#i just love two elves very much your honor

[domesticatedantelope]

Once Tyril has her back, he doesn’t let her go.

Not when he’s dreamed of this for so long, the warmth of her body safe within his arms, her heartbeat racing under his touch, vibrant and alive. After a year of agonized uncertainty, she is here and real and smiling, tears shimmering like distant stars in the violet of her eyes.

Verena never weeps. She wields that sharp-edged smile of hers instead, as both weapon and shield — but in this moment it is soft and open, warm with affection as the tears sink down her face.

Though his very being aches with longing, kindled to flame and barely tempered into restraint, his hands are gentle as he trails a questing touch over her skin, searching for any signs of injury. 

“Tyril.” A hand covers his own, leading his palm against her cheek, where she leans into his hold. He meets her gaze and sees a welling of emotion in her eyes, the urgency of his relief mirrored back at him. “I’m okay. Truly.”

He traces his thumb down her cheek, smoothing a tear away and cherishing the feeling of her skin. “I tried,” he chokes out, and his voice breaks under the force of his regret. “I tried everything. Would have done anything to get you back.”

“I know it, my heart.” The endearment steals his breath, the utter faith behind her words making his heart squeeze in his chest. She looks at him like she would tear the heavens from the sky before she parts from him again, and only a fool would ever doubt she could. “Never again. I swear to you.”

When she draws him down into her arms, his mouth surges against hers, kissing her with a desperation bordering on need. And when she pleads for him, gasping his name out on the sweetest sigh, he answers with a trail of hungry kisses down her throat, eager to reclaim all the parts of her he’s missed so dearly. He feels her fingers tugging through his hair, feels the shiver when he sucks against her skin, feels every place they come together in that perfect, steadfast promise. Never again.

Verena makes good on her word. Night falls long before he’s had his fill of her, and even then, when they’ve curled into a messy tangle in the sheets of her bed, when sleep begins to take her, when he dreams of her again and wakes to the same dread that she will vanish with the coming day — she keeps their fingers linked together, and she doesn’t let him go.

[tsupengu]

Merry Christmas @zakuryoishi !!

(you gave me a heart attack changing your username i couldn’t find you ;w;)

Here are your gifts !

I love these 2 ships so I had my fun with the supernatural prompt !! I was like 4 drawings into the whole elves AU when i realized maybe you meant a more modern setting like with vampires and everything so i rushed a 5th one just to be sure- im a clown i know

Context : Kirino is a nymph (flower & water, symbol waterlily) who meets a human boy (Shindou) and takes him home to his parents who are respectively a wood elf (Kaze) and a dark elf (Fudou) !

I hope you like it :(；ﾞﾟ'ωﾟ'): and i wish you a great day and even better holidays !!

also big thanks to @ina11secretsakka2022 for hosting this event 💖

[velvet4510]

I cry when I think about Sam’s promise to never leave Frodo.

I cry when I think about how, in the book, the Elves say “don’t you leave him” as a concerned encouragement only because they know Frodo is being followed by Black Riders; they have no idea of the true gravity of the situation, or that these two hobbits will be going anywhere near the fortress of the Dark Lord himself.

I cry when I think about how Sam has already made up his mind completely when the Elves give him that advice, that he has already made the choice to go with Frodo anywhere, even the Moon, and to fight Black Riders for him. “Leave him????” the very idea is absurd to him already. He’s got it all figured out.

I cry when I think about how Sam doesn’t technically make his promise to the Elves; he makes it to Frodo, and more importantly, to himself. He just loves Frodo so much that he makes the promise to himself. “Never leave your master, that’s what you said, never, never!” Not what the Elves or Gandalf or anyone else said. What he himself said. What he vowed to himself for the sake of his greatest love.

I cry when I think about how, in the movie, Sam’s spoken excuse for his care for Frodo in the scene by the river is “I promised Gandalf,” but Sean Astin’s soulful performance reveals the aforementioned truth…in the boat scene all he says is “I made a promise,” he doesn’t say it was made to Gandalf….it’s the same as the book, he made the promise to himself…the emotion and love in his voice when he says “don’t you lose him and I don’t mean to”…a shy humble gardener’s way of saying “don’t you see? it’s not just about what a wizard told me to do, it’s about how I love you and I can’t lose you.” And Frodo’s reaction shows he registers this.

I cry when I think about how Sam keeps on choosing that promise over everything else, even his own safety, to the point where he directly goes against Frodo’s wishes for his safety and follows him to Mordor, not because anyone twisted his arm and forced him to do it, not because Frodo asked anything of him, but because he loves Frodo so much that he commits to his promise.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise is like a marriage vow, “in sickness and in health,” “for richer for poorer.” Even as Frodo grows sicker and sicker, even as Sam almost dies dozens of times, he honors this vow and proves what love really means.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise is the opposite of the forced obligation that many ignorant readers/viewers have claimed it to be (yes, i’ve read that claim, that he never wanted to go, that the whole time he secretly resented Frodo for taking him away from Rosie, what book did those numbskulls read???)…how Sam, in every version of the story, takes a mere encouragement made in total ignorance of what they will really be up against, and develops it into a personal vow based on pure love which ultimately gives him the strength to defeat Shelob one-on-one, storm an Orc-infested tower all by himself, and climb a giant mountain with an adult hobbit on his shoulders.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise is so much like a marriage vow that he cannot leave Frodo when Rosie reveals she wants to marry him, that he doesn’t marry Rosie until she agrees that they can still live with Frodo.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise lasts all his life into feeble old age, across decades of time and millions of miles, even when he knows Frodo is in good healing hands and his emotional support is no longer reliant on him alone … he still ultimately forsakes all that he has ever known to find Frodo in the West, because his promise, his love, is everlasting.

I cry when I think about how Sam proves that love is a choice, that the vows you make for a person are vows for yourself as much as that person. Why would you make such a vow? All that anyone else can do is encourage you to act on what you already feel. The choice is only yours. And you choose to make that vow when you truly love someone, as Sam does.

I cry when I think about how Sam proves that love is a promise.

[endiness]

i still think it makes so much sense if radovid in the show is actually based off of (or at least more off of) radovid the bold/red rather than radovid the stern.

like, first off, it's still never actually been stated which radovid exactly that the show has based its character off of and the only thing that has been said about him officially is this:

“Jaskier falls in love,” Schmidt Hissrich reveals. “And it’s with a character who fans will know [and] continues showing up in the books. So what happens this season between them will have ripple effects for a very long time.”

but that's a statement that fits radovid the great, radovid the bold/red, and radovid the stern as all three of them are mentioned in multiple books throughout the series.

the show has also actually made a reference to "the stern" already and it was with hedwig. at her funeral.

VIZIMIR: We are gathered here today to honor the memory of my beloved Queen Hedwig. To many, Queen Hedwig was a stern and distant figure.

the first time radovid the bold is mentioned in the books is in blood of elves and it mentions him being at least tolerant of witchers and more concerned with matters of money than anything else.

"I have nothing against witchers. Let them hunt vampires. As long as they pay taxes." — Radovid III the Bold, King of Redania

and, well, radovid in the show doesn't seem to have any problem with witchers.

RADOVID: Pick your favorite. Please. They'd love a song about your white-haired witcher.

and money is very much a running theme with his character.

JASKIER: (to Radovid) Geralt is determined to solve it in his Geralt way, because he didn't have enough money to pry their lips apart, but… you do, I assume.

RADOVID: I've got an annuity. I'll bring all I can.

RADOVID: Find my cloaks, anything with fur, take them to the haberdasher, fetch as high a price as you can and bring the coin back to me.

in the books, radovid the bold started a war with kovir due to his greed and it all went very poorly for him. but! he was smart enough to realize that and calm down the tempers of everyone else involved who wanted the war to continue and initiated peace talks instead:

Red was no fool, he was able to learn from his mistakes. He calmed the agitated generals demanding a crusade; he did not listen to the merchants, who demanded an economic blockade, to appease Benda of Kaedwen, who wanted revenge for the destruction of his elite units. Subsequently, he initiated peace talks. Even the humiliation did not deter him, a bitter pill that he had to swallow - Kovir agreed to the negotiations but in its own territory, Lan Exeter. The mountain had come to the prophet.

which imo is very reminiscent of radovid's personality on the show as he's much more willing to try appeal to people in some way and placate them as opposed to using threats and aggressive tactics:

PHILIPPA: But nothing, Sandpiper— RADOVID: If I may offer a thought. Ah, this poor Cirilla girl has enemies everywhere, and, truth be told, Redania's not a bad place. Bit cold in the winter and humid in the summer, but the food is spectacular. And my brother's not bad. As monarchs go. Redania may not be perfect, but it's her least bad option.

RADOVID: I just had the most intriguing visit from the witcher's friend. He seems to think those old farts Codringher and Fenn might have some info about Rience. DIJKSTRA: And? RADOVID: And I'm wondering if perhaps our methods of obtaining the girl would be more easily achieved with a carrot than a stick.

and as far the plot side of things go with the books and the show, i think it'd make sense for the show to use radovid the bold as inspiration for radovid's character given the overlap between the two.

like, radovid the bold was at war with kovir in the books and meanwhile radovid in the show will be at war with nilfgaard in subsequent seasons. in the books, radovid the bold went to kovir for peace talks and a hundred or so years later, dijkstra also went to kovir to beg for money to help defeat nilfgaard. the show could easily use radovid either in place of dijkstra or alongside him to go to kovir for help with the war like dijkstra did in the books which would also be a reference to the bold. and when — spoiler alert — the north does eventually defeat nilfgaard, the show could also use radovid to be the one sort of advocating for or heading the peace talks as another reference to the bold especially as that's just something that would naturally fit radovid's characterization anyway. also something something the lodge and philippa and radovid very likely being her puppet king, too.

and just to mention, and ymmv on how much this constitutes as canon given that afaik it is not officially in the books, but! in the family tree sapkowski created for the books, radovid the bold did have a brother named vizimir. so, y'know, there is also that to add to this theory.

[joetamy]

I love Doma, so much- besides his character alone, imma post things I like about his design. Cause I can ùwú If you wanna see my simpus supremus post, read more under the cut! 🙌

Ahem... LOOK AT THE SIZE OF HIS HANDS ! ! He's huge! This is a me thing maybe but that's very✨pleasant✨ Other than that, the design for his hands are so elegant.. yet strong- he has long nails as the upper two, which- slayyy~

The blood-like pattern is visually appealing, honestly just such good design. If you want to make hands more interesting, have some kind of detail like this to draw your eyes to them. Gah... GAH 🔥

His range of expression! And just.... his face- For someone with no emotion, he sure has studied expressing whatever he wants accurately. Surprise, joy, sympathy, sadness, determination- you name it, he can fake it. And as is the point of his character to some extent, he has beautiful eyes. Both in shape and color. 🌈

His eyebrows are wonderful, it's not often creators make a character this attractive and then give them a set of nice and thick eyebrows. I feel it's so common to think of it as unattractive but.. honestly- I disagree. I have had thick eyebrows my entire life, and I am extremely grateful for that. Anyway, this next one is just.. demons in general from Demon Slayer. But! Their teeth, they are so large. Every demon with these kind of teeth just... they seem so- idk- comfy looking. It's odd, but very appealing! (I checked in with some friends and they agree! Demon chompers are very nice to look at!

