#i want to eat charlie bowater's art

[spacehero-23]

WILL & JEM ( AND CHURCH)

they look so good!!!

[joyfullynervouscreator]

The Queen

Art by Charlie Bowater

The ceramic bowl crashed against the wall, splattering its contents across the stone, porridge running down the wall in uneven lumpy stripes.

“Get away from me!” the red-haired elleth screamed, retreating into a corner and hiding her face in her knees, her shoulders shaking in sobs.

“Nínimeth,” her husband tried, aiming for gentle but knowing it would make no difference to his wife however he spoke to her, if she even heard him at all. Wrapping his arms around her, he tried to pull her close, tried to offer her comfort he knew she would not accept, his mind flashing back to the darkest day of his life and wondering if her eyes would turn black with hatred once more if he dared look. “Please, meleth, you must eat.”

“I want my son!” she screamed, pushing him away. Thranduil bit his lip, staring helplessly at the mithril-haired elleth across the room.

“He is right here, gwathel-nîn[1],” Rhonith murmured, rocking the fussy elfling in her arms. She did not move closer, however, hushing Legolas’ cries with gentle humming, stroking the pale hair that so resembled Thranduil’s own locks.

“That is not my son.” The Queen of Green wood fought her way free of her husband’s arms, pointing a shaking finger at the elfling she had brought into this world only a few months before.

“It is, meleth,” Thranduil murmured, “this is our leafling; you named him Legolas.”

“No! My son is Hwinion, I WANT MY SON!” she bellowed, collapsing in tears again, covering her ears when her outburst made the little boy cry in fear. “I want my leaf! Not that one!”

Rhonith tried to hush the screaming babe, but eventually Thranduil waved her out of the room, kneeling by his distraught wife. It hurt him to see her so… not herself, not his fierce and fiery Nínimeth, see her reduced to this whimpering bundle of fear and mindless rage.

“I cannot give you our firstborn, my Queen,” he said, daring to reach out to stroke her hand. Now that the babe was gone, she leaned into his touch, her big green eyes watery and grief-stricken when she looked up at him.

“Where is he, Hwin?” she whispered, gripping his wrist. Thranduil swallowed. He had believed – once – that he would never hear her voice call him by that name again, but now it struck him with a thousand sharp knives, to hear it coated in despair he had believed she had conquered; grief they had survived at long last together. “Where is our son?”

“Thalion is dead, Nínimeth,” he said, as kindly as he could; grief still pulling on his soul whenever he remembered the bloodied body lying so very still in his Naneth’s arms, too still for life – especially a life that had been spent in nearly constant motion, even when their son was just an elfling. “He was lost in the War.” Her wailing did not surprise him; it was not the first time they had this discussion. At least, this time she had not asked him if he would give ‘that strange elfling’ back in return for their son. Thranduil did not understand; Nínimeth had been so happy about having a new leafling, even if it was not something they’d planned for – they had several grandchildren, after all! – but ever since the accident she had grown more and more despondent, retreating into herself. The birth had not – as he had silently hoped – relieved her fears that the little leaf would be harmed, had not convinced her that he would be well and grow up happy. Instead, she had developed a severely unstable mood; smiling and happy in one minute and bursting into tears in the next with an intensity that scared him. He could not reach her soul, not really, her brightness marred by shadow-like rends and scars that would not heal no matter how much love he poured into the bond between them. He did not know what to do, who to ask; part of him wished his Naneth had not returned to Aman, longing for her gentle calmness. This was a sickness for which he knew no cure and nor did Nestor, even if Nínimeth had been willing to talk to her former apprentice about what she was going through. Some days, she did nothing but sleep, others she would wander the hallways at night, snarling at those who attempted to speak to her. Of the gentle Queen and Healer there was precious little left, Thranduil feared, staring at the person who felt like a stranger in his wife’s body, felt like a wild creature; untameable and furious at times, deceptively docile at others.

“Get out.” Nínimeth said, her voice deadened. Thranduil stiffened. He had known she did not wish for his comfort, but she had never so bluntly stated that she did not desire his company.

“Nínimeth, please,” he whispered, “tell me how to help you.”

“Get out!” she bellowed, pushing him away. “Get out and don’t come back!”

He left; he did not wish to hear her tell him it was his fault their son died. Not again. Behind him, something else clattered against the door, a wounded scream following in his wake.

Thranduil was losing hope.

