyesight was marginally worse than many of the other Elves, which her father never tired of attributing to her late nights working on sculpture. As if he were any better.

A figure rose a hand in greeting. The figure separated into two, which began making their way down the ridge.

This far east, Nerdanel could smell the sea. It wasn’t much longer now. She had been gone for nearly two weeks now, but she didn’t mind the delay. 

As the figures approached, Nerdanel frowned. 

“How do you know them, again?” she asked Kinnlel.

“Kinnlel!” the Man yelled, throwing his arms up. If she didn’t know him better, Nerdanel would have guessed he was angry with the other Elf.

“It’s good to see you again, Tuor,” Kinnlel said, throwing her arms around him. Idril smiled appraisingly at Wiryarë, before stopping on Nerdanel. Her smile deepened, and a new curiosity entered her eyes. 

She bowed slightly to Nerdanel, in a style meant for greeting a courtier or one of nobility. She didn’t say anything, however, and nobody seemed the wiser.

“How long has it been?” Tuor demanded of his foster-mother, a one-time comrade of Annael. “Really, I’ve forgotten.”

“That’s because you never visit.”

“I visit!”

“Sure. Once a century or so.” She pinched his cheek like a mother, although the immortal Man looked like he might have been twice her age, by the reckoning of both Men and Elves. When he smiled, though (which he did often), neither the wrinkles nor the beard made him look older than a young man, out on a marvellous adventure.

Nerdanel realized she had been distracted in studying him. It would be interesting to attempt a sculpture of him, she thought. She had tried to do so with Men before, only by the descriptions of the Elves from Beleriand, but had never been satisfied with the results.

“And this is our friend,” Wiryarë said, gesturing towards Nerdanel. She realized she had missed out on a good portion of the conversation. “She joined us not far from Tirion.”

“A pleasure,” Tuor said, and held out his hand in a Mannish greeting. Nerdanel knew enough to grasp it in return. His hand was strong and calloused, still, although he could have let it soften from life in Valinor.

“And this is my wife!” Tuor said, gesturing to Idril.

Idril raised an eyebrow at him. For a moment, Nerdanel had an absurd fear that she was going to break her cover.

“Most Elves know who I am, melmë,” she said. She smiled fondly at him. 

“Indeed,” Nerdanel said, finally returning Idril’s bow. “Lady Idril.” Idril stared back at her with barely disguised amusement.

They sat on the grass and ate some of the food Kinnlel and Wiryarë had made. Kinnlel had insisted that Tuor and Idril have some.

Honeyed bread, with brisket made from meat from Oromë’s hunting grounds. It amused Nerdanel considerably to see Kinnlel, an Avari of no notable blood, ply Idril Celebrindal with a second serving to “put meat on her bones”.

As night fell, Wiryarë asked the obvious question. “Will you be going to meet the ships?”

There was no need to explain what she meant. “We will be,” Tuor said. “I hear Elrond will be returning.”

That was a name which took Nerdanel a moment or two to remember. “In the meantime,” Idril continued, “we are heading to Elwing’s tower. We wish to visit her and pass the message on to our son.”

Nerdanel swallowed. She waited a few moments, until she was sure her voice would not betray her. “Will they come to meet the ships?”

“Likely not,” Tuor said. “Elwing may, but I think she would rather her son come to meet her in her tower.”

Idril and Tuor were silent. Nerdanel felt guilty for her few moments of relief at the news.

Still, it was not a topic she knew anything about or could speak of. She glanced away as the silence probed the edge of being awkward.

"So," Kinnlel said. "Are you coming with us, or what?"

"A fine idea!" Tuor boomed, seemingly himself again.

"Is that alright with you, Wiryarë?" Idril asked.

"For Eru's sake, Idril," Wiryarë said. "You're my friends too."

The little group laughed and embraced each other. Nerdanel sat on the grass and felt the wind in her hair and listened to laughter drift over the breeze.

…

Tuor and Idril wished to detour northwards, towards Elwing's tower, before proceeding to Alqualondë. 

Nerdanel had no objections to the delay, but a shiver ran down her spine at the idea of seeing Elwing again.

They had met only once, in Tirion, at her and her husband's formal reception in Valinor. Elwing was skinny, suspicious, and standoffish.

When Arafinwë introduced her as the mother of the Sons of Feänor (who had latterly, evidently, been given a capital letter to refer to them by), Nerdanel had not seen the need to feel any kind of shame.

Instead, she was oblivious to Eärendil and Elwing's stiffened features in her haste to speak to the returned ambassadors from Middle Earth. She asked how her sons were.

It was embarrassing, but no one blamed her and she was not going to blame herself. She only wished, in hindsight, that her meeting with them had gone better.

Especially as they drew closer to Elwing's tower now.

"Excuse me, friend," Idril said as they came closer. "May we speak?" She touched Nerdanel's arm.

It was noon. The group had been walking all night. Nerdanel liked that now, especially. The stars comforted her.

"Of course," Nerdanel said.

They wandered away, towards the beach. The sea's crash was especially violent today, Nerdanel thought. Perhaps Ossë was upset, as she was.

They walked in silence for some moments. Idril was a woman of few words at times.

"If you would rather remain behind," Idril said, eventually. "Nobody would blame you."

Nerdanel shook her head. "I have to meet with her eventually," she said. "Frankly I should have done so sooner. But I have been busy."

Idril shrugged. "It's your choice, of course."

"And I am not worried about her breaking my cover, of course," she said, finally throwing Idril a bone.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Idril said. "Any reason for secrecy?"

Nerdanel knew that Idril already guessed the answer. She did not bother pointing out that she had never lied about who she was, nor did she intend to.

"It would be impossible to say who I am and not have people guess why I am going to the Havens," she said. "Who I am hoping to see."

Idril shook her head. "That was thousands of years ago," she said.

"And yet to many Elves, all too recent," Nerdanel countered quickly.

"Maybe," Idril said. "Maybe to you as well."

"I wish it was too recent when the memory of my sons was fresh and untainted."

Idril sighed, but stayed next to Nerdanel. It was this which made her a good confidante - she did not miss a step when the stubbornness of a friend was an obstacle.

Eventually they came to the middle of the beach. They stopped, by unspoken consensus, and let the waves come and go before them.

Elwing's tower stood in the distance. They had walked further than Nerdanel had thought. She couldn't help but frame its shape in her mind. A template for a future sculpture.

"All I mean to say is, do not think you have to do anything you don't want to," Idril said. "Nor do you need to feel guilt for wanting to meet someone you love at the shore. Almost everyone in Aman feels the same."

When Nerdanel didn't respond, Idril pressed just a little further. "You remember Maeglin," she said.

"Of course." A quiet young quende who had only been released a century ago. He had since nearly vanished to live by himself, near Araman in the north. She knew of his history, of course - everyone did - but it was difficult to see it now.

“Ever since Aredhel was reembodied I have been close to her. I should say, once again close to her. When Maeglin came back… do you think I begrudged her for wanting to see her son again?”