HIS HAIR! For real, long long ago, when watching the hobbit and lord of the rings, something flipped in me in regard to what I find appealing on men. Long hair. There is a reason I love Tolkien's elves ahah. And it's just the same with Doma. 🥰 Regardless if it is beautiful, smooth and soft or jagged and wild- it does not matter. Men suit long hair so much more than they think, it makes me so happy whenever a character is given long hair. And I mean LONG, not that "barely touching the shoulders" bs. That's not long, that's medium.

It actually pains me when someone draws a man who has long hair- with short hair. Like.. slay, live your dreams. But come oooon- let the 10% of men with long hair in fiction keep it, plz- I beg. (not actually that serious, do what makes you happy <3) With some help from two of my friends, I'd like to point out his build and how he visually reads vs. his behaviors! While Doma is quite a big guy, with broad shoulders and a very tall frame. He acts and is drawn very innocently! (Note: Slim waist alert 🔥)

He is often drawn in a way that makes him seem quite harmless. He sits in a way that makes him seem smaller than he is (Especially during the upper moon meeting), he's often smiling, laughing and otherwise messing around. He also somewhat slumps his shoulders sometimes. All this really makes his behavior stand out, since it is such a contrast to how he makes himself appear. He talks down to people in such a casual way, he's creepy at times, intimidating- and that gets multiplied by 100 when he no longer acts all aloof and sweet.

On top of all this- he is very muscular, but he wears a baggy turtleneck and very loose pants. Which is anotherfor him to seem far less intimidating visually.

This has all been manga so far, but here's an honorable mention to the anime. This scene was so well done. He is smiling softly through the entire scene, but does not express as much as he does while being upper two. His voice range moves but not along with his expression, which make it feel as if something is off and I love it.

Sidenote, the voice actor they picked for him- chef kiss 💕 Some of this might be a reach, or personal conclusion of course. But when I have an interest, why not share it. Maybe some people will agree, maybe some won't. Either is fine! And feel free to tell me what you agree or disagree with, or just what you like about this guy. I am happy to hear 💖

[honeysunai]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Cullen Rutherford x Lavellan reader

During the two years after Corypheus' defeat, Lavellan had to leave for months on end to seek her allies to keep the Inquisition afloat. Amidst the diplomatic endeavors, a letter from Cullen finds its way to her. author’s note: I'm writing this because I absolutely love Dragon Age. It's one of my favorite game franchises and I adore Cullen. Tumblr needs more Cullen. This is probably my favourite one shot I wrote ever. wordcount: 1,3k

The days are getting frustrating.

She has been working day in and day out to keep peace between her allies to bring them to compromises over the Inquisition. She was after all, in title still, the Inquisitor. Her unwavering commitment led her to bend rules and relinquish much, driven by an unshakeable determination. A lingering sense of unease gnawed at her, as if some malevolent force lurked in the shadows, ready to exploit any moment of vulnerability. The Avvar tribes from Frostback Basin were the least helpful and indulgent in her needs. She needed their written support in the continuation of the Inquisition and be part of the protectors of the realm and with such a generous and honorable offer she was humbled.

Humbled by bitter words and disapprovals beyond measures. After two days of diplomatic quarrels and revisiting the pros and cons of their alliances they still hadn't made up their mind.

She sat at a desk made of bones and dark wood with her head in her hands. She had to come to the realization that soon it would be the end. No one believed the Inquisition useful any longer, no one believed her to be of use no more. No matter how hard she'd work to keep the fires of hope burning, it was now a mere flicker as she reminisce the past.

She missed the old days, the action, the adventure with her friends. She missed Bull and his teasing; her reading times with Cassandra when the world wasn't burning; her chess games with Dorian, her endless training with Blackwall; her drinking friend, Sera and Josephine and her stupid dancing lessons that she'd grown to love. Amidst the nostalgia, a pang of longing hit her for the one she left behind months ago to pursue her quest: her beloved, Cullen.

Closing her eyes, she let the scenes unfold in her mind's eye—the tentative glances exchanged in Haven, the warmth of their shared laughter amidst the chaos of the Inquisition's formation, and the quiet moments stolen in the tranquility of Skyhold. But one memory she'd always cherish was the day he'd invited her for a game of chess, a game Dorian has taught her and he was a very severe teacher.

The flickering candlelight bathed the room in a warm, golden glow as Lavellan and Cullen sat across from each other, an ornate chessboard laid out between them. The air hummed with anticipation, the only sound the subtle clink of chess pieces being moved.

Lavellan's fingers danced gracefully over the carved ivory pieces, her eyes alight with a strategic fervor that belied her calm demeanor. "Your move, Commander," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "I must admit, Inquisitor, I wasn't expecting such a challenge."

She grinned, capturing a pawn with a swift move. "Well, Commander, it seems elves aren't just skilled with a bow. We have a few tricks up our sleeves when it comes to chess as well."

Cullen chuckled, a warmth spreading across his face. "I'll remember to never underestimate you."

The game unfolded with a balletic precision, each move a careful dance of intellect and banter. Cullen, initially taken aback by the unexpected prowess of his opponent, watched in awe as Lavellan executed her strategies flawlessly.

As the tension mounted, Lavellan leaned back, studying the board with a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Your move, Commander. Don't tell me you're surrendering already."

Cullen's gaze met hers, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Never, Inquisitor. I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

With a triumphant smile, Lavellan declared checkmate. Cullen's surprise was evident, his eyes widening in genuine admiration. "Well played," he conceded, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Lavellan leaned in, a sly grin playing on her lips. "A game well fought, Commander. Perhaps you'll catch me off guard next time."

Cullen leaned back, a subtle twinkle in his eye as he crossed his arms. "One can only hope, Inquisitor. Surprises can be quite... captivating, after all."

The victory wasn't just in the game but in the shared laughter that followed, a playful banter that hinted at the deeper connection blossoming between them. She couldn't help but smile at the memory of that victorious chess match—the strategic moves, the playful banter, and the spark of flirtation that hinted at the beginning of something more profound between them.

They've been through the hells and back and their love was stronger than it ever was, but this didn't mean she didn't miss him any less. He was on her mind every night and every morning, wishing he'd be there next to her. He would comfort her and make her laugh to ease the frustration that plagued her.

"What would you do, Cullen?" She'd muttered under her breath while pinching the bridge of her nose.

A knock on the door of her cabin echoed and she rushed to opened the door hoping to receive positive news of the clan chiefs, but was met with a messenger from Skyhold.

"Inquisitor, a letter for you." The man offered her the folded parchment with the sigil of Kirkwall molded in the red wax that held the paper from revealing the words written inside. She thanked the man and returned to her desk with her eyes glued on the wax seal. The Inquisitor's heart raced as she carefully unfolded the parchment, a mix of anticipation and longing swirling within her chest.

"My Dearest Vhenan,

I find myself surrounded by the quiet shadows of Skyhold, the empty halls echoing with the absence of your laughter. In these moments, I am acutely aware of the words I struggle to say, the gestures I fumble, and the emotions that elude my grasp. So, in the silence that separates us, I turn to this parchment, attempting to weave the sentiments I cannot articulate in person.

The future of the Inquisition has scattered us like leaves in the wind, and each step away from you feels like a stumble in the dark. It is in these quiet spaces, where your presence is most keenly missed, that I realize the depth of what we shared. You, my love, are the melody in the chaos, the anchor in the storm, and the warmth in the cold solitude.

I am not gifted with eloquence when it comes to matters of the heart, and my attempts at grand gestures often fall short. Yet, in the silent chambers of my thoughts, you are ever present, a constant hum in the background of my consciousness. Your courage, your kindness, and the way your eyes light up with passion have become the compass guiding my way.

As we find ourselves on separate paths, know that you are the sun on my horizon, the spark that refuses to be extinguished. I miss you more than words can convey, and with each passing day, the ache of your absence grows. Every quiet moment serves as a reminder of your touch, and every fleeting memory stirs a longing within me.

In these lines, I attempt to bridge the distance that stretches between us, to convey what my stumbling words fail to express. Until the day our paths cross again, carry with you the truth that you are missed, loved, and cherished beyond measure. The ink on this parchment may be a poor substitute for the warmth of my embrace, but it carries the essence of a heart that beats for you.

Yours, always and with all that I am,

Cullen" With each word, she felt the weight of Cullen's emotions, the sincerity of his struggles to express what lay in the depths of his heart. A tender smile curved her lips as the ink on the page painted a vivid picture of his love.

Her fingers traced the lines of the letter, as if seeking a tangible connection to the man who had become her anchor in the chaos of Thedas. The sincerity of his words resonated within her, echoing the sentiments she had sensed but had not dared to voice aloud.

As she reached the end of the letter, a gentle warmth enveloped her, like a soft embrace that bridged the physical distance between them. Tears welled in her eyes, not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming realization that she was deeply, wholly loved. In that solitary moment, she felt an unspoken bond, a connection that transcended the miles that now lay between them. With a soft sigh, she whispered, "I'll be with you soon, vhenan," as if the wind could carry her words across the continent.

[ridreamir]

My grief addled heart wanting to draw parallels between Dagoth Ur and the Nerevarine to the Last Dragonborn and Nebarra... This is overly complicated I understand if you don't want to read it lol

Warning: Some Morrowind and Skyrim spoilers/ lore ahead, mumbo jumbo I'm sorry if I'm not making sense. Same for Nebarra's backstory but the spoilers are very vague.

Nebarra, descended from the true Aldmer, potentially mixed somewhere along the way with the last of the true Chimer.

(The Chimer: Dagoth Ur's and Nerevar's extinct race, closely descended from the Aldmer) that could account for Nebarra's so called 'racial impurities'. The irony there being he'd have a close genetic link to the original Aldmer that the modern Altmer wish to emulate. (The Chimer were cursed by the Daedric Prince Azura and are now modern day dark elves, but they used to look like Altmer with fair hair and skin.) His quest is rooted in Solstheim. Maybe his soul is called to the Heart of Lorhkan still. Maybe it still longs for their past lives in Morrowind. The Last Dragonborn, bloodline unclear or sullied in reincarnation like the Nerevarine. Given a bad lot in life. Always the toy of higher powers.

They are both ill-fated individuals, reincarnations. The Dragonborn containing the essence of 'divine' dragonblood. Perhaps Neverar was also a dragon-hearted individual, drawing parallels to the divine heart of Lorhkan that corrupted Dagoth Ur. Much to do with hearts which pump blood, and divinity.

Many mortal incarnations that come in times of great strife.

The previous outside lover that prevents the two souls from connecting, once Nerevar's wife the betrayer, then Nebarra's grief-stricken heart who lost his first love to a tragic death. Again the parallel of the broken and betrayed hearts. Big emphasis on hearts here.

The parallels aren't a perfect one to one but all the elements are there. Mortals desperately wishing to return to divinity. Reincarnation. Betrayal, death, obstacles. Man and Mer. Lorhkan as a good and evil force. A betrayer. A life giver.

The accursed realms of Mundus and themes of the dead rising to life. What if this has been the tragic love story (friendship? Longing?) of two souls fragmented from before the world of man and mer, meant to incarnate and find each other again and again? Aspects of the dead divines now incarnated to haunt the divine corpse of Lorhkan that is now the Earth they walk on?