  “We must do something!” Rhonith exclaimed, pacing with little Legolas in her arms, when Thranduil returned to the sitting rooms that connected his study with their bedroom before Nínimeth banished him from sharing her bed and forcing him to furnish a second bedroom for himself. Thranduil sighed.

“It is clear that things cannot continue,” he whispered, staring out of his window at the rapidly darkening night outside the Halls. “But I am at a loss, sellig, I do not know how to help her. She does not respond to me, pushes me away whenever I try to bring her comfort.”

“Do you think… Elrond might be able to help? They say he is a great healer.” Rhonith asked. Thranduil shook his head.

“If she will not speak to myself, or you, or Avornien, will not even accept Nestor entering her room, I do not think she would feel any more amenable to an almost stranger.” Furthermore, he wasn’t sure this was a disease that had a true cure; had he not thought she had been healed from her grief after Dagorlad, only now to suffer through a resurgence of that same grief once more? Perhaps this, too, would run its course. He did not say it out loud, however, failing to sound convincing even in his own mind. “I do not know what we can do, Rhonith,” he whispered, hopeless. “She… she is not Nínimeth, and I am afraid she will… hurt… Legolas,” Rhonith snarled, tightening her protective hold, “or herself.” He had not told her of the times she spoke of offering up one leaf for the gods to return their first one, filling his soul with revulsion; the Valar would not listen to such a prayer, and if she were in her right mind, Nínimeth would have been horrified at the very idea.

“She won’t harm him,” Rhonith swore, stroking the pale hair with a gentleness that belied the strength of her oath. Thranduil smiled knowingly, though she did not see the brief flash of humour in his blue eyes. He had not believed her when Nínimeth told him what she suspected about their adopted daughter’s response to having the new-born leaf placed in her arms, but he was beginning to see just how tightly his son had already wound himself into her heart; a bond that would only grow stronger as the boy aged.

“She would not want to, sellig,” he murmured, stroking her ear to calm her down, “yet I cannot silence the voice that sounds like a warning in my heart not to leave our son alone with her… but he needs her, there are no others who could feed him.” Even if the end of the War meant peace, it had as yet only resulted in a few pregnancies being announced – after the Queen had already given birth.

“He won’t be,” Rhonith said, her voice steely, “I’ll sleep in her room, trade off watches with Avornien.”

Thranduil just nodded, taking the leaf from her arms and attempting to smile at his son, who looked up at him with his own clear blue eyes. ‘Eyes like water’, Naneth had once told him, ‘my son who is so like the sea’. Will you be like the sea, ionneg, he asked silently, calm and tempestuous at once, ever-changing? He did not even notice when Rhonith left the room on silent feet, her soft leather boots making no sound on the stone.

  “Gwathel-nîn is not getting better, Atheg.” The young elleth’s voice was quiet and sad. “She does not recognise the elfling as Legolas. As her son. She refuses to feed him, and she has little milk to do so either way. Maeassel has acquired a milk goat, she claims it should be possible to feed him with goat’s milk instead.” Thranduil looked down at the little leaf; he did look smaller than his brothers had when they were his age, he thought.

“Is she… otherwise well?” he asked, stroking the elfling’s cheek. Thranduil had not been allowed to visit for more than a month, but the reports he received from the servants who cleaned her room on the rare occasions the Queen allowed visitors other than her handmaiden, Avornien, were disturbing. Rhonith shook her head, joining him on the sofa and running her fingers across the ears of both father and son.

“No,” she sighed, leaning against him. Thranduil wrapped his arm around her shoulders, though he did not know whether he was receiving or offering comfort with the touch. “Today she did not seem to recognise my face,” she whispered, her sapphire eyes shiny with tears. “The one who has called me sister since the hour of my birth…and she did not know who I was.” Thranduil’s face crumbled as he looked at the younger elleth, pleading with his eyes for her to give him better news, but his despair was echoed in her drawn features. In his arms Legolas stirred, the leafling no more than 6 months old. Little Legolas was a quiet child, studying the world through large blue eyes.

“I will not lose her, Rhonith. I cannot.” The admission pained him, because it inevitable begged the question he dared not voice: Is Nínimeth already lost? He hugged his son tighter, tracing one finger along the cheek of his last leafling.

“I don’t know what we could do for her that we have not already tried, Atheg,” Rhonith replied, tears of sheer exhaustion sliding slowly down her face. Legolas gave her a gummy smile, oblivious to the turmoil in her mind. Almost despite herself, Rhonith returned the smile.