Nerdanel cast her gaze down towards the sand. 

“Let it not be said that I forgive him,” Idril said, a small smile on her face. “But I don’t need to. Aredhel is entitled to her love, whatever else may come.”

She placed a hand on Nerdanel’s shoulder, and squeezed it slightly. “Think about it,” Idril said. “In the meantime, we’ll be with Elwing. You don’t have to join us if you don’t want to.”

As she walked away, Nerdanel thought about the first time she had met Idril, when she was just a girl, Nolofinwë's granddaughter. Nerdanel had known that she had grown much for ages now, but it still sometimes surprised her.

In the end, she sat on the beach until the others were done, watching the tower on the cliff. In her mind's eye, she was hewing it from stone, watching it take form before her.

…

In the end, Elwing didn't come. Tuor and Idril were disappointed, but not surprised. As they sat around the fire, Tuor said,

"I only wish I knew what bothered her. Maybe then I could help."

Idril quirked an eyebrow at Nerdanel, and all of a sudden she thought she understood.

"Time will tell," Kinnlel mouthed around a chunk of bread. "And we have time, here."

Tuor nodded, but didn't say anything. Nerdanel wondered if he, of all people, ever forgot that. That he had time, now.

…

They reached Alqualondë about a week after the festival had already begun.

Thor and Idril were greeted as royalty. Metaphorically speaking - Idril had no claim over the city of the Teleri, even had she wanted to exercise it.

Wiryarë, Kinnlel, and Nerdanel were welcomed on a more even footing. Kinnlel was grabbed by a handful of her Teleri cousins and Wiryarë made her excuses to speak to another Vanya who had been living here for some centuries.

Nerdanel was left on her own again, for the first time in weeks. She couldn't help but feel gratified.

She made her way through the streets. The sound of people celebrating, dancing, playing, laughing, didn't quite drown out the sea, lapping against the shore visible from the city limits. Around her, people talked in Telerin, which she was rusty in.

The sea, too, was full. Boats made their way to and from the elaborate, twisting docks, sails full-white and reflecting the brilliance of the sun. Ossë had evidently been tempered, and the sailing looked easy.

Nerdanel had never been tempted by boating before, but the Teleri made it look like pure freedom.

A young elleth came up to her, holding up a crown of flowers in her hands. Nerdanel took it hesitantly. 

"Hello," the girl said in Noldorin. "Are you enjoying the festival?"

Nerdanel placed the crown on her head. The girl in front of her reminded her strongly of Tyelkormo when he was young. The gifts of the wilderness, flowers, intricate leaves and so forth, added to the similarity.

“To be honest,” Nerdanel told her, “I find myself wanting for something to do.”

The girl nodded, as though she had heard this before. “Come and talk to Olwë,” she said. “He can give you that.”

The girl romped away, more crowns slung over her shoulder. Nerdanel stood at the docks for a while longer, staring out at the sea. She took the crown out and examined it.

Flowers from the gardens of Valmar. Common in festival crowns, they could only indicate strength and renewal. Strong, hardy flowers that grew by the ocean were woven into them. Some thought they were gifts from Ulmo, although flowers were not his suit, and others that they were brought over from Middle Earth on Tol Eresseä.

Either way, they were commonly associated with survival. Nothing grand or glorious, but the mere act of remaining standing after the storm has passed. Unsurprisingly, they became favored in the years after the Darkening.

She held in her hands a few moments more before turning towards Olwë’s palace, where the king and his sons still lived after the ages passed from the years of the Trees, and where his daughter still spent much of her time.

Eärwen happened not to be here today, and Nerdanel received no indication of where she - and the rest of the surviving Finweans - were. Instead, she was ushered through hallways of pearl and salt, brushed to the finest grain, to the point where she could hardly distinguish between the two.

One of Olwë’s sons did a double take upon seeing her. He greeted her with all the correct courtesy, but still couldn’t chase the surprise from his eyes.

“Um, hello,” he said, once the formalities were over. “It’s good to see you here.”

“It’s always good to see me,” Nerdanel said drily. “What makes here especially good?”

“The lighting, I would imagine,” he replied.

Nerdanel laughed. This one was sharp. It made her feel a little worse about not remembering his name.

Eventually she was placed into a smallish room, lit only by the glow of lamps made of seaglass. It was enough to lend the space a warm feeling. She didn’t mind being left behind as the other Elves went off to do more important tasks than guiding her around the place.

She did not have to wait long. The King’s entrance was something of an anticlimax. He veritably slumped in, looking beleaguered even in the low light, and took his seat as if by custom. A handful of courtiers followed him like gnats.

Still, he brightened when he saw her. “Nerdanel,” Olwë said warmly from his seat. It was a seat, not a throne, although it was still intricately designed, inlaid with patterns and waves that made it look like a swell of water, frozen in time and delicately shaped into something suitable for an Elf to sit on.

She stopped herself from being distracted by it this time. “King Olwë,” she said, and bowed.

“So, you would like to make yourself useful?” Olwë asked.

Nerdanel blinked. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess!” Olwë tilted his head back and laughed. Some of the courtiers around him joined in, although none of it seemed forced. Joy came freely in Alqualondë. “Your reputation precedes you, craftswoman.”

She grinned at him. “Then what would you have me do?”

…

The next few weeks were something of a blessing.

Nerdanel missed the road, sometimes. But she couldn’t deny it was difficult, not having something to work in her hands, making no progress on any of her projects. 

Olwë needed her for much. She wondered how they got on without her, truly, but she didn’t really mind.

She was in charge of the aesthetic space of the port - which vendors could be allowed to set up where, where visitors hoping to greet the arrivals could wait, where those pushed out by lack of space would be placed. She did something about the signs and placards that talked of coming home at last, as the Sindar, Silvan, and Avari had understandable qualms with it.

Many more Elves arrived from around the continent. Elves returning home was by now not a new phenomenon, but the fact that this was merely the first wave of all Elves in Middle Earth coming to Valinor brought them en masse. It was an administrative nightmare.

It was something like art. Through all her centuries Nerdanel had somehow never come across  urban planning as a hobby, but she thought she liked it. Herding people was not unlike coaxing a shape from stone, when you thought about it.

A shadow remained, however. Something that could not be assuaged by distraction, like razor wire tightening around her heart. The thought of the ships’ arrival only brought it tighter.

After the war ended, she had - not so much contented herself, but at least made herself accept the reality that she might never see her sons again.

Would Mandos release the six of her boys who had died over the sea? Would they languish like Feänor? So far, all she had been able to gather was that all of them were damaged by their time in Beleriand. None of them were ready to come back yet.

At first she had raged at this. She was convinced it was just a fable of Manwë’s, meant to explain why none of these problematic Elves could come back even after the banishment was lifted. She spread her theory to all who would listen, and knocked on the golden halls of Valmar more than once for an audience with Manwë.