Same seeds, different soil. Different times, different places. Same souls, different bodies. The horrific part about this is that they're always separated. Sometimes not even born together or surviving long enough to find one another. In the tragic one in a million chance they do, often they'll eventually have to wrench themselves from the other in order to fulfill a prophecy and sacrifice themselves by the will of the divines (or the daedric lords as their toy puppets.) The Aedra are dead. You are in spirit the whispers of their corrupted dream. In flesh, he as an Altmer is what has become of their blood. Two halves of the same coin. Mortality and Divinity.

I could really stetch this so far, but I see how I'm kind of dragging Nebarra out of his intended role. Just an AU thing I thought of. You could technically place anyone in his role but I wanted to write more Nebarra content lol

I could definitely write a quest that hints to past lives forgotton and the karma/shared fates of these two tortured beings as a romance storyline if we're being honest here. Big emphasis on broken hearts.

They are so sad and love each other your honor.

[sotwk]

Can you tell us more about Mirion's wife and children 👀

Hello Anon! I believe this is the second time you've asked me about Crown Prince Mirion and his family, and appreciate your interest so much. 🥰 Mirion is my personal favorite of the OC Thranduilions, so any inquiries about him are dear to me.

I have been keeping the details about Mirion's family under wraps for so long, but I no longer see a good reason to keep them secret, so here we go: some basic headcanon info that will hopefully satisfy your curiosity. 😉

For those who might care: some SotWK AU Spoilers ahead!

SotWK AU Headcanons: Crown Prince Mirion and his "Golden" Family

Although Mirion tragically died in his attempt to free his homeland from the Necromancer (his efforts did drive Sauron out of Dol Guldur for a time and gave Mirkwood four centuries of respite), he left behind a beautiful wife and two children to continue his legacy. His son gave Thranduil a new heir and continued hope for the future of their line and kingdom.

Because Mirion's wife was an Eldar of powerful lineage and incredible strength in her own right, she and their children helped Mirkwood to stay strong and protected through the dangers the realm faced in the Third Age.

And when Thranduil's grandchildren took over the rule of Eryn Lasgalen in the Fourth Age, it ushered in a new Golden Era for the last remaining Kingdom of Elves on Middle-earth.

MIRION'S WIFE - PRINCESS ITARILDË

SotWK Fancast: Teresa Palmer (A Discovery of Witches)

Mirion's wife is Princess Itarildë, an elleth with a rare mix of Noldor-Vanyar-Teleri blood with "royal" lineage on both sides of her family.

Itarildë’s mother is Nimeithel (a SotWK OC), the younger sister of Nimloth and niece of Celeborn.

Nimeithel is featured in my ongoing Thranduil x Maereth series, Sins of Our Fathers. She grew up with Thranduil in Doriath, and was the one who introduced him to Maereth.

Itarildë’s father is Maranwon (SotWK OC), the grandson of Glorfindel and his wife Elemírë (SotWK OC), who was the sister of Elenwë, late wife of King Turgon.

Itarildë has a high Eldar "pedigree" due to her lineage, but that was not what attracted Mirion to her. On the contrary, her noble background nearly caused the Crown Prince to decide against pursing her hand in marriage, despite their deep love for each other.

Before ever meeting Itarildë, Mirion had intended to choose his wife and future Queen among the Silvan elves of Greenwood, out of love for his people and his wish to honor the land's native race. (Something Thranduil was unable to do by marrying a Noldor.)

Mirion agonized over this conflict between his duty and his heart until his parents persuaded him to pursue his own happiness.

Itarildë is older than Mirion by a few decades, born in Lothlorien but raised in Rivendell. Her father died in the War of the Last Alliance fighting alongside his surrogate father, Gil-galad.

She takes after her father's side of the family; she is passionate, joyful, strong-willed, and has a radiant presence that commands and captivates every room she enters. She has a compassionate heart and a determination to effect good changes in the world.

She adores her husband's brothers and counsels and cares for them as an elder sister.

She is a fearless and skilled warrior (what else would you expect from the great-granddaughter of Glorfindel), who more than holds her own whenever she marches into battle alongside the princes.

It is later discovered that something about Itarildë’s presence causes the Spiders of Mirkwood to flee; just looking upon her somehow pains or deters them, and so they never attack her directly.

Mirion's death broke Itarildë and very nearly caused her to fade; she was brought back only by the healing efforts and pleas of her daughter. But her joyful spirit never recovered.

MIRION'S SON - PRINCE ARANION

SotWK Fancast: Bradley James (Merlin)

Aranion is the elder child of Mirion and Itarildë, making him the eldest grandchild of Thranduil and second-in-line to the throne of the Woodland Realm.

Upon Mirion's death, Aranion inherited the title of Crown Prince of Mirkwood. (This responsibility never fell to Legolas, which is why he remained free to travel, join the Fellowship, and and even sail to Valinor as he eventually did.)

After Maereth died, Thranduil became very focused on preparing Aranion for the throne, since he was then resolved to sail for Valinor and rejoin his wife--once the future of Mirkwood and his people had been secured with his grandson in place.

The name Aranion translates to "Son of the King" in Quenya, but the prince was actually named after the plant kingsfoil or athelas, also known as asëa aranion. Kingsfoil did not grow naturally in the Greenwood forest, since it thrived in the Western lands.

However, in the year of Itarildë's pregnancy with Aranion, kingsfoil began to sprout in abundance in the lands surrounding their home.

Although the Mirkwood Elves previously had no use for kingsfoil, later in the Third Age the plant became an vital resource in their healing for wounds inflicted by orcs and other beasts coming from Dol Guldur.

Aranion is utterly devoted to his homeland and the Silvan people of Mirkwood, a sentiment that they reciprocate with fierce love and loyalty. While not as politically-savvy as his forebears, he is a "people's prince", spending most of his days working alongside the common folk of the realm.

Although he is often compared to his great, great-grandfather Glorfindel, Aranion's cheerful, energetic, and light-hearted temperament is actually most similar to that of his uncle Legolas, to whom he was always very close.

The Prince is a fearless and naturally gifted fighter, whose innate talents were enhanced by centuries of intensive instruction and training from the greatest warriors on Middle-earth, including Thranduil and Glorfindel.

As the darkness worsened in the Third Age, Thranduil grew extremely protective of Aranion, increasing to paranoia at the loss of his wife and each of his sons. As decades passed the prince's very existence soon became unknown to outsiders, which was what Thranduil had intended.

By the events of the Hobbit, Aranion was forbidden from traveling outside of Mirkwood, and was not permitted to participate in the Battle of the Five Armies.

MIRION'S DAUGHTER - PRINCESS ANARIEL

SotWK Fancast: Gabriella Wilde (The Three Musketeers, Poldark)

Anariel is the younger child of Mirion and Itarildë and second grandchild of Thranduil and Maereth.

Beautiful and sweet beyond compare, she is very much the darling treasure of not only her grandfather Thranduil, but also of her loving uncles who have doted on her since she was a baby (probably because they never had a little sister of their own).

Unlike her boisterous older brother, Anariel is reserved, introverted, and avoids drawing attention to herself. She prefers to listen rather than speak.

Large crowds and excessive noises make her very uncomfortable, and it is possible she suffers from a mild form of sensory overload.

However, she very much carries the courage and willingness to serve that runs in her family, and devotes herself to the welfare of the people of Mirkwood.

Anariel is highly intelligent, much like her uncle Arvellas. Being a voracious reader and learner herself, she grew especially close to the Scholar Prince and gained knowledge and abilities from him.

She lived in Rivendell for periods of long years throughout the Third Age, during which she was mentored by Lord Elrond himself, and became skilled in the healing arts.

Anariel has actually already appeared in one of my WIP fics, although she was not yet named/identified. The first person to comment and tell me correctly which fic/character I am referring to, will receive a special prize from me from the Tumblr Market!

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Tolkien Headcanon tag list: @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @tamryniel @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @aduialel @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @klytemnestra13 @creativity-of-death @heilith @fizzyxcustard @absentmindeduniverse @lathalea @tamurilofrivendell @jordie-your-local-halfling @ladyk8tie @scyllas-revenge @asianbutnotjapanese @conversacomsmaug @lemonivall @ratsys @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @entishramblings @stormchaser819 @freshalmondpandadonut @beekieboo

Interested in more SotWK AU content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist 

My Fanfiction Masterlist

[elluendifad]

Hi!! Could you talk a little about what following Tolkien elven religion is like for you? (Only if you want, of course.)

I'm a very newly awakened elf and I've just started reading the silmarillion. I haven't even gotten that far yet, but already it's the most connected I've felt to any religious system/religious lore before. I'm considering practicing Elvish religion, but idk. I feel a little strange saying I want to practice a religion from a work of fiction, y'know? (Please don't take this as me saying your beliefs are strange— I think they're incredibly cool. This is very much just a me thing.)

Anyway, I guess my question is something along the lines of How did you realize this was the religion for you/What do you believe wrt Tolkiens work being or not being fiction?

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and doubly so if you choose to answer! Have a nice timezone :))

Alatulya, welcome kin! this one is a little long so there is a break. i also accidentally hit publish early, so we will see how editing it works lol.

table of contents: 1. my personal history and variety of practitioners 2. dealing with fictional mythology + my fave paper on this 3. specifics of tolk elven religion

Eldarin religion has been my primary religion (buddhism and my eclectic animistic witchcraft also there and co piloting) for seven years. I have been working with other eldar on our own group experience of this religion for two or a bit more years. I have taken a bit of priestly service role of collecting and organizing materials and keeping track of the calendar, which we call Loa and which assigns different holidays and themes in order throughout the year. i suspect this role is agreeable and natural for me as minya, but that anyone could do it. the degree of demand differs depending on the person, and i would say that much of my time is set to thinking of or practicing our religion. others have less involvement, and some of us feel our cosmology and philosophy is more cultural than religious the way humans might think being a member of a religious group should be. as for my own journey of getting here, i have been otherkin for most of my life and many years of that was 'generally a nature spirit type thing.' which became 'an elf but i am not sure what kind.' which then became 'oh god… am i one of those hoity toity tolkien elves?' bc there is a cultural expectation among elfkin that tolk elves are more dour and care what color clothes you wear or something… turns out that is not true! or, at least, i have not met these grim arbiters of what is becoming of the firstborn! reading the silm and other texts in the legendarium to fill in what i had absorbed from the hobbit and lotr (books and movies) was the lightbulb in the dim cellar. i use a mixed spiritual and psychological theory of origin and function for my several theriotypes and elven kintype, and this experience filled in some gaps i had just been sitting with. i personally feel that i am living one continuous eldarin life--awoken at cuivienen among the minyar, lived and died, spent my time in mandos, and was reembodied here. my sense of memory is dim, and i generally assume that is just a sign that memory is not necessarily important for this part of my life the way it was in arda. it is a great honor to live this life and to find other eldar and folks of all kindreds to share my love of life with. it was natural to transition from my magic and religious work with nature spirits to a cosmology centered on the legendarium-some of the spirits i still work and live with admit they are maiar, others are not maiar and are of the many kinds of spirit and sprite that entered into ea after its foundation to explore. our working relationships and the techniques i use for magic have stayed much the same. so how i do it is just one example in a variety.