“She must take the ships,” Thranduil whispered, stiffening as the words passed his lips. Legolas grumbled in his arms, picking up on the distress the thought caused him. “Perhaps she will find peace in Valinor, find healing I cannot give her.” It was a terrible choice to make, but in his heart he had known the truth to his question for some time: Nínimeth would not recover, not this time, her mind was too far gone. Rocking the leafling gently, Thranduil tried to soothe, to protect his son from the grief that permeated the air. Little Legolas gave his adar a gummy smile, which did not make him feel better.

“Will you take her West?” Rhonith whispered, hardly daring to voice the words. This was the last resort; it was Valinor or fading entirely, a fate she did not wish upon either of them. If he sent her west, at least there was a chance of swifter reunion; if Nínimeth faded into death, she would be locked in the Halls of Mandos awaiting her Doom, her judgement. There was no guarantee that she would choose to be reborn as all that she was, and – even if she did – no way to return from across the Sea. Thranduil shook his head.

“No. I cannot.” The tall elf stood to face the window, through which the two could see the green leaves of spring. Hugging the elfling to his breast, he murmured quietly, despair in every syllable, “I cannot bear to stand on the piers of the Grey Havens and watch her leave without me.” The elleth sat down, leaning against his shoulder and ran a finger down the soft cheek of the small elfling, making him smile. Thranduil sighed. “I cannot recall her fëa, Rhonith. Not this time.” He had barely been enough, before, when she was battling only the grief of their son, but this… this was madness and rage mingled with grief so powerful he could not touch it, could not shelter her from the storm, light her path out of the darkness. “Sellig, she is almost lost and I… I do not know what else to do.”

“Will you not go with her?” Rhonith asked, though she hoped the answer was no; if they both left, she would have no kin among her father’s people but their twin sons, one of whom disliked her greatly.

“My sons are not ready to rule, Rhonith, you know that.” Thranduil sighed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and stroking her ear gently. “Ninimeth must go West, to Valinor, if she is to live, and I must stay here until one of my sons can take the crown.” In his arms, Legolas cooed. “I do not wish for him to grow up without his Naneth,” Thranduil whispered, “but I do not wish to take this world from him before he is ready, either. Nínimeth said he would range far, and I feel our last son will have a destiny beyond this forest.”

“I will take her,” Rhonith sighed, knowing she would feel no peace on the journey, knowing that this was not what Nínimeth would have chosen if she still could – but Nínimeth no longer inhabited her body, replaced by an unrecognisable creature of rage. They both stiffened in surprise, but she did not take back her offer.

“Sellig…” Thranduil trailed off, staring at her. Rhonith gave him a pale smile.

“Perhaps, Avornien will join us,” she murmured, which gave him some hope that she did not intend to follow her sister to the Undying Lands. “I will take Nínimeth to the Grey Havens and put her on one of the swan-prowed ships with the white sails.”

Thranduil said nothing, simply stared at the small face of his son; the elfling he had never thought he would have, and in some ways the catalyst of his wife’s suffering. He wondered if his love for this leaf would be enough to counter the absence of his Naneth.

  [1] My sworn sister

(For a little bit of backstory - I haven’t finished writing a lot of Dagorlad, for example - see the Thranduil Genealogy chart)

[lexacourtney]

Title: Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1)

Author: Cassandra Clare

Pub. Date: March 3, 2020

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Welcome to Edwardian London, a time of electric lights and long shadows, the celebration of artistic beauty and the wild pursuit of pleasure, with demons waiting in the dark. For years there has been peace in the Shadowhunter world. James and Lucie Herondale, children of the famous Will and Tessa, have grown up in an idyll with their loving friends and family, listening to stories of good defeating evil and love conquering all. But everything changes when the Blackthorn and Carstairs families come to London…andso does a remorseless and inescapable plague.

James Herondale longs for a great love, and thinks he has found it in the beautiful, mysterious Grace Blackthorn. Cordelia Carstairs is desperate to become a hero, save her family from ruin, and keep her secret love for James hidden. When disaster strikes the Shadowhunters, James, Cordelia and their friends are plunged into a wild adventure which will reveal dark and incredible powers, and the true cruel price of being a hero…and falling in love.

This will be a spoiler free review!

I’m going to start with, I can’t believe that I got to read this book early. I don’t know how I won a giveaway for this book, but I did.