This she was granted - through means of a very embarrassed looking Eonwë. The momentary awe of facing the King of Arda was averted, not that it would have deterred her, and she had demanded for her sons’ return.

The Maia met her with kind, but determined resistance, occasionally disappearing from some time and reappearing with new answers. It was not up to his master, he insisted. It was not even really up to Námo. It was up to her sons. And they were not ready.

As time wore on, she didn’t grow any more inclined to believe him. But she did stop asking for their release, and focused on her requests to be allowed to see them. There was more than one way to move a mountain. Patience would do for now.

The point was - if the care of Mandos couldn’t help her sons, then what hope did Makalaurë have, wandering Middle Earth by himself?

Sweet, gentle, musical Makalaurë. Her insides froze solid at the thought of what time had done to him.

The idea that he might not even be on any of the boats nearly stopped her heart. She focused on party planning instead.

…

The day came without much fanfare.

Nobody was quite sure when or how the ships would be coming. As time passed, Maiar would bring some word of how far out the ships were. The day was today, most presumed, although in seafaring nothing was certain.

A blue-robed Maia of Varda, who seemed to have a flair for the dramatic, came in the shape of a bird above the streets of the city. She landed in the midst of the port, making sure all eyes were drawn to her as she shed her old form and took on the aspect of an Elf.

“Ahem,” she said. “The first ships are no more than an hour away from docking.”

Cheers went up. Noldor, Vanyar, and Teleri crowded around her, straining to see the Maia, although all could hear her fine. Nerdanel felt her stomach lurch.

“Patience, friends!” the Maia said, lifting up her arms. “Please remember that the returning Exiles will be disoriented, and especially so for those who have never seen the shores of Aman. Be patient with them! They will need much help!”

Another cheer went up. This responsibility was lost in the midst of all the excitement, although Nerdanel felt it keenly.

The bird flew away, and something like a true festival descended upon Alqualondë. Nerdanel hadn’t seen its like since the days of the Trees, although in fairness, she had not been to many parties.

Elves intoxicated themselves on honey-wine and climbed the low-built homes and buildings of Alqualondë’s shore. They made music and sang shanties slightly too dirty for some of the children present and made each other happy. Lights burned on the shore like stars in the daylight.

What a thing to come home to. Nerdanel felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes, the first in a long time. She truly, truly hoped that her son could be there to see it. 

(Moreover, she tries not to think, that he won’t garner a much different reaction when the Teleri see his face in Alqualondë again.)

When the first specks of the ships appear over the horizon, Wiryarë and Kinnlel are at her side again, somehow. 

“There you are!” Kinnlel says, half-accusing.

“Here I am,” Nerdanel said, distracted.

Wiryarë followed her gaze. “It’s exciting,” she said. “I told you I have no kin on those ships. But some time here has changed my mind.” She spread her arm around. “Everyone here is my kin. Their loved ones are mine. I’m delighted as if I were their blood.”

“Don’t mind her,” Kinnlel said. “She’s had some mead. And burned something recreational, I think, although she won’t tell me what.”

“It’s still true!” Wiryarë insisted.

Kinnlel nuzzled her and laughed in agreement. Nerdanel smiled faintly at them. They were sweeter than her and Feänor had been, maybe, but she couldn’t help but remember the way they used to be. 

Finally, the ships skirted Tol Eresseä and brought themselves to port in Alqualondë (although, Nerdanel understood, they would be spending most of their time on the Island, like many of the Exiles that had already returned.)

The crowd around her vibrated in anticipation. Nerdanel blanked out the stark raving terror in her head and tried to feel excited.

The anchors fell, the ships opened their decks, and time was a bit of a blur to Nerdanel after that.

She was pretty sure Kinnlel’s family were some of the first to come out. It was odd, for an Avarin family, but it was also odd for Elves to be sundered in such a way. Either way, she was happy for her friend.

As Kinnlel introduced them to their daughter-in-law, Noldor emerged. Enough emptied from the ship that Nerdanel could be convinced that this was the last of the Noldor in Middle Earth. They made their way almost sheepishly into the city, perhaps deservedly anxious at their reception.

They needn’t have worried. All grudges had been laid to rest, all the pain between the Elven kindreds. The Teleri clasped them like returning friends.

Nerdanel was hopeful at the sight of it. Maybe -

Next to emerge was Artanis - Galadriel, now, and a queen in her own right.

If she was anything like the Artanis Nerdanel remembered, she would have trouble without a crown in Valinor. She quirked a smile at the thought.

Their eyes met over the crowd. Galadriel’s widened.

“Aunt Nerdanel?” she asked, like she was young again.

Nerdanel made her way up to the ship. She kissed her niece’s cheek in greeting. “The very same,” she said. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Galadriel said.

“Me neither.”

“I’m glad you’re here now. I have someone I’d like you to meet,” she said. “Though you’ll have to come below deck to do it.”

Nerdanel smiled faintly. “Well, alright,” she said, although her thoughts were already turning to Makalaurë.

Inside the ship there are only a few Elves. The sounds of the party outside drift in only faintly. A lantern burns in the corner, sealed in Elven-glass in a design unfamiliar to her. 

“This,” Galadriel said, gesturing towards a figure in the dark, “is Elrond. My son in law, the Half-Elven, they call him.”

The figure stood up straight, as though startled. It turned towards Nerdanel and stepped out into the light, and Nerdanel looked on Elwing and Eärendil’s son. The man her sons had orphaned in all but the most literal way.

The man looked young, never having quite succeeded in getting rid of his baby-face, but with the weight of many years upon him. It pained her to know where some of that weight must have come from. He bowed towards Nerdanel.

“Greetings,” he said. “I have heard much of you.”

“Well I haven’t!” chimed a voice from behind him. Nerdanel barely stopped from laughing aloud at the sight of the little creature that stepped out behind the Elf. 

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” the little - Man? - said, extending a hand like Tuor. 

Nerdanel shook it, allowing herself to giggle. “Nerdanel, at yours,” she said.

“That’s it? No titles, no ‘of the Wooded Glen’ or anything like that?”

“Oh,” Nerdanel said, “I have a title or two I could throw at you. But I fear we would just be wasting time.”

After she was fairly sure she had met everyone in the hold, including a shy, quiet little Hobbit named Frodo, Galadriel’s face turned serious. “I shan’t mince words,” she said, nodding at Elrond. “Aunt Nerdanel, you look upon your grandson.”

Nerdanel looked at Galadriel, then at the Hobbits, as though they could provide some answers. Bilbo just shrugged.

“After the attack on the Havens, all those years ago,” Elrond said, “My brother and I were brought up by Maedhros and Maglor.”

It took her a moment to remember the Sindarin names, the names her boys were known by through history. “Brought… up?” she asked. She had never heard this before. Had nobody told her? Was the news lost in the flood of information from Middle Earth after the return?

Of course she had heard that they had spared the Peredhel boys. But what then?

“I see,” she said, after a few moments.