2. i will answer first on dealing with the fictional aspect and wrestling with the nature of constructed or pop culture or modern mythology spirituality-the individual beliefs differ there, too!

for my part, i do not think the legendarium is a factual history of this actual world we currently live in. i do think jrrt was channeling something, and may or may not have been kin himself of arda reembodied here.

i think ea, like most faerie realms, is both here and not here and you have to open yourself up and step into it. once most people have experienced the enchantment of an otherworld, they are never fully able to drop the sense of it. i do feel that the legendarium makes a suitable mythopoetic 'history' for powers and themes that apply to both this world and ea and where they overlap, and that the legendarium becomes more historically factual the closer you move into ea and the further you go from current earth.

there is a lovely paper that i surely have annoyed everyone with titled the tolkien spiritual milieu by Markus Altena Davidsen of the university of leiden that really gets into the anatomy of constructed religion and what is present in certain medias that lends itself to that anatomy, which he calls 'religious affordances' in the text. it details a number of groups of many varied beliefs in the tolkien spiritual sphere, some active and some long gone, and i feel that it is a great way to expand one's vocabulary and mental concept of constructed religion and the wide variety that is possible in such constructions. the pdf is available from the university website here

if you check out mr davidsen's other published papers on that website, there are several others also relevant to fiction sourced mythology and spirituality including some by other authors.

3. that being said, there are religious affordances for the eldar in the texts, but not necessarily enough for a fully fleshed out practice as is prepared and given to new members of various world religions. it will take a bit of crafting, but we elves do love to craft! most of us blend legendarium cosmology and philosophy with practices or philosophies we are previously familiar with, like neopaganism or judaism or etc etc.

we have developed some structure in the forms of: a multiply layered observational calendar for the six seasons, eight holidays, twelve months, and seven days of the week; the fourteen valar and several named maiar associated with certain valar; the panentheistic experience of the creator Eru; and the use of witchcraft, meditation, devotional or worship activity, enchantments, glamor, and arts like music poetry painting crochet etc.

most of us practice our own personal flavor by ourselves, and group rituals or ensorcelments are rare at the moment. we are all exploring, and i would be thrilled to hear about your own explorations and what calls to you!

sooo… basically i have a worship and work relationship with our gods and supportive spirits, and give observation on the schedule of the loa. i have daily practices, like offering of beverage an thanks or an oil anointment of my body, and then weekly practices like an eruhini veneration and well wishes for the dead. and monthly practices on the full and dark moon, which is focused on the vala of that month, where i usually do spellwork for the constellation. there are holidays at the start of each season and at the solstices, where i will sometimes do magic for the group but is usually about the personal journey. the one time another elf was physically with me i did do some small rituals including that elda. my herbalism work is inherently religious to me and i also count both learning and practicing herbalism as a devotional activity, same with going on walks or drumming.

i invite you very earnestly to reach out any time and through any means you are comfortable with, and i wish you a very blessed full moon of winds. hantanyel ar namarie!

[multishipperofgaydeadwizards]

*clears throat and pulls up with a powerpoint* (/jk im making this uo as i go and spilling whatever comes to my brain)

Peter/Sirius *jazz hands*

1) Plant. Dads. There is no other way around this ok? They're plant dads. Peter got Siri into it and now they're both obsessed and are at the top of the class in Herbology along with Alice.

2) They would such a beautiful dynamic omg like Sirius "I say whatever that comes to my mind/ I blatantly flirt" Black and Peter "I have a hard time coming to terms with my feelings/ I can't flirt at all but if someone flirts to me I'm dying on the spot" Pettigrew mhmm mhmm

3) The heartbreakkkk Peter pining over Sirius. And Sirius "I'm in my denial phase I'm not gay" Black going around hooking up with every woman in sight

4) ooooh wait no let's switch things up. Peter is very upfront about his feelings. It takes him time but he gets there eventually. He'll go to Sirius straight up and say "I fancy you. Do with that what you will" and Sirius is just standing there dumbfounded.

5) Sirius would make the first move tho, he would kiss Peter and then he'll move away unsure and Peter will just be like JSKSKDLSMDKDNDKNF externally and internally

6) they'll have picnic dates after they raid the kitchen and its all cute and cottagecore and fluffy

7) the betrayal oooh just imagine how heartbreaking it'll be omg like watch as Sirius spends his time in Azkaban being in denial and then slowly becoming a being of pure rage

8) he leaves Azkaban half cause he wants to hunt down Peter and make him pay but also cause a part of still believes in Pete and wants to hear it from him that he was under a spell or that it a mistake. Something. Anything.

9) ok also thinking about this now I feel like if Startail had happened then the betrayal would have happened? Cause like Peter's flaw was that he kept feeling left alone even tho he actually wasn't as much as his brain led him to believe. He felt left alone with James being Sirius's other half and Remus being Sirius's love of his life right? So now it's like- I don't see a point in the betrayal

10) oooooh wait Dark Pete mhmm mhmm. He is jealous of James because as long as James was there Sirius could never be fully his so he does what he has to for love. In his eyes, he did the right thing.

11) But he miscalculated and ended up losing everything. (And that's why he helps Harry in TDH2)

12) soft top Peter and trying to be bratty but incredibly failing cause of all the softness and care bottom Sirius

I rest my case, your honor.

welcome back to my inbox. I'm glad to see your ideas are still incredible

1) YES!!!! they have so many plants. sirius doesn't get the hype at first (he thinks it's dumb that peter named all of his plants), but then one day the love for the plants hits him like a punch to the face. he hasn't been the same since

2) delicious. they're perfect, for eachother and in general

3) yeah, poor petey :( james tries to support him through it but he doesn't help all that much. marlene tells peter to get over it bc sirius isn't worth the heartbreak (she has one-sided beef with sirius bc of it) (Sirius doesn't know why she suddenly hates him)

4) hsisbidurbo you can combine those two. peter at first waits for sirius to realise that he's not entirely straight... but then he gets tired of it and just tells sirius. the flabbergasted look on sirius's face was an extra

5) bright red peter bc sirius just kissed him. finally. only took him seven thousand years or something

6) yesss. hc that peter is an honorary hufflepuff, and the house elves LOVE him (almost as much as sirius does)

7) the hurt he must be feeling :( he probably refused to believe that peter framed him. there was no way his peteyboo would do that to him, right?

8) yeah. he'd be sure that there must've been something. peter would never do that to him. not his peter

9) maybe sirius and peter go through a rough patch and voldemort or someone else (cough cough jealous ex-lovers rosekiller cough cough) is in peter's ear telling him that sirius is going to leave him if he doesn't do something about it

10) + 11) hdbdoebaobe9ebeos sod o eow e9rbekwze9eb9r dark!peter omg I love this sm. yes, that terrible terrible miscalculation. costing peter both his childhood friend and lover

12) personally I view peter more as a bottom... they're switches. that's how easy that is. but yes, soft dom peter is so real. my boy could never be mean (he murdered people) he's a total sweetheart (he was part of a murderous and pretty much racist cult)

this amazing. I'm excited for the next time you stumble into my asks

[dearome]

Whispers of Eternit - First Charpter

Summary: Thranduil, a virtuous King, lives in complete solitude in the midst of his kingdom. The arrival of two unexpected travelers precedes the beginning of what would soon be called the dark ages. Gandalf, the traveling wizard, accompanied by an unknown sick woman. A story of discovery and regret, which completely shook an entire kingdom.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, just my main girl. Tolkien is the man that build this masterpiece of a world, and we are here for it exploring the endless possibilities.

Notes: Finally posting in a while, just hold on cause this is gonna be good! :) English isn't my first language but i tried my best, hope you like it and be excited for the next charpters as much as I am.

° The Lonely King

In a hole in the ground lived a hobbit. A quite hobbit with few desires other than to smoke his pipe in the peace of his home. A hobbit who, without even imagining it, would have his life turned upside down by the great adventure that awaited him. However, before this creature even existed, at the beginning of the third era, there was a somewhat peculiar story. The events of this period called the beginning of the dark ages and the story tells how a small people were transformed in the face of hate and love. And so it begins.

In a palace in the forest there lived an elf. Not too big or too small, but certainly welcoming. Around him stood a kingdom, an elven kingdom. In front of the vast world, where there were creatures of the most diverse traits and cultures, lived the elves, endowed with a thousand and one abilities, rooted in nature and gifted by the heavens with eternal life.

Living thousands of years in the earth, their eyes witnessed important events that altered the histpry of the world and with that the burden of life increased every year. Despite being serene, they were very receptive in their own way. Important travelers passed through the mountains and celebrated the abundance of their lands and the beauty of their people. Gifted or cursed with immortality, one could not say. But in fact they were solitary creatures. Decades passed and the sense of continuing to stand disappeared from their bodies, everything seemed the same as if nothing were new.

Even facing the wealth of his kingdom, the King found himself burned. He kept doubting whether he still felt something, or whether he would be able to experience the warmth of the world again. From above, as he observed his people, he was consumed by his thoughts. In a complex serenity, he no longer felt life as before and what his eyes saw no longer seemed real, as if his body was not able to touch anything and in this void his mind only existed.

A familiar face appeared in the place, which took him away from his stillness.

"Lady Galadriel"

"King Thranduil” they greeted each other.

“I haven't seen you in a while. To what do I owe this honor?” The elf wore an enigmatic expression as she moved, unhurriedly, around the room. Her bare feet touched the floor, the beautiful fabric that covered her moved along with her step. He remained silent for a moment.

“It’s different” she said as she gazed the King from afar.

“There hasn't been a single hair changed on my head in decades.” His eyes remained fixed on the view of the mountains. He didn't seem to mind her company.

“Certainly not” she replied. A subtle smile formed on her lips. “Yet your heart doesn’t feel the same.”

The King turned, it had reached his ears but not his attention. “Beings change”

“Surely” She stared fixedly at the elf in front of him again. “But what I feel is unusual. Everything that refers to your presence seems modified. Not just you, something is happening around here. During the last few months nature has expressed itself differently and I spend my days as if waiting for something.”

“A deep yearning as if evil was about to arrive” said a third individual who was present a few minutes ago. “Forgive me for the intrusion, I was passing by but I couldn't help but overhear. Lady Galadriel. King Thranduil” Bowed the elf.

“Elrond”

“Lady, I’ve been feeling this way too. The gift granted to me regarding the vision of the future seems hazy, I cannot see a clear image, nor can I even decipher the whispers of souls.”

“Don’t bother me with uncertain futures. I ask, leave it aside” said the King.

From Galadriel's perspective, his eyes seemed cloudy, as if they were guiding him through the place but not seeing anything at all.

“The Lord…”

Before he could even complete his speech, a loud noise was heard. Like a big explosion in the middle of the trees, along with a brief white light. Everyone remained motionless for a few moments at the sudden noise.

"My king!" Shouted an elf member of the guard who had arrived running through the hall. He knelt at a great distance. “Our guard did not detect imminent enemies, however whispers were heard coming from the forest and this led the Northern portion to investigate the situation. On my way here it was possible to hear such noise, I'm afraid it's from where they are”

“I feel it, it's coming” said Galadriel with her ragged breathing.

“Send part of the East portion to the North path and keep an eye out for any presence” The King became restless and walked until he left the hall, leaving them to wait for any information.

“I beg you to stay here my Lady, our warriors will not allow anything to come close” said Elrond, hurrying towards the North path leaving the hall.

“I won’t let it” He had already seen and felt many things in his long life, but that sensation seemed to be new to him, as if a new era had begun before his eyes and he had lost the time to prepare for what was to come.

An almost visible breeze came towards her and she was unable to dodge it. For a moment Galadriel legs gave out and her head seemed to weigh a thousand bodies, so she leaned against the nearest column. An imminent burning consumed her palm and walked to her heart, the eyes turned opaque and in that instant thousands of years passed in her mind. She saw only darkness, but the intense cold that consumed her bones seemed to burn her skin, the future was nothing but bleak. Suddenly, everything went away, like a snap. Panting, the elf regained consciousness and realized that her face was covered in cold sweat. "What are you?"

....................................................

On the way to the North coast, the King was stopped by the return of his guards. They appeared intact, but they had two people with them. An old man and a girl. Despite being dirty, the old man seemed to have no injuries, but the girl was unconscious. Were they enemies? The King thought. No. The man's face was familiar.

“Gandalf the Grey.”

“King Thranduil.” Said the wizard bowing.

“No one else was found in the forest, my King.” Said one of the guard elves.

“I came with the purpose of meeting you, my King, the little one accompanies me. I beg you to help her.” The wizard seemed to contain his words, but he couldn't control his distressed eyes looking at the elf. After a few moments, he nodded and immediately three guard elves left with the girl towards where she would be treated with elven medicine. The King then walked back to the hall and Gandalf followed him.

....................................................

“It was suposed to be an alone trip, as usual. For some time now I have felt the arrival of a force coming from the depths of the earth, as if slowly consuming a nation. There's nothing to see, but you can feel it. As I passed through villages and hamlets of men, their faces became clouded and their words muffled. Waiting for a boat that would take me across the large lake the next day, I decided to spend the night in a small village in the North. Like a shadow, something seemed to follow the townspeople in their activities. Their movements seemed manipulated and their eyes weighed down their bodies. I found myself astonished during all my observations, but somehow not everyone was infected by this disease.”

He counted and sat down again in the armchair next to him.

“In my departure, then, I was taken by surprise. The luggage count was wrong, there were more bags than expected. When I looked to the side, I saw the girl carrying another one.” The old wizard took a long sigh, and continued. “She ran away from that city as if she didn’t belong there and I felt that stoping it was beyond my reach. Then, in the trees, she felt something strange, but we kept moving. In the next second she was stunned on the floor, screaming but no sound came out. She felt it even before I realised it was too close. I can't precisely say what happened, but I fear what is to come.”

Everyone listened to Gandalf with their hearts tight, afraid of what was to come.

°

thanks for reading guys! can't wait for the next charpters. soon I'll be posting on wattpad and ao3. bye bye

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain Chapter 43

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

“Cousin, stop your fidgeting. Ya look fine,” Dain said with a laugh.

“He’s right, lad. You’re worrying about nothing,” said Balin.

Thorin huffed, straightening his tunic’s sleeve for probably the third time. 

How could he not worry? He wanted this day to be perfect. It was his wedding day after all.

Finally.

After almost two years of courtship, they were going to be saying their vows and proclaiming their love to one another in front of the kingdom.

Thorin smiled at the thought. He couldn’t wait to see Oreliell. His sister had whisked her away seven days ago, and he hadn’t seen her since, as it was tradition among dwarves to not see the bride for the week leading up to the wedding.

When it came to planning the wedding, the pair had decided to combine dwarven and elven traditions. They hadn’t truly followed any traditions during their betrothal so they wanted to make up for it. They wanted to honor their own customs, yet also show their union as two people of two races coming together as one. 

Thorin looked up when the door opened. Dwalin smiled as he came in.

“Dís said they’re ready,” he said. “Everyone is set.”

Thorin nodded. He shrugged on his coat then reached for the elegant cloak. Oreliell had given it to him days ago. It was of elven design, made of fine silk that shone every time it moved. It was a deep blue, matching the Durin royal colors. The cloak hung over his right shoulder and was strapped around his chest, held in place by a pin with the Durin crest. Thorin smiled at his appearance.

“Let’s be off then,” he said.

He followed his friends out the door. The chamber they had been preparing in was close to the main hall where the dwarves of Erebor had gathered, so as they walked, they could hear the steady chattering of the guests.

When Thorin entered the hall, many people called their greetings. Thorin smiled at them before taking his place at the front of the room where an altar had been placed. He nodded to Lord Rusnig, who would be officiating part of the ceremony. Next to him stood an elven minister, provided by Thranduil, who would officiate the other part. Thorin and Oreliell had made the decision to combine their cultural traditions. They wanted to symbolize the joining of not only two people, but of two races coming together.

Looking into the audience, Thorin spotted Thranduil, seated with a group of other elves and several humans, including Bard. Thorin caught Thranduil’s attention and gave him a nod of appreciation. A hint of a smile appeared on the elven king’s face - though he would most likely deny it - and he nodded back.

“Uncle.”

Thorin turned and smiled at the sight of his nephew. Kili was dressed in elegant clothes, fit for a prince, but had an air of youthfulness about him. Thorin couldn’t remember when he had last seen Kili so happy.

“Kili,” Thorin greeted. He pulled him close and pressed his forehead to Kili’s. “How are you?”

“I’m well. Excited for the day, though I suspect not as much as you.” He winked at his uncle, earning a chuckle. But a moment later, his face fell slightly. “I just wish that Fili were here to see this day.”

Thorin’s shoulders sagged.

“As do I.”

Kili held his uncle’s arm.

“Though Fili is not here, I know he would be wishing you the very best. He knew how happy you were with Oreliell. We could both see it, we would jest about it often during the quest. We had never seen you so content before. He is smiling down on us today.”

“Indeed he is.” The two turned to face Dís, who had a smile on her face. Like her brother and son, she was dressed in Durin blue, her hair and beard braided elegantly. She lovingly patted Kili’s cheek and placed her hand on Thorin’s opposite arm. “Fili would be quite happy that you have found your One and are settling down with her.”

Thorin smiled at his sister. He knew that she dearly missed her son, but to hear her words of encouragement made him feel a little lighter.

“How is Oreliell?” he asked.

Dís smiled.

“Excited. She has not stopped smiling all day. You’re a lucky man, brother. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Dís.”

Deep horns began to play from the upper balconies. Dís squeezed Thorin’s arm before moving to stand beside Kili. Others hurried to get into their positions. 

Thorin took a breath before turning to face the main doors. Vedis and Oreliell walked side by side, slowly making their way down the long aisle as music played overhead. They both stood tall, commanding the attention of the room.

Vedis carried a sword at her side. It was a dwarven tradition: the family of the bride would carry weapons as they escorted her to the groom, as a symbol of protecting her.

Thorin turned his eyes to Oreliell. He felt his breath catch in his throat before his heart started to thump wildly in his chest. He hoped that those around him couldn’t hear it. 

Mahal, she’s beautiful.

She wasn’t even standing before him and he could tell that she was shining brilliantly. A smile lit up her face and her eyes never strayed from Thorin as she finally reached the altar, just as the horns finished their song. 

“Welcome brothers and sisters of Erebor, men and women from Dale, and those who have traveled from the forests of Mirkwood,” Lord Rusnig said, his voice resonating throughout the room. “We are gathered today to witness the union of our beloved King and his One. But more importantly, we are here to witness the union of two hearts, two families, and two cultures. Our bride and groom wished to celebrate their union by honoring and joining their peoples’ traditions into one ceremony.” He then lifted a hammer, a symbol of Mahal, into the air. “Will the families of the bride and groom take their places, please?”

Another dwarven custom was that the family of the bride and groom circle the couple, like a shield of protection. Thorin watched as Vedis, Dís, Kili, and Dain stepped forward. He couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest. Oh how he wished that Fili could be there standing with him. Or his father Thrain, his mother Daria, or even his grandfather Thror. How he wished that Oreliell’s parents were with them as well.

Oreliell took his hand in hers and he looked up at her. She was still smiling, but he could see in her eyes that her thoughts reflected his, that she longed for their departed family. However, both knew that their families were there with them in spirit, that they too would gather around them and protect them.

Lord Rusnig nodded once they were in position, lowering the hammer. He began to read aloud a document, created by Thorin and Oreliell, that detailed their relationship and the duties they would carry out as a married couple, as per dwarven customs.

Thorin couldn’t help but let the sound of Rusnig’s voice fade away. He allowed himself the time to truly take in his soon-to-be wife.

She was dressed in a white elven gown, embellished with silver lace along the skirt and flowing sleeves. Attached to her hair was a long dwarven veil, studded with gems that sparkled with every slight movement she made. However, under the veil, he could see that her hair was elegantly braided away from her face, diamonds woven in it, most likely done by his sister. He even saw his courting braid, held in place with his personal bead, which would later be rebraided to mark their marriage.

Everything she wore accentuated her features. Her hair shone like pure gold, littered with diamond, and her eyes sparkled like gems themselves. She was absolutely stunning. 

Thorin came back just in time to hear Rusnig finish with the contract. Rusnig nodded to him. Thorin turned to fully face Oreliell, and she did the same. He couldn’t resist giving a small wink, which made her smile. Thorin then stepped forward and began to walk in a slow circle around her, showing that he would guard her within the great halls of their home.

Once Thorin made his full circle, he turned to face Vedis. He bowed his head briefly, then knelt in front of her.

“Vedis, most faithful sister of my One Oreliell. I make this promise to you that I accept Oreliell into my home, into the halls of Erebor. She will be loved always, until the day that I die, and beyond that. She will be protected, just as she has protected me time and time again. I vow to you that I shall be the best version of myself so that I may be worthy of her heart.”

Vedis laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Thorin looked up at her, and the two exchanged smiles. She nodded, accepting his promise.

Thorin rose and took his place beside Oreliell once again. The two watched as their sisters then stepped forward at the elven minister’s instruction.

“Within elven marriages,” the man said, addressing those in attendance, “it is customary that the mother of the bride and the father of the bridegroom bless the marriage. However, it is unfortunate that they cannot stand here with us today. Instead, Lady Vedis shall be the one to give the blessing, only for the bride and groom to hear.”

Vedis extended her hands forward, allowing Thorin and Oreliell to each take one. Thorin listened as Vedis spoke into their minds, speaking an elvish blessing over them. She spoke in a slightly different dialect than Thorin was used to, so it made it challenging for him to follow along completely. All he was truly able to catch was Vedis calling upon Manwë and Varda, the king and queen of the elven Valar, to be witnesses to their union.

Once Vedis had completed her blessing, she squeezed their hands, smiled at them, and stepped to the side again. Thorin turned to face Oreliell, taking her hands in his.

“Now the intended shall recite the Seven Dwarven blessings,” Rusnig said. “King Thorin, you may begin when you are ready.”