Elrond shifted his feet. “I will always be the son of Eärendil and Elwing,” he said, although Nerdanel never doubted it. “But one can have more than one father.”

“I think that is wise,” Bilbo said, nodding.

“That is - that is…” Nerdanel stumbled over her own words for a few moments. “That is, good to know. Thank you for telling me. If that is what I can remember of my sons now, then you have given me a great gift.”

Elrond and Galadriel looked at one another. “How well can you keep a secret?” he asked Nerdanel.

“Oh, very well,” Galadriel answered for her. 

Elrond was silent for a few, heart-rending moments. Then, he nodded towards the shadows.

As it turns out, she hadn’t quite met everyone on the ship. Another stood, casting off a blanket that had been hanging loosely on him. In another life, long after this, Nerdanel would find his attempts to hide hysterical, but also couldn’t deny that it fooled her.

Makalaurë stepped into the hold of the ship and held his mother’s gaze. 

“I must say,” Bilbo was the first to speak, “he’s a nice fellow. I’m not sure what all the secrecy is about, but I like it. One last adventure.”

He coughed. “I should probably be going,” he said, reading the room. “People, places to see, whatnot. Come along, Frodo.”

The Hobbits left the hold, but not without first exchanging a smile with Makalaurë. Her son’s was gentle, hesitant, nervous, and he hardly took his eyes off of his mother.

“I-” He coughed, cutting himself off. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” Nerdanel said, her heart in her throat.

“You, um,” he continued, wringing his hands. They were scarred, rough with burn marks. Nerdanel longed to hold them, rub a salve on them as much good as it would do.

She stepped forward, almost without realizing it. Her son tensed as though she were about to attack him.

She embraced him, held him close, brought his head down into the crook of her neck even though it had been many years since he had been shorter than her.

“You’re home,” she said, overcome with the vastness of those words. “You’re home. You’re home.”

The concerns of his reception in Alqualondë, her worries about his acclimation, even the presence of Elrond and Galadriel in the ship faded to the side. None of it mattered now.

“I’m… home,” he said, testing those words, finding them to be true.

[naerryn]

Fragile Tension (Part One)

Part Two

“How many coffee is that now?”, my partner Lea asked bemused when she sat down at the edge of my office desk as she’s eyeing the steaming black coffee next to my laptop.

“Six? I am surprised you’re really drinking this dishwater.”, she asked in the blue, tugging some of hair messy curly hair behind her round ears and I noticed dark circles around her chocolate brown eyes, even through her almond brown skin tone concealed a lot of her tiredness.

“Better than nothing.”, I shrugged her comment off and added some milk and sugar into the porcelain mug. Nightshift at the Magic Task Force facility was always an unpleasant experience, to say the least. Either nothing was going on and you had to fight sleep for ten hours straight, or the crazy shit was blowing up right into our face. There was nothing in between.

At least, there weren’t many other agents in the building at this hour. Especially almost to no elves.

“Oh, guess what.”, Lea started talking again, obviously I was part of her plan to fight off her desire to sleep while I was stirring my coffee with a silver spoon. I hummed in respond, waiting for her to continue talking.

“I heard Agent Arlon bitching about the public speech your mother held in the elf district of Seattle today. Shame for all elves and the usual bullshit.”

“And here I thought you head something new.”, I replied with a dramatic roll of my eyes, taking a sip from my almost to sweet tasting coffee. It was an open secret that the bigger part of the elvish society considered my mother to be their personal Dark Lord. Or antichrist, how humans liked to say in such a matter.

She worked since decades for a real equality between all races, not just one that stood on paper. Growing up privileged, my mother sympathized at a very young age with creatures that weren’t lucky enough to live behind guarded walls and enjoy the best unaffordable education for over 60 % of the planet.

Her speeches back then were waved off as youthful flaws, but when she felt in love with a human and decided to give birth to the first halfbreed of the elvish kind, that crossed the line for most elves.

It was socially tolerated to have a secret affair with humans, but that’s were the comfort zone ended. Being in an official relationship would be a scandal to an alarming extent and the pressure to much to bear, but breeding with a different race, that was a social death sentence.

I lived my childhood in the elf district of New York City, moved with my parents to three more elvish districts around the country before we finally settled in Los Angeles. Still a lot of hate, but at least there was enough other gossip that we could live our lives in peace for most parts. There were only heydays of hatred whenever mother did one of her more passionate speeches about equality or wanted to enforce a new law that didn’t benefit the needs of the elves.

“One should think that they are more discrete with you being around.”, Lea said thoughtfully, taking one of the elder files that rested on my desk and flipped through the pages.

“Nah, they love it when I walk in to listen to their shit. Hoping I will cry my eyes out about it.”

Back when Lea and I got paired up roughly three years ago, she thought I am just one of those arrogant elves that fill the halls of the department, thinking that everyone should bow to them. But that impression dissolved into dust when she witnessed me getting bullied by elvish coworkers on a daily basis.

I may looked like them, minus the pointed teeth and the bright, light colored eyes, those were human, I got treated like an abomination since the day of my conception. Even by my elvish grandparents.

A loud ping echoed through the open space office and the door of the elevator opened with a swift motion, revealing the Agents Kandomere and Montehugh to be back from a field trip.

I growled at the sight of the buff elf, with his dyed blue hair slicked back nicely and his silver-blue eyes scanning the room as he entered the room with his partner.

“Behave.”, Lea hissed quietly, but we both knew that Kandomere heard every word we would exchange from now on, even if he would be five rooms apart from us.

He was the personification of my archenemy. The second I laid eyes on his silver gorget, etched with the sentence “Elves above all. Above all elves.” in Övüsi, the elvish language, I decided to hate him with a burning passion.

And after a heated debate in a team meeting around a year ago, where it wouldn’t have taken much for us to strangle one another to death, our human partners decided to keep us separated by all costs. And it worked until now.

I didn’t came around to notice how he clenched his strong jaw as his piercing eyes landed on me, heard his heartbeat quickening and he let out a deep breath.

“Can’t he breath even louder.”

“[Y/N]!”, my partner hissed again, this time a bit more aggressive, her eyes dancing between me and the two arrivals and I could swear I noticed a pleading look on Montehughs face directed at Lea.

“Why don’t we go to the archives? Decoding some ancient languages? What do you say, [Y/N]?”

“No.”

“Well, I could go for something small to eat, Kandomere.”, I heard Montehughs booming voice, looking around the room casually before glancing at his partner, who was striding through the room in my direction.

“Then go.”, he said callous, passing Lea and my desk with stone cold features before I could hear the chair of the desk right behind mine being pulled back. So that’s his first move, I thought to myself and decided to slurp on my coffee rather unladylike.

I felt his death glare literally on the back of my head, but at this very moment, I couldn’t care less. Instead, I had to hold back myself from laughing about Lea and Montehugh, who were unable to cope with their (half-) elvish partners.