Thorin nodded. They would go back and forth with the blessings, where she would repeat his words after each blessing:

“Blessed are you, Mahal, who has created everything for the glory of Eru. Blessed are you, Mahal, who fashioned the earth, the mountains and the hills. Blessed are you, Mahal, who fashioned the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain. Blessed are you, Mahal, who fashioned the dwarves and the seven houses. Blessed are you, Mahal, who taught the dwarves the skills to work the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain. Blessed are you, Mahal, who gladdens our halls through his children. Blessed are you, Mahal, who gladdens groom and bride.”

Thorin took another moment to collect himself. He still couldn’t believe that she was standing here before him. Thorin stared into Oreliell’s eyes and had to remind himself to stay grounded as he began his vows. 

“You stood by me in my darkest moments and in my greatest triumphs. You are my peace and my rock, my shining star, the light of my life, and the one that I live for. I shall protect you against all foes, hold you close in times of joy, and love you until my last breath. May the Valar watch over and guide us in this next journey through life, and may they strengthen our love even more.”

He noticed that her smile never faded. She watched him intently as he spoke, soaking in his words like she couldn’t get enough. He could not help but wonder what was going on inside her mind. 

As if she could sense his wandering thoughts, Oreliell squeezed his hand and when she was sure that he was grounded once again, she said her own vows:

“You stood by me in my darkest moments and in my greatest triumphs. You are my peace and my shield, my unshakable mountain, and the one that I live for. I shall protect you against all foes, hold you close in times of joy, and love you until my last breath. May the Valar watch over and guide us in this next journey through life, and may they strengthen our love even more.”

Like her, Thorin’s grin never waned. He listened to every word she said, engraving them into his heart.

Kili stepping forward meant that it was time to exchange rings. Thorin removed one of his silver ones, which had been given to him years ago by Oreliell when they first began courting. Apparently, elves would exchange two sets of rings, whereas dwarves would only exchange one set of rings and beads. Silver rings were exchanged at the beginning of an engagement then returned, and kept safe, so that gold rings could be given at the wedding.

The rings were a small thing that they were able to outwardly show their engagement when they had traveled. Thorin had worn many rings that the company would not have noticed one more, and no one ever commented on Oreliell’s simple silver ring. 

Thorin and Oreliell passed the silver rings to Vedis, who pocketed them. They had decided that she would keep better track of them instead of Kili, who had been made responsible for the gold rings. Thorin watched Kili reach into his own pocket to retrieve the rings when a small flash of mischief crossed his face. However, a cough from Tauriel and a quick nudge from Dís kept him from misbehaving. Kili at least looked a little sheepish when he produced the rings. Thorin nodded to his nephew in thanks.

They took the rings from Kili and, taking turns, slid the gold bands onto one another’s hands. They fit perfectly. Of course they did. Thorin had spent many hours over an anvil working on them, and Oreliell had joined him most of the time, keeping him company and giving her input on the precious metal.

Kili stepped back, and Vedis and Dís took his place before the couple. This time, Dís stood in front of Oreliell and Vedis was in front of Thorin. 

“Another ritual of elven weddings is the exchanging of jewels,” the elven minister explained to the guests. “The bride’s family presents a jewel on a necklace to the bridegroom, and the groom’s family does the same for the bride. Ladies Vedis and Dís, please proceed.”

Vedis reached into another pocket hidden within her dress and produced a silver necklace. She rested it in her palm to show it to Thorin. The jewel was a brilliant white, reflecting the light as if it were made of pure ice instead of stone.

“This jewel came from our homeland, from Thananti in the far north. We returned there after you asked for my sister’s hand and after we went our separate ways briefly,” she said to him. She then moved to put it around him. Thorin moved his hair out of her way, and she was mindful to not touch it. She fastened the silver chain around his neck. “It belonged to my mother. Now, I bestow it to you, Thorin. My sister’s husband. My brother. Take care of her.”

“I will,” he replied to her. He was shocked that she would give him something so valuable. “Thank you.”

Thorin glanced at Oreliell and his sister. Dís had finished securing the necklace around her neck and was giving Oreliell a hug. He smiled at the sight. The two eventually separated and Oreliell rose to her full height again. A simple, gold dwarven necklace rested on her chest, embedded with a central purple gem. It suited her.

Once more, Kili came forward, this time with a goblet filled with ale for the final part of the ceremony. Oreliell took the goblet first. She looked at Thorin and without hesitation, drank from the cup. Thorin was slightly surprised, but only because he knew she wasn’t overly fond of dwarven ale. Nevertheless, she drank her fill and passed him the cup with a smile. Thorin smiled back and finished off the ale.

The moment the goblet left his lips, the hall erupted into cheers and applause.

The banquet and celebration took place right after the ceremony had concluded. Food and drinks were brought out and served as guests found seats around the room. Music had started up as well, filling the hall with lively tunes for hours on end.

Thorin sat beside Oreliell, probably for the first time that night. Since the ceremony, they had been greeted and congratulated by most of the attendees, including Bard and his family, and Thranduil. Not only that, but they had been dragged onto the dance floor several times throughout the night. Thorin had not danced this much in years, but that didn’t stop him. He loved getting to dance with his wife.

Mahal that felt amazing to say.

His wife.

“You know, I love seeing you smile this much,” Oreliell said, leaning in close to him.

Thorin turned to give her his full attention. Her hair glowed in the evening candlelight and her eyes seemed to reflect the stars. Her cheeks were flushed from the excitement of the day as she hadn’t stopped smiling.

He took her hand in his and lifted it so he could press a kiss into the back, close to where her ring sat.

“I have much to be happy about,” he told her. “And I have you to thank.”

“I was only a part of it,” she said.

“You were the key piece, gimlelul. Without you, I would have none of this.”

“Enough of that. Today is a day of joy, not remembering our sorrows.”

Thorin nodded.

“Of course. My apologies.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Thorin chuckled. She raised a cup of wine to her lips and Thorin’s eyes fell to the newly revealed skin of her arm.

“Your tattoo looks lovely by the way,” he said. “I do not think I had the chance to mention it before my sister swept you away from me.”

Oreliell turned her arm over to look at the tattoo herself. An intricate design of elven and dwarven markings covered her skin where her Morfaroth tattoo used to be. He knew how she had felt about the mark, knowing what it had come to symbolize. But he was beyond proud of her for turning the mark into something new, covering it with art that represented the new phase of her life.

She had spent weeks consulting with Vedis and Dís on the design. When she finally got it done, Thorin had spent some time by her side, keeping her company as the ink master worked. But Thorin had been unable to see the finished product until now since Dís had insisted on separating them before the wedding.

Oreliell ran a light hand over the new ink.

“Thank you,” she said. “I am quite pleased with how it turned out. It feels like I am leaving an old part of me behind and am embracing a far better future.”

Thorin kissed her hand again. A comfortable silence fell over them. Oreliell’s eyes darted around the hall, taking in the mass of dwarves, elves and humans. The celebration would go on for seven days to celebrate the marriage. Many people would most likely fall asleep in the hall, but some would manage to drag themselves back to their rooms for a proper night’s rest before returning to celebrate more in the morning. 

Thorin considered retiring for the night as well, with his new bride. And as he took all of her in again - though he had never truly stopped staring - his thoughts were solidified.

“You are truly stunning,” he said.

Oreliell looked at him, her eyes darting over his face. She must have seen something there because another blush crossed Oreliell’s cheeks. She collected herself enough to send Thorin a teasing smile.

“Well your sister truly outdid herself with the gown and my hair.”

Thorin leaned in toward her, putting his lips close to her ear.

“You misunderstand what I mean, gimlelul. I was not speaking of the dress.”

Oreliell chuckled after a brief moment.

“Is that so?”

“How could I ever lie about such a thing?”

“Well then. Would you mind possibly helping me escape from all of it? Dís put so many pins in my hair, I doubt I’ll find them all.”

Thorin stood and pulled her, his wife, to her feet as well.

“Anything for you, my wife.”

[wild-lavender-rose]

Fighting for Love (part 2)

Sequel to Hurt/Comfort series Saving the Enemy 

Part 1

Pairing: Legolas x fem!reader

Category: One-shot

Summary: You are Gandalf’s granddaughter. Long ago you were captured by the Mirkwood elves after saving the life of their prince, Legolas. He tended your injuries and the two of you fell in love. But it was a time of war and the fates were cruel, tearing you and Legolas apart on separate paths. Years later, you and Gandalf come to Rivendell to decide what must be done with the ring. You discover that none other than Legolas himself has also been summoned to the council. 

Warnings: Brief mature flirting

     You flung the doors of Elrond’s study wide open and entered. “Grandfather!”

     Elrond, who was standing next to the window while Gandalf sat facing him, grimaced as he looked from you to Gandalf. “Makes quite an entrance, doesn’t she?”

     “Indeed.” Gandalf muttered, pretending to be annoyed.

     “I must speak with you.” You crossed to him, your gaze catching on two other people sitting around the room.

     Aragorn, Arwen’s lover and rightful king of men, stood upon your entrance. “My lady,” he bowed his head in respect.

     “Aragorn.” You nodded back.

     “Granddaughter, I would like to introduce you to Lord Boromir.” Gandalf stood along with a man you did not know.

     “My lady, it is an honor.” Boromir came forward to greet you.

     You watched as he took your hand and kissed it gently. “You flatter me, Lord Boromir.” You looked up at Gandalf. “But we must talk, Grandfather.” 

     “The council will convene shortly, can we not,”

     “It is regarding a very important matter.”

     “Surely there is nothing more important than,”

     “My supposed celibacy?” You looked back at Boromir who was still holding your hand, cringing at the sudden awkwardness in his expression as he released you. 

     Gandalf’s eyes widened. Aragorn was attempting to conceal a laugh with a cough. Elrond clasped his hands within the sleeves of his robes and became immensely interested in the middle distance. 

     “Elrond, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to,” 

     “Say no more, Gandalf.” Elrond gave both Aragorn and Boromir a nod. “Gentlemen, if you would follow me.” 

     You waited until the trio had left and the door had shut before crossing to Gandalf. “When were you going to tell me that I have sacrificed the pursuit of life for the study of magic?” 

     “Ah, yes. I can explain, little one. That was an attempt to save you.” 

     “Save me? Grandfather, all my life I have questioned why men did not show favor towards me. I believed it was because I acted too much like a man myself, only to discover that you proclaim me celibate!” 

     “My darling granddaughter, you misunderstand,” 

     “No, it is you who does not understand.” You pressed a hand to your chest for emphasis. “I am in love with an elf, Gandalf. The prince of Mirkwood. I have loved him for lifetimes. I kept him in my mind even as the years covered other memories with dust. Please, you must listen. I love you with all my heart. But I cannot give my heart to your magic, because my heart was claimed long ago by him.”

     You stopped, fairly trembling from the words hovering in the air between you. You had never gone against Gandalf. You always agreed to his suggestions and heeded his advice. You knew that he could have chosen to leave you in the care of someone else when the fates gave you to him. 

     Instead, he chose to raise you himself. You had learned the ways of both sword and sorcery by his side. When adventure called your name and you yearned to chase it, Gandalf allowed you to join him on his adventures and grow into a warrior under his guidance. 

     But why would he hurt you now? Why would he tell the others that you were too consumed with magic to pursue love? What if Legolas had heeded him and withdrawn from you when he discovered who you were?

     And then you realized Gandalf was smiling. A soft, bittersweet smile just visible through his wispy white beard. “Did you think I would not notice that your heart belonged to another?” 

     He chuckled, gripping his staff with both hands and leaning against it. “My dear child, as I’ve been trying to say, I was saving you. I knew that the uncertainty of ever meeting your beloved again caused you to say nothing when questioned as to wether or not your heart was taken. I knew you would say nothing when men came to court you. I was only trying to spare you from the pain. And…and I was worried that you would convince yourself that you loved another, and live in the quiet pain of a future not lived.”

     Your anger lessened. “You did it too well, Grandfather. Legolas himself heard your tales and thought them true.”

     “Oh dear. I never suspected that Legolas would be the one who held your heart.”

     “Who did you expect then?”

     “Until today, I judged Lord Boromir to be the culprit.”

     “Lord Boromir? But we only just met.” You smirked at him, but the frustrations of earlier had now completely smoothed into teasing. “Your riddles no longer work on me. I am not the little girl of long ago.”

     “No. You most certainly are not.” Gandalf’s staff thudded against the floor as he crossed to you, touching your chin to lift it slightly as he smiled at you. “I truly am sorry if my selfish desires brought you embarrassment, little one. You are most dear to me. I simply did not wish you pain.”

     “I love you.”

     “I love you as well.”

     Gandalf looked down at you until his eyes became misty. Then he released your hand with a gruff cough. “Now go get dressed into something decent, before I forbid you from entering the council at all.”

     “I highly doubt that.” You smiled. “You need me.”

     “Unfortunately. Now go on!” Gandalf shooed you away.

     Laughing, you did as he requested, stopping once you got to the door. “You forget.”

     “Oh?”

     “I made no promises as to the kind of clothing I would wear to the council meeting.”

     You ducked out of the room before Gandalf could come after you.

# # # # #

     Legolas’s eyes were on you from the moment you entered the room, taking your appearance in slowly. You were no longer dressed in your gown. Now, you were dressed for adventure.

     Pants and boots and a shirt with strings loose in the front, exposing your collar bone and chest to the sun. Your sword hung by your side, bumping against your thigh with each confident step. You crossed to Legolas despite the looks given by Elrond and the other elves, stopping before him with a smile on your face. “My enemy.”

     “My captive.” He looked you over once more, his face solemn but his eyes dancing. “I see you are prepared for battle.”

     “No more than anyone else here.” You looked around the room, your gaze settling on a figure small and trembling next to Gandalf. “Except perhaps Frodo.”

     “I notice Arwen does not always look like this.”

     Your attention snapped back to Legolas. “Arwen does not have the need to prove as much as I. She does not desire to be equal to men, elf or otherwise.”

     “Regardless of what you’re wearing, I’m afraid I can see you as nothing but my equal.” A small smile graced Legolas’s features. “Even if you were wearing nothing at-,”

     “Attention! The council will convene now!” Elrond raised his hands for order and silence. 

     Heat rose in your cheeks as you threw Legolas a look. “Melethril,”  

     “Mel nin.” Legolas nodded back. 

     “You must know. If it’s decided that the ring must be taken anywhere to be used or destroyed, I will accompany whoever is going.” 

     “Then I will follow.” 

     You smiled, your heart fairly bursting. Outwardly you remained calm, crossing to stand in your place by Gandalf’s side. Legolas’s eyes stayed on you up until Elrond began to speak. Even then, the two of you exchanged glances, hungry to take in the other’s appearance. The uncertainty of your future was a distant thought compared to the happiness of the present. For now, your soul was at peace. 

     Little did you know, that would be the final day your soul would feel peace for a long, long time. 

Part 3

Mel nin = My love

Melethril = Lover

Fanfic Masterlist

[mithrilhearts]

PLOT BUNNY #2 ↳ HEARTSTONES

Summary: It’s believed that dwarves are blessed in one of two ways: by their heartstone, or their heartcraft, both a calling of the soul. When Thorin is convinced he has neither, a quest for his happiness takes him far beyond the Misty Mountains to the West. It’s within the West that Frerin is convinced they’ll find Thorin’s calling. Be that a happiness of the heart or the craft.

If you want to see this fic in the future, be sure to like, reblog, and/or comment! Feedback is welcome, and I can’t wait to see what fic wins the raz2k!  Check out the MASTERPOST to see the other plot bunnies!

Heartstones and heartcrafts were the ultimate callings to any dwarf. It was a gift given by birth in order to find your place in the world, be it a place of one’s heart or within a form of creation, it was a high honor, just as it was unthinkable to be without either. 

Each race had its own name for it, but it was most commonly known as Ones among the dwarrow, and soulmates to others. Heartsongs for the elves, heartblooms to the hobbits of the Farthings, and for the most oblivious of races, heartfelt for men. It was fairytale fodder in the eyes of many, but sacred to others–such as the dwarves where heart and craft were praised in many aspects of their lives.

Thorin was close to giving up on the idea that soulmates truly existed, whether it be of the heart or of the craft, he had yet to feel that special something that other dwarves raved about. Typically most dwarves minded their own business when it came to the beautiful discovery of one’s heartstone or heartcraft, but for a Prince of Erebor like Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, to be without both? It certainly spurred no small amount of conversation, much to the dismay of the Line of Durin.

“And once we get just beyond Bywater that’s where we’ll meet our escort, supposedly,” Frerin chipperly spoke up, breaking Thorin out of this cycle of doom and gloom roaming about his mind.

There was nothing quite like being seen as a disappointment in the aspect of both love and craft, which were things that dwarves were very passionate about. Of course, Thorin could have fibbed and latched onto his talent for the forge, but to be untruthful about something so sacred in the world of the dwarrow, would be a punishment in itself to live with that lie.

“I will continue to insist that this trip is pointless. Just because you found your Kurdu'aban(heartstone), does not mean mine is out there,” Thorin lamented before feeling a playful clap on his shoulder.

“Trust in me, brother, your One is out there. Once we find the stone they are equivalent to, then it will be much easier to recognize them. It’s how it happened to me! And for Dis, if I recall. How long was it before she saw her first sunstone? Then came Vili shortly after.”

Thorin’s eyes rolled, remembering just how excited Frerin had been to find his heartstone. A dwarrowdam from Ered Luin who had been visiting with a caravan of merchants, ready to peddle their fine silks and threads. Needless to say, the dwarrowdam in question became a permanent fixture in Erebor and was to be wed to Frerin in due time.

“Fjola insists there are caves in these parts that are untouched by dwarven hands, and if there is a chance at discovering your gem of heart, then we must take it. Father wants you to be happy, as do all of us–”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps everyone is tired of hearing about Thrain’s oldest son as being Iklalu'kurdu(cold of heart)?” Thorin grouched, instantly souring Frerin’s mood as they walked, a small platoon of dwarves at their heels that were likely listening carefully, but finding it easier to not butt into the conversation more than anything. “I have been through the various guild halls more times than I care to count. No craft calls to my heart, regardless of skill. Nor has any gem mined out of the mountain…or any one person…”

“That’s what this quest is all about! Don’t think of it as us being in search of a title or a release from one, but…for your happiness. Everyone deserves that, don’t you think?” Frerin’s tone was low and calm, just as it was sincere. He might have been an eccentric sort on most occasions, but when it came to the happiness of his family, he would always be there to boost them up. “And if all else fails, we head north and pay a visit to our distant kin in Ered Luin.” 

The grumble that sounded off from Thorin was enough to spur a sigh from Frerin, shaking his head and giving up on the idea of cheering his older brother up for the moment. Instead, he focused on flashing a grin over his shoulder towards a few of the dwarves following behind.

“Have any of you been to the Shire before? I’ve heard many rumors and don’t want to cause too much trouble, but I have to say…I am genuinely curious…”

It was Dwalin who scoffed first, and Bofur who chuckled second among several other mixed feelings sounding off.

“Oh, aye! I’m sure at least half of the rumors are true, and one I can absolutely guarantee is their Longbottom Leaf is quite the prize!” Bofur cheered, ironically a pipe wedged in the corner of his mouth as he bumped elbows with his brother and cousin. “And the food, you won’t believe the kind of worship these little lads and lassies have over their meals. I wonder if Leanna is still baking that blackberry pie of hers…”

There were several other things discussed among the group of dwarves when it came to hobbits and the supposed rumors. Just like there were no doubt rumors of dwarves, elves, and men that circled around these parts. All Thorin could do was continue to remain quiet and grumble whenever something mildly irritated him. It wasn’t that he was jealous or unappreciative of the efforts put forward by his friends and family, but he had very little faith that they’d find something.

This long journey would be a waste, and then to show back up to Erebor without any decent news? How could he face his father? Or even his grandfather? Both had insisted that Thorin was fine the way he was, but gave blessings and assistance to put him on the path to finding his one true desire–with little success thus far.

All of this work for nothing, regardless of how anyone insisted, Thorin wasn’t sure he could shirk the guilt in favor of acceptance of himself. He was dubbed as being cold of heart, and he certainly felt like it more often than not. The thought made his expression sour which hardly went unnoticed.

“Thorin?” Frerin piped up, hooking his hand around Thorin’s elbow and starting to pull him aside. “We’re taking a break! Rest your legs for a few minutes, alright?” Continuing to drag Thorin along to the side of the path, away from prying ears, Frerin’s brows knit together. “Tell me what’s wrong, Nadad(brother).”

Of course, Thorin remained rather closed off for the moment. His arm yanked away and folded across his chest, his gaze never meeting that of his brother’s, and his mouth tightly clamped shut.

“It’s not just about the heartstones is it?”

For as tightly wound as Thorin felt, practically coiled in on himself emotionally, the words fell out of his mouth without much thought. “What happens if there is nothing? I care not for what others think, if they wish to continue whispering that I am Iklalu'kurdu behind my back, then so be it, but…” Thorin’s eyes dropped with uncertainty within them that felt as painful as it looked. “Everyone has something…and those who have nothing are miserable. It’s a wretched feeling that the universe has decided you are…binzirikhul(unwanted)...how am I to be seen as anything but cold of heart? To being the disappointment of our line. Every great king has a calling…”

“Thorin…”

“I want to make them proud. Father, grandfather…and those who are no longer with us. I want to feel…something. Something other than this rotten swirl of self-doubt and self-loathing. I want to belong somewhere and not feel like such an outsider amongst my own.”

“You have my word, Nadad, we will find your happiness. We won’t stop searching until something, or someone calls to your heart, just as you deserve.” A small grin began to spread across Frerin’s lips as he could see the dismay slowly melting away from his older sibling. “Whether we find the gem that calls to you here or not, we will keep searching. You deserve every ounce of happiness the world has to offer. And who knows, perhaps the hobbits here can teach you a thing or two about that.” 

It was a far stretch, but Frerin would take whatever positive thoughts he could muster and shove them at Thorin relentlessly.

“I suppose we can consider this an educational experience if anything…” Thorin muttered low but wasn’t completely dour in tone. “We should keep moving, our escort may become less enthusiastic at housing a few dwarves if we fall off schedule.”

“Right you are, Brother! Though from what I’ve heard, Mister Baggins is quite a respectable sort, so I have no doubt in my mind that he will be a most suitable host for two princes of Erebor, even if we are running a tad behind. Just you wait and see.”