Montehugh, who still stood close to the elevator, walked the invisible path Kandomere previously moved on, but he came to halt right next to Lea and myself.

“Long time no see... So, how is it going?”

“Well, it’s always the same, Ulysses.”

“Ulysses?”, I blurred out with a raised eyebrow, watching the two humans with an answer demanding look in the eyes and judging the of Kandomeres sharp breath we were sitting in the same boat.

“That’s his name.”

“I know, but since when are we addressing each other by first name?”

He’s with the enemy, I thought to myself, as I tried my best not to let that thought become visible on my facial features.

“I have friends beside you, [Y/N].”

“Friends?”, this time, it was Kandomeres sonorous voice filling the air as he rose his voice and I slid back while remaining on the chair to be able to look at him and the two human.

“Since we can’t bring the two of you to team meetings without starting the apocalypse, we started talking during the breaks and stuff.”, Montehugh said in defense, crossing his arms in front of his chest while Lea slipped down from the desk to stand next to him.

“Oh really?”, Kandomere and I said at the same time, quickly glancing at one another before turning our attention back to our partners.

"You both are behaving ridiculous. I mean, look at you.”

“She’s right. You know what, Lea and I are getting some supper and you guys can burn down this place if necessary, but don’t get us involved anymore.”, and with that being said, Montehugh and Lea turned their backs on us and headed straight for the elevator and just a blink of the eye later, they were gone behind metallic doors.

“That’s your fault.”, Kandomere said in a low growl, interlocking his hands in front of his face while staring at me with arched eyebrows.

“My fault?”, I asked him outraged, placing a hand on my chest as I swirled around to face him. He remained silently, his silver-blue eyes staring me down without blinking.

“This is hardly my fault. You”

“I have done nothing.”

“Of course. How could I forget that our godlike Kandomere isn’t able to do anything wrong. Elves above all. Above all elves. Right!”, I yelled at him and both of us rose to our feet, only a desk kept us apart from one another.

At first, there was pure rage shown on his face, but with every heavy breath that he exhaled, his strong features began to soften.

“So this what it was all about the entire time?”, Kandomere asked me calmly, tilting his head while he scanned my features for any sign if he found the final clue to solve a case that caused him a lot of headaches.

Unwittingly, I backed away a small step, meeting the desk I said behind for the last two hours with my backside while my full attention rested on the elf in front of me.

“What are you talking about?”, I muttered under my breath and felt awed by the sudden change of his demeanor as I watched Kandomere pointing at his silver gorget, his piercing light eyes locked with mine.

“You hate me because of a piece of jewelry?”

“I hate you for everything this piece of jewelry stands for.”, I told him honestly and I could tell by the look on his face what he was thinking at this very moment. That I was sounding just like my mother.

“I have nothing against other races.”

“But?”

“But I think most need supervision.”

“By elves?”, I wasn’t beating around the bush, but neither was Kandomere, and I crossed my arms in front of my chest while he walked around the desk, now standing an arm-length apart from me as he leaned against the desk.

“Yes.”

I snorted in respond, shaking my head in disbelief about his dusty, old fashioned views. Sadly, this view was shared by most of those elitist pure-blooded elves. An awkward silence took a firm grip of us, mentally going through the usual better and worse reasons to believe in each of our views.

Those debates were held millions of times, there was no good reason for the two of us to start it on our own. Nothing new would come out of it. Everything that someone could say on that topic was already said by older, more wiser elves then us.

“But that doesn’t mean that I hold any resentment towards you.”, Kandomere said after a long pause, slowly coming closer to me in small, graceful steps. I bit my lower lip, avoiding his gaze for a split second before looking back up to meet his eyes.

“I find it hard to belief.”

“Really?”

“Really.”, we exchanged our words quickly, and he came to stop right in front of me, the tip of his expensive designer shoes touching mine softly. He smelled like smoke of an open fire mixed with the scent of leather and roses. It left me wondering for a moment if there was someone waiting for him at home, but that thought left my racing mind as quickly as it entered.

“Then, would you allow me to prove you that my words are honest? All I want is a chance and time.”, he spoke calmly, looking down at me through half closed eyes.

“I have to think about it.”, I whispered, flinching away from him before I grabbed my jacket, which rested on the back of my chair before I stride towards the closed elevator.

I felt his eyes burning in the back of my head with every step I came closer to my escape, his smell still etched into my mind and the sonorous sound of his voice echoing in my head.

I needed a clear head, and here, with him, I wouldn’t be able to get what the back of my head demanded. That’s at least what I told myself as I waited for the elevator to show up, feeling like it’s taking longer then usual for it to show up on our floor.

With a loud ping, the door glided to one side and I quickly entered the small room to press the button for the ground floor. Turning around on the spot, my eyes landed on Kandomere one last time before the doors closed automatically.

The silver-blue orbs of his were pleading me to stay, to come back to him and sit down on the some chairs, talking about this and that and making first steps on getting to know one another. I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze as the door closed the engine of the elevator starting to lower the cabin to it’s destination.

(2184 Words)

[multishipperlove]

cliche prompt list "you will regret that baby" vaxilmore

((I just want to say... I love you for prompting this. That was a ride. At first I didn't realise there was a comma missing, and I seriously debated writing part of a pregnant trans!Vax AU I've been meaning to write for ages. But since that probably would have taken way too long, and I'm pretty sure that's not what you wanted out of this, I decided against it. And then I decided against making it a super angsty break up fic, because I needed something nice in my life for once. The end result is probably still not what you wanted, but have some more or less domestic schmoop instead.))

*

Vox Machina had been back in Whitestone for barely a few minutes before Vax excused himself from the group. For once they had returned without any grave injuries, or more trouble than they had left with. For once everyone was fine and in good spirit, and while the others looked forward to a relaxing evening in the castle, Vax couldn't wait to see Gilmore again.

So he ignored the teasing and leering calls from everyone, not even bothering to flip them off as he made his way to Gilmore's temporary home in the city. Pulling out the small key the sorcerer had given him he let himself in, wanting to surprise the man. But instead of the picture of his lover relaxing on the couch, Vax was greeted by a lovely smell, that seemed to be wafting through the entire house.

Shaun was a wonderful cook, one more reason why Vax mourned not being able to spend more time with him. Stolen moments, nights spend together as long as neither of them was needed elsewhere.. it never seemed to be enough.

“Gilmore?” Vax called out tentatively, not wanting to startle him too much by sneaking through the rooms. “Shaun, I'm back early.”