[hellofeanor]

Fëanorian Quenya

Hey friends! Do you like elves? Do you like the Silmarillion? Do you like Fëanor and co? And most of all, do you like spending hours thinking about minor details pertaining to made-up languages??? If so, boy do I have a treat for you! Let’s delve into the weird world of Fëanorian Quenya and explore some history and mechanics of why they talk Like That.

I’ve seen a lot of posts joking about the Fëanorian lisp, which is about as funny as a joke about a speech impediment can be. 👍 It’s important to understand, though, that this IS a joke. No, they didn’t really speak with a lisp. Yes, they did pronounce some S sounds as TH. That’s the critical disclaimer here: SOME. It’s not a blanket pronunciation. There’s a lot of background research that goes into determining which words would be pronounced with S and which would be TH, and that’s what we’re going to look at.

So if this is something you’ve come across in fandom and you’re not totally sure on the details, or if you ARE sure and just want some more in-depth info, read on.

The stuff probably everybody knows already

For anyone who’s been hanging around the Fëanorian corner of the Silm fandom for more than three minutes, there’s about a 100% chance you’ve heard of Fëanor’s penchant for retaining an archaic TH pronunciation after the majority of the Noldor went ahead and started pronouncing this sound as S instead. You may also know that this sound is represented by the letter thorn (Þ) in HoME, but since thorn doesn’t exist in modern English orthography and it’s a pain to keep typing the ALT code, I’m sticking to TH here. Anyway, all this was due to the fact that Fëanor was a huge mama’s boy, and his mom Míriel Therindë (later called Serindë, which made Fëanor want to punch walls and possibly also fellow elves) was an outlier who retained the TH after it fell out of use. Her son Fëanor, in turn, kept this up to honor her. Now, whether or not he would have bothered if this sound hadn’t literally been a critical part of her name is debatable, but that debate is outside the scope of this essay.

Fëanor continued to use the TH pronunciation until his death, and required his sons to use it as well. Finwë, however, switched over to S after the death of Míriel and before his marriage to Indis. Fëanor, reasonable and level-headed as he was, took this as a personal insult and decided that anybody who rejected TH likewise rejected him. So presumably, his loyal followers would have obeyed his totally reasonable demands not to give in to the seductive S-shift.

Why tho

Why did the Noldor decide to alter their pronunciation from TH to S? Great question. Nobody really knows. For the hell of it? IDK. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But the important thing to understand is that elves, and especially Noldor, were really committed to making sure their language sounds cool. This is why it changed so much and so comparatively quickly for an immortal population: they were actively invested in changing it. They liked inventing new words and exploring new sounds and messing around with grammar.

So at some point some influential Noldo might have been like, hey y’all, let’s stop saying TH and say S instead! And everyone (except Míriel I guess, who was known for her elegant manner of speech and didn’t want to muck that up by changing pronunciation of a whole letter) was like, whoa, capital idea my good egg. And they went with it. Previous ideas along these lines included ‘hey y’all, let’s stop saying KH and say H instead’ and ‘hey y’all, let’s stop saying Z and say R instead’, and those went over swimmingly. Nobody could have foreseen the problem this TH to S business would cause.

Now here’s a fun fact. There was another change to Noldorin pronunciation that happened AFTER Fëanor’s birth, that he himself was involved in. This one was all about bilabial to labiodental F. And those sure are some words, so if you don’t know what I’m talking about (I don’t blame you), BILABIAL is a more whispery sound that happens when you say F using only air passing through your pursed lips, and LABIODENTAL is when you say F with your top teeth touching your bottom lip. Going forward I’m going to use PH to represent the bilabial sound, and F for the labiodental.

So F got on the radar of the Noldor via the Teleri, who used this sound in their language. And ol’ Fëanor figured it would be awesome to incorporate it into Quenya because he thought the PH sounded too close to HW, and the two were getting confused by lazy speakers. Why did he care? Because of his dad’s name and his own, of course. If people started to get lazy in their pronunciation, we’d end up with Hwinwë and Hwëanáro, which would be terrible and stupid and unacceptable. He accused the Vanyar of leaning down that road, and he wanted to stop that kind of shift before it happened to the Noldor. How to do that? Why, by instigating a different shift from traditional Noldorin PH to Telerin F!

“Hey y’all, let’s stop saying PH and say F instead!”

“Whoa, capital idea my good egg.”

Moral of the story: Fëanor is only concerned with Quenya pronunciation insofar as it affects his own name and the names of family members he likes. He does not care whether it’s staying the same or moving to a new sound so long as it personally makes him feel good and his name sound cool. Therefore the true way to piss him off would be to call him Curuhwinwë Hwëanáro, son of Serindë.

Okay so here’s how it works

Now that history is out of the way, let’s get back to how TH was used by the Fëanorians. As I mentioned earlier, TH wasn’t a blanket pronunciation. It all depended on the original form of the word, and whether the root had a TH or an S. And some very similar-sounding words come from different roots, so this can get tricky. A great resource that’ll give you this information is Eldamo: Quenya words where the S was originally TH are marked out with the Þ (thorn) symbol in the wordlist.

Some examples:

Súlë (spirit, breath) comes from the root THŪ, which means it would be pronounced with a TH. Silma (white crystal) comes from the root SIL, so it and related words like Silmaril would be pronounced with an S. No Fëanorian would say Thilmaril. Isil (moon), however, is a similar-sounding word that comes from a different root: THIL. Olos (mass of flowers) comes from the word LOTH, but: Olos (dream) comes from the root LOS. Fëanorian pronunciation would immediately differentiate between these two words.

While Fëanorians may have retained the distinct pronunciation of TH vs S, other Noldor can still differentiate between original S and S-that-used-to-be-TH in their writing. There are specific tengwar to use depending on the word’s original form. Silmë (the one that looks like a 6) is used for original S, while súlë (or thúlë, the one that looks like an h) is used for original TH.

Which other elves used this sound in their speech?

Fandom has really latched on to this TH as a Fëanorian thing, but it wasn’t that exclusively. The TH sound was actually ubiquitous in other elven languages, and in Valinor, only the Noldor dropped it. It was still used in Telerin and in Vanyarin Quendya. The Vanyar retained the TH not because of anything to do with Míriel, but just because they were a little more conservative and their language didn’t pick up on all the changes that the Noldor made. They also noped out of the Z to R shift the Noldor initiated, opting to keep the Z around.

When Indis married Finwë, she stopped using the normal Vanyarin TH and switched over to S as a gesture of loyalty to him and his people. Finarfin, however, out of love for the Vanyar and Teleri, switched BACK to TH. I like to think about how much it would have annoyed Fëanor that his snot-nosed kid brother was speaking correctly, but for the wrong reason. Go down one more generation, and Galadriel very specifically did not use TH. But this time it was absolutely a choice made as a glaring middle finger to Fëanor.

What this means for your fanfic or whatever

The big takeaway here: you can’t just have Fëanorians replace every S with TH and call it a day.

If you’re inventing names for your Fëanorian OCs or coming up with phrases for them to say, it’s important to look into the history of all Quenya S-words you end up using to determine if they should be S or TH. If Fëanor got mad about somebody saying Serindë instead of Therindë, he’d get equally mad about somebody saying Thilmaril instead of Silmaril and assume they were mocking him. Remember: this is a dude with no chill. (On the other hand, if you WANT somebody to be mocking Fëanor, Galadriel would 100% do this because she has an equally negligible amount of chill.)

It’s also important to note that the TH isn’t a true shibboleth, since pretty much all elves EXCEPT the non-Fëanorian Noldor use it. And even the S-preferring Noldor would still be able to pronounce the TH. Those who went into exile would go on to use it commonly in Sindarin, and those who remained in Valinor would still encounter it among the Vanyar and Teleri. So if you’re writing a scene where somebody has to pronounce a TH word to prove their loyalty… yeah, everyone can pass this test. And in the opposite direction, you can’t use TH to prove somebody’s an evil Fëanorian, either. They might just be Vanyarin or something. Or, like. Really Old.

Would the sons (and followers) of Fëanor keep using TH after his death? Oh hell yeah. This is an entire family unfamiliar with the concept of not dying on hills. They will keep using it unto the ending of the world. Actually, with Sindarin becoming the common language of Middle-earth from the First Age, probably not a lot of change happened in exilic Quenya. It became a lore language: a piece of living history. It would have been preserved as it was when the original speakers left Valinor.

(And then, thousands of years later, Galadriel finally returns home to Tirion like, Long have mine eyes awaited this most blissful of sights, and ne’er hath my sprit soared with such grace, for I am returned! And all the Amanyar Noldor stare at her like, whatchu bangin on bout, eh? Because they had nothing better to do in the peace of Valinor than push Quenya to brave and frankly questionable new horizons.)

Anyway, there you go: a somewhat brief history of Fëanorian Quenya. I hope you found this informative and useful, or at the very least not boring. Obvs this is super condensed and, uh, not particularly scholarly, but I promise I know what I’m talking about. I have a university degree! (Not in anything even remotely related to what’s written above, but I hardly see how that’s relevant. It’s still a DEGREE.)

Questions? Need clarification or want more info? My asks are always open!

[theriu]

Emotional Elf Patron Idea

So I was just thinking about that sweet post comparing dogs and their people to humans and elves (in lifespans), and I got the most wholesome idea of elves basically adopting a family line and becoming, like, their patron for the rest of the elf’s long life.

Elves are rare and often wander, and they may befriend humans, but it is a very special and meaningful event when an elf gets so attached to a human that they make a covenant with them of “For as long as I live, be it decades or centuries, I shall watch over you and your family line.” Maybe it is a marriage covenant, and the children are theirs by blood; but more often, it is a covenant of the deepest kind of friendship. Maybe the elf has his or her own family, but usually it is an elf alone, perhaps whose spouse has died and children are grown or who never wedded at all, who has decided that this friendship is what they shall honor with the rest of their days.

And they mourn the passing of the original human and each that follow, but they rejoice with each new child and grandchild and great-grandchild and great— And each child born either has the elf at their naming ceremony or is brought to the elf, and maybe they get a small magical blessing, elves can give little gifts that are helpful without being harmful like fairy gifts. And somehow, they always KNOW when one of their human’s line is in life-or-death trouble. You do not want to make the mistake of threatening someone protected by an elf’s life covenant. But they also like to attend birthday parties, weddings, graduations, or simply drop in for tea. They have so much time that it is no trouble to spend a great deal of it getting to know the descendants of their friend and making new friends from them.

And when the time comes for their life to end, all the loving family who can make it gather around, sad to see the elf go, happy to be able to be there with him or her in their final days, as the elf was with as many as possible of their ancestors on their deathbeds. And perhaps they tell stories of ways the elf blessed their lives over the past few centuries, to show their gratitude and reassure the elf that his or life was well-spent. And though the little birth gifts aren’t given out anymore, still the people of that line seem to have a bit of extra luck or talent or protection around them, the lingering last blessing of an elf’s truest bind with human friends.

For an elf may pass on its legacy in two ways: by marriage and having children, continuing their small race’s existence; and by dedicating themselves to the lives of those who are weaker but just as beloved, that they may bless others with their gifts and be remembered long after even their extensive lives have ended. The ones most revered by elvenkind do both.