Just a moment later, the sorcerer appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a wide smile on his face. “So you are, darling!” They embraced, holding on tightly for a moment, and when Gilmore pulled away again, he placed a gentle kiss on Vax' cheek. “So how's your newest adventure treated you? I'm guessing everyone is doing well, otherwise you wouldn't be here already.” “No, I suppose I wouldn't,” Vax admitted, a bit sheepishly, even though he knew Gilmore didn't judge him for placing his priorities the way he did. Otherwise, they most likely wouldn't have gotten together in the first place. “Everything went well, but let's not talk about it now. I just want to enjoy being here for a while.” Gilmore's face softened and he gave a soft sigh, running his hand down Vax's back before pulling him a bit closer. “Of course, you can tell me some other time. I'm just glad to have you.” Vax hummed in agreement, resting his head against Gilmore's shoulder as he leaned in. But the smell was still very distracting, and it had definitely reminded him how hungry he was. His growling stomach gave him away a moment later, making Gilmore laugh. “Alright, enough standing around. Let me get some food into you, little bird, you seem to need it.”

Vax still blushed at the nickname but nodded, gladly following back to the kitchen. “You know I'm not going to say no to that. So tell me, what are you making?”

“Oh, I'm already done,” Gilmore replied, carrying a pot over from the stove to the table, where Vax had already settled down. “It's Marquesian, a stew, sort of. You're lucky you're back so early, too. I was just about to put the finishing touch on it, but if you're eating with me, it's probably best if I keep that to my own plate.”

Vax frowned slightly at that, but seeing the small clay jars scattered around the fire made him realise that Gilmore was most likely talking about spices. He did like to complain about Tal'Dorei food being bland sometimes. “No, please, add whatever you like. I'd love to try,” he assured him, giving his partner a warm smile.

Gilmore just chuckled in reply but did bring one of the clay jars over as well before joining him at the table. “Try it if you want to, but I think it's better if I don't add it to the whole thing yet. This one is... rather strong.”

Vax shrugged and, under the horrified eyes of Gilmore, sprinkled a good spoonful of the reddish brown powder over his plate. “Come on, how bad can it be?” he asked, stirring it all in with his spoon. The stew certainly looked tasty, though besides some kind of meat and like one vegetable, Vax couldn't make out what was in it.

Shaun made a sound somewhere between repressed laughter and horrified groan. “Oh darling, you're going to regret that.” But the half elf just waved him off, taking a big bite of it anyway.

The reaction was imminent. Vax' smug smile seemed to freeze at first, then melted into a grimace, a cough, his hands curling into fists. “Oh god, oh fuck-” Wincing in sympathy, though it was hard to not show his amusement as well, Gilmore got up and got the milk can out of the cupboard, quickly pouring a glass for Vax. “Here, drink this, that should help,” he told him, sticking it under his nose. And Vax took it, gladly.

His whole face was already flushed though, and Gilmore didn't miss the misty eyes either. He couldn't help it anymore and laughed, softly, not trying to mock his lover but not able to pity him all too much either. To soften the blow a bit he reached out to stroke his hair, gently tucking Vax to lean against his belly as the half elf still struggled with forming words again.

“Don't- don't say I told you so,” he grumbled finally, once the burning in his throat had started to cool down at least a little bit. “I didn't think it would be that bad.”

“Well obviously,” Gilmore replied, still maybe a little bit too gleeful. “Now next time, maybe you'll listen to me. Though knowing you, I doubt it.”

“Good, at least that means you know me well.” Vax answering grin was already utterly unrepentant again, making Gilmore roll his eyes fondly. He hadn't expected anything else.

[himluv]

Little Mercies

Another Solavellan oneshot. Set a few weeks after Heat. Enjoy!

“Wild. Running, jumping, white and shining.” Cole blinked watery eyes at the Inquisitor. “Free.”

She smiled softly and nodded, but did not speak. She had eyes only for the halla that bounded away from them across the river. Solas had thought little of the creatures, but when he looked back at Riallan he saw the depth of her wonder at the sight. Cole’s voice echoed her reverence, and knowing the thoughts were hers made his heart clench.

“They are so delicate,” Cassandra said. “I expected them to be… hardier.” She said it without disdain, a simple observation.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Riallan said without looking away from the animals.

The Seeker considered her, taking in her willowy form in the intricately sewn Keeper’s robes and smiled. “This is true.”

That made him smile. That the Seeker compared Riallan to halla was at once endearing and laughable. The Inquisitor was something altogether more fierce than the elegant deer, even if she shared their grace.

Not that he would say as much in current company.

“Elegant, yes,” Cole said. “Long legs for bounding through trees. But sturdy too. Powerful, precious, poised.”

Riallan laughed at that, the sound bright and echoing off the stones of the riverbank. “Yes, Cole they are that too.”

Solas was glad he stood at the front of their party for once, for he could not contain his blush at the spirit’s words. They had been his thoughts, and they were decidedly not about the halla. He continued on the path, eager to move on and give Cole something else to think on, so he was the first to notice the red sails across the water.

His stomach dropped even as he smiled. While he had little affection for the Dalish, Riallan would be overjoyed to see a clan here. “Inquisitor,” he called and pointed ahead of him.

Sure enough, once her gaze found the aravels her whole face lit up. It was the biggest grin he had ever seen on her face. The purest, most hopeful expression. It made his chest ache, knowing that she so dearly missed her clan. She may not know it, but he had taken that from her. Yet another shame for him to carry.

“These are the aravels?” Cassandra asked, tripping over the word slightly.

But Riallan didn’t hear her, she was already bounding down the bank and into the water. Her joy ran away with her, lending wings to her feet as she reached the other side of the shallow river, her bare toes sure in the firm mud of the bank.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra shouted, but it was a wasted effort. Riallan was already gone, her heart and mind leagues away in the Free Marches.

“Flying, soaring, thunder in her ears. Sun in the sails, stars in their eyes, warmth in their hearts.” Cole looked at Solas, his gaze unseeing as he read Riallan’s racing thoughts. “Home.”

He knew that clan Lavellan were fairly progressive, if reclusive. He hoped, for her sake, this clan would welcome her with open arms.

Cole looked at him then. “They keep coming back, searching, seeking, sad, but home is gone.”

“Yes, Cole,” he said. “It is.”

“I’m sorry, da’len,” said the Keeper. “You are one of the People, but we do not trust this Inquisition.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, even she had felt the same until recently. And yet, Hawen’s words stung more than she cared to admit. Not least because she saw the prejudice in his distrusting glances at her companions. Did Deshanna look at city elves that way? Was her clan no better? Were all Dalish so insular?

Was Solas right about them after all?

“I— of course, hahren. I understand.” There was no keeping the disappointment from her voice. This was a rejection, even if it was wrapped in wise and kind words. It was as she had feared, the humans would vaunt her for as long as it was convenient and she would pay for their fervor with the acceptance of her kin.

But she couldn’t give up that easily. “May we rest with your clan for the evening?” She kept her voice quiet, hoping that her companions would not hear their conversation. Though she suspected Cole would tell all over dinner anyway.

She saw the hesitance on Hawen’s face and closed her eyes. “Forgive me, hahren. I did not mean to impose.” She turned to leave, but he stopped her with the brush of fingertips on her shoulder.

“Tel’abelas, da’len,” he said. “I am sorry. Of course you can join us.” He gave a wary glance at Cassandra, but smiled at Riallan.

She understood his concerns about the Seeker. She was an imposing figure, a capable warrior, and above all, human. But, Riallan worried more about Solas. Their only argument had been about the Dalish, heated and full of brash words she regretted. It was not something they had ever resolved. She would need to talk with him before tensions rose in the camp.

“Ma serannas, hahren.” She inclined her head in deference to the Keeper. “I will inform my people.”

She stepped away to the edge of the camp, Solas and Cassandra following her. Cole was nowhere to be seen.

“I am here,” the spirit promised, his voice frail as wind. “It would not help them to see me.”

“Thank you, Cole,” she said.

“That conversation did not seem,” Cassandra paused to find the right word. “Welcoming.”

Solas snorted, but said nothing.

Riallan cast a disapproving glance his way, but if he noticed he gave no sign. “They are, understandably, hesitant to trust us.”

Dark brows rose high on the Seeker’s face. “But you are Dalish!”

“A Dalish representing a human organization with ties to the Chantry,” Riallan added.

“And accompanied by a Seeker of Truth and flat ear, no less,” Solas said. There was no heat in his words.

Riallan was pretty sure that made it worse. “Hawen said nothing of the sort.”

“He did not have to.” He leaned on his staff and looked away from her.

She had no argument to make and it only made her angrier. “He has invited us to spend our evening in the camp,” she said.

“Ma nuvenin,” he said. The words were a cold wind in her ears.

Cassandra looked between them with confusion. “You are fighting. Why?”

“Solas takes issue with the Dalish,” she said, crossing her arms, wishing his disdain didn’t affect her so much.

“Reaching. So much they do not know. Grasping hands and hearts save all the wrong parts.” The spirit appeared, standing between Riallan and Solas.

“Leave it be, Cole,” Solas said.

“Their misunderstanding hurts.” He said it as a plea, begging the elf to let him help.

“Yes. But you cannot heal it.”

“I could try,” he said, petulant, displeased as a child being told ‘no’.

“And you would fail.”

“Perhaps because you don’t want to let the pain go,” Riallan said. “I don’t know what the Dalish did to slight you Solas, but this clan has offered us shelter. I, for one, would not offend them by refusing.”

That was an exaggeration, considering that she’d asked Hawen if they could stay, but he didn’t need to know that.

Cassandra gave Solas a sheepish look. “Something other than field rations would be a pleasant change.”

Solas pursed his lips, then looked at Riallan. “I do not disagree.” It wasn’t quite an apology, but there was no argument in his eyes. It was close enough.

“Then, it’s settled.” She forced a smiled at them and turned back to the camp, eager to mingle with her people.

This was not how Solas imagined spending his evening. The campfire and open sky were all correct, but being surrounded by modern elves, listening to their stories was unexpected. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant, if he didn’t listen too closely.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Riallan sat down beside him, setting a wooden tankard down by her feet. The firelight flickered and billowed in shadows across her skin, giving her cheeks a duskiness she didn’t have by day.

“Try this,” she said and offered a piece of bread to him.

He took it, but did not try it. “What is it?”

“Honeyed bradh with halla butter.” There was laughter in her voice, a warmth he only heard after she’d visited with Varric and Bull in the Herald’s Rest. Perhaps the tinge in her cheeks had more to do with Dalish wine than the fire.

He took a tentative bite and let out a pleased sound.

She grinned. “You like it?” Her eyes shone with the light of the fire, and when she looked at him like that, like her whole world hinged on what he said next, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Very much.” He took another bite to prove it. The bread was light and flaky, spread with spiced butter and a fine drizzle of honey on top. It was savory and sweet, hearty enough to have with a meal but sweet enough to crave for dessert.

She flushed at his approval, and then stole the final bite out of his hand. “I didn’t say you could have the whole thing!” She laughed even as she shoved the bread into her mouth. “Don’t tell on me, but this better than my clan’s.” She giggled, the sound girlish and carefree.

Definitely feeling the effects of the wine, then.

He leaned in to bump his shoulder against hers. “You secret is safe with me, if—” he gave her a wicked little smile, “—you get me another piece of that bradh.”

The look she gave him flushed him with warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. “Ma nuvenin, Solas.”

And then she was up and gone, hunting to fulfill his request. Across the fire Cassandra leaned against an aravel, talking with one of the clan’s hunters. From what he could hear they were sharing hunting stories, and she’d regaled the elf with a tale of Pentaghast dragon hunters. Cole remained out of sight, but Solas saw him in the little mercies that had played out over the evening meal. A knife that should have slipped and sliced simply fell instead. The fish that would have burned were magically flipped while no one looked. And, he noticed now, the Inquisitor’s drink had filled in her absence.

“Cole,” he chided.

“The wine helps,” the spirit said, though he didn’t appear.

“That is debatable.”

“She is comfortable. Thoughts quieter. Frantic, buzzing, soothed with warmth.”

Solas sighed. “Remember that too much can lead to hurt. It weakens the will and tears down walls that should remain in place.”

Cole blinked at him, suddenly manifested before him. “She wishes you would let your walls down.” He tilted his head. “Would you like wine?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “No, thank you.”

The spirit vanished as Riallan returned. She bowed, an exaggerated flourish of arms and legs, and offered him the bradh she found. “Your bradh, Master Solas.”

He bit back a smile at her antics, but took the bread. He was halfway through a bite when she sat beside him, much closer this time, and lifted her tankard. “Did you refill my wine?”

He choked and she laughed at him. “No,” he said. “Cole was helping.”

“Aww, thanks Cole!”

“You’re welcome,” came the spirit’s disembodied voice.

She took a sip and looked out over the fire, her eyes lingering on the people and conversations happening all around them. Someone had found a lyre and strummed it aimlessly until a song formed and a few people took up singing. It was a soothing melody in a mixture of their broken elvhen and common.

It was no less beautiful for it.

He caught her watching him, her eyes suddenly intense. “What is it, lethallan?”

“This is why I asked to stay.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked at the fire. “I wanted to share this life with you, even for just a night.” The words were barely a whisper, a confession he wasn’t certain she would have made under other circumstances.

He cleared his throat. “I thought the Keeper offered.”

She blushed. “I lied.”

“Why?” Just when he thought he understood her motivations she did something he didn’t expect.

“I didn’t want you to think I was desperate or homesick.” She stared down into the depths of her wine. The words no doubt confessed thanks to its influence.

“There’s nothing shameful in longing for the world you once knew,” he said.

She hummed and took another drink. “Maybe not shameful, but certainly foolish.”

Only because she lacked the power to bring back what was lost, he told himself. “If you could go back, if the anchor and the Breach had never happened, would you?”

He hadn’t meant to ask, but in the warm haze of the fire and the sweetness of the wine on her breath, the words just tumbled out.

She thought on his question for a long time, long enough that he thought she wouldn’t answer him at all. Then her hand was on his forearm, the barest touch that sent a jolt through him.

When he looked up her focus was undeniable. She held his gaze even through the flush of embarrassment and drink on her cheeks.

“No. No, I don’t think I would.”

[voiceofghilannain]

The Voice of Ghilan’nain: Introduction to my Blog

My beloved subjects: This is my first post on this blog so I will take a moment to introduce myself. My name is Gerasimos (though Jerry is what I usually introduce myself as out of courtesy, as both my name and surname sound like gibberish to most people). I’m a 23-year-old male biology student currently studying in Greece, and an aspiring entrepreneur with quite a long way ahead until I make that dream come true.

Before I introduce you to this blog, I would like to say a few more words about myself. I am a firm believer in education (scientific, technological, and financial) and I do enjoy learning new things, especially if they can be used to solve problems. I am interested in astronomy, biology with emphasis on plant biology, game design, and video game art. I also enjoy walking outdoors, cooking, relaxing at a beach while stargazing, talking about politics and money, teasing the cat (my friend, not the feline pet) and playing video games. 

In regards to the latest subject, Bioware’s Mass Effect was the first RPG game I ever played. Though it took me a year to appreciate it due to its lackluster gameplay and limited weapon options, I eventually managed to see it for what it was rather than what I wanted it to be. I played through the trilogy with a dictionary next to me as my English skills were laughable back then. It was through Mass Effect and later Halo that I built my English skills, with the later giving me the opportunity to be part of a great community filled with incredible members such as Haruspis, Covenant Canon, HiddenXperia, LateNightGaming, and Halo Canon. I also had my ride as part of the Halo Archive community, with wonderful discussions and theories throughout the years, and I was fortunate enough to watch the community grow from 40 to over 2000 members and survive several crises until its eventual collapse. During the three or so years that I was part of the Halo Archive (known there as Faber of Will and Might), I got to see video games as far more than just games and develop a passion for delving deep into the lore of video game franchises and their extended media. It is for this reason, that I would like to take a moment and thank every member of the Halo Archive for the incredible conversations and debates we had during that time and particularly Haruspis, whose incredible analyses partially inspired me to start this endeavour (You can visit his blog by clicking here: https://haruspis.blog).

It was during the end of my first year at University that I got into tabletop gaming, but it took several years for me to discover the existence of Dragon Age. Eventually, both the release of disappointing games, like Halo 5: Guardians and Mass Effect Andromeda, and toxic fans caused my interest in these franchises to wane and the Halo Archive to fade. This caused me to search for new franchisees to fall in love with and this is how I got into the world of Dragon Age, starting with Inquisition. THE Dragon Age Setting is currently my favourite fantasy setting and the reason I started making “my own” tabletop RPG for it in order to play Inquisition with my friends. I used the quotation marks in the previous sentence because I started by homebrewing for the Official Tabletop DA RPG with each update and homebrew rule making it more and more distinct from the RPG it derived from and pushing it closer to the feel of the games, with mechanics like Barrier, Guard, Status Effects, Critical Hits, the addition of several dozen warrior, rogue and mage abilities and spells, the removal of the stunt mechanic, the introduction of sustained abilities and many more features.

I have always found Medieval English themed settings and happy worlds boring and dull. I don’t see fiction as escapism from problems but as an opportunity to do things I would normally be unable to do, such as setting foot on alien worlds, standing against the Covenant as they kill billions in their genocidal campaign or simply playing as an elf that throws fireballs at sleeping targets in the midsts of a death cloud and then paralyzing them or scaring them to death by casting Horror. Due to my bias against the classic medieval fantasy setting, Ferelden is the least interesting part of the Dragon Age setting for me. I do enjoy the extravagant gold and blue themes of Orlais, the Necropolis of Nevarra, the villainous city of Kirkwall, the Blighted Anderfels, the decadent Rome/Byzantium inspired Tevinter cities, the war-torn Seheron, the pirate heaven of Estwatch, the exotic Rivain and Par Vollen, the assassin filled Antiva and the mystery of the tainted Black City far more than the mostly bland Ferelden. It is thanks to these locations and their stories that, for me, Thedas trumps any setting with a million races each worth half a page of text or settings made for adventurers that go on a killing spree to get rich within a fixed world that refuses to change.

Thedas is a continent that never stops changing. Old feuds are resolved and new conflicts emerge. Racism, blood magic, squandering nobles, the blight and other horrors make the life of most people in the setting a challenge at best and a nightmare at worst. Within the span of three games, the setting has changed dramatically and the world has moved forward. Thedas is thus very different from what it used to be when Dragon Age Origins released. Being dynamic and reacting to player choice is a very important aspect of the setting, which is both a testament to Bioware’s own talent and the setting’s innate simplicity.

Thedas’ richness doesn’t derive from an army of races or from endless classes and deities, but from its smaller scale, with fewer races and emphasis on the dynamics between their societies and the struggles that various groups, societies, scholars, nations and individuals face. With fewer things in the setting, there is more room for them to be fleshed out and explored in depth. Furthermore, Thedas has a rich history, exposed to players mostly via codex entries written from an in-universe perspective. This allows events to be portrayed differently depending on whose perspective they have been witnessed by, encourages fan discussions and theories, turns new contradicting information into a quest for the truth that often results in revisiting old passages and finding new meanings after certain revelations. Unlike most fictional universes, Dragon Age’s lore takes effort to extract and while this might not be for everyone it has kept the community far more engaged and alive throughout the years.

Thedas is a land full of mysteries filled with danger. The Horror of Hormak, the Black City and the Blights, the Old Gods, Arlathan, the curse of Nahar, the Pyramids of Par Vollen, the Kossith, the ships from beyond the Volca Sea, the Executors, the history of the Dwarves, the Second Sin, the Cekorax and many more are all shrouded by the element of the unknown, which drives the curiosity, fear, dread, nostalgia and most feelings associated with them. It is elements like these that make me want to write about and share with others stories set in this world, whether official or my own.

Thus, after several months of thinking about it, I decided to create my own blog about Dragon Age. The Voice of Ghilan’nain is a blog named after my favourite Elven Goddess, Ghilan’nain, with me acting as an echo of her guiding voice through the world of Thedas. Just like She focused on creation, so will this blog focus on the things that can be, the transformation of what exists and the discussion of content that many people don’t talk about, navigating through the darkest, deepest and most obscure parts of the lore in search of stories, characters, creatures and their potential, expressing it either through my analyses or through attempts at poetry and short story writing. I will also make some posts that serve as feedback for Bioware on issues regarding gameplay mechanics, UI and story and if people are willing I can provide a few builds or ideas for DMs who want to introduce their friends to the world of Thedas through tabletop gaming. With that said, I hope you enjoy reading my future posts and I am looking forward to your feedback, suggestions and comments.

And now the melody begins, calling you to the depths of darkness:

Na melana sah’lin, La mala suledin nadas. Vir’enfenim ghilana Sulevin’an. Ma garas mir renan La ir las mir enansal.