It’s been a hot minute since I last read a Shadowhunter book, or anything set in this expansive world. I mean, it’s been since Lady Midnight…yeah, I haven’t finished that trilogy yet. It’s been even longer since The Infernal Devices (my favorite books in the whole Shadowhunter series) …since Will and Tessa.

I keep meaning/wanting to re-read them, but it still feels like it’s too soon. It’s only been like 7 years…but I start thinking about that scene at the end where Tessa rolls over in bed to tell Will something and he’s not there.

And, now I’m crying.

See, I’m not over it.

Will I ever be over it?

I don’t know.

It’s why I haven’t gone back and re-read that trilogy, even though I really should and really want to.

But Chain of Gold is fun because I get more Will and Tessa…married Will and Tessa and their children + friends! It’s like the best of both worlds! I get to visit some old friends, make new ones, without the sad ending. If you’re a fan of The Infernal Devices – like if they’re your favorite books in this world, then you’re going to love this book. Same feeling, same characters and the stakes are higher than ever. I really enjoyed this book and its characters. Matthew Fairchild might just be my favorite character. Though, with that being said, I really loved the whole band of Merry Thieves – Thomas, James, Christopher and Matthew. Thinking about it, they kind of gave me Marauder vibes, and honestly, I’m here for it. But before I jump into the characters, let me talk a bit about the book.

I was excited to go into Chain of Gold, but for the first quarter of the book or so, I was a bit unsure and a bit confused. Maybe it was because I’d been gone from this world for so long, or maybe it was just the massive info dumping and time jumping, but I found myself procrastinating when it came to picking up the book. Once I managed to start reading again, I was nearly instantly hooked and hated to put the book down for anything, but then I’d put the book down and the cycle would start all over again. It wasn’t until about the 50% mark that I became really invested and therefore really annoyed that I had to stop reading to do things like make dinner and eat dinner.

I blew through the second half of the book and I kind of regret doing that because now I’m stuck waiting for book 2 – Chain of Iron – and this one isn’t even properly out yet.

I guess I forgot how lengthy Shadowhunter book tend to be – even thought I look at the like 10 feet of shelf space they take up on a daily basis, but this book was long. A lot gets repeated in this book and I don’t quite get why. I understand that all of these various Shadowhunter series are meant to stand alone, but also build upon each other, but don’t require you to have read the previous series, but I don’t need to be told over and over and over and over by every other character the same sort of information. I lost count of how many times I was told about the Silent Brother’s and Iron Sisters and what they did. I don’t know how many times I was told about the stele’s and seraph blades.

I get that some of this is to inform new readers who might not have any of this background knowledge from multiple past series, but it still doesn’t explain why every other character explains it in their own way.

I’m just saying that it was repetitive and had me groaning with annoyance.

But honestly, I think that’s probably my biggest complaint – the length and repetitiveness. And due to its length, I do think that the second half of the book is strong and more interesting. Major things were starting to happen, and it wasn’t just a bunch of info dumping and setting up the world. Overall, like I said, I really enjoyed this book and found it to be a pretty good read. I definitely think that I’m more of a Victorian/Edwardian Shadowhunter world over the more modern/current day one. I always thought that the Infernal Devices were the better books, so it stands that I’d choose this new trilogy over the other books.

Granted, I haven’t actually finished The Dark Artifices yet, so maybe I should do that before I make any claims.

But let’s move onto the characters, because there are so many to get through.

Like, so many.

Maybe almost too many.

Between familiar faces, to new characters, it’s a full cast.

And apart from the main core set, it was hard to keep track of everyone, and who they were related to, and how they were related, and finally, who was dating/liked who. I needed a freaking map to just keep everyone straight.

Since there were so many characters, we’re just going to focus on the main ones – Will, Tessa, James, Lucie, Matthew, Christopher, Thomas, Cordelia, Alistair, Jesse, Grace, Anna and Charles – otherwise I’ll be here all night…hell, I might be here all night with just the core group.

Okay, let’s keep this brief.

Will and Tessa

It was so fun being back with Will and Tessa and seeing them older, as parents. I don’t remember everything about them from The Infernal Devices, but I do remember absolutely loving them. I loved how in love with each other they still were, and how they made Lucie and James uncomfortable, in only the way parents can. I just loved being back in this world with them.

*Art by Cassandra Jean

James and Lucie

Ugh, I loved them, but I wish there had been more one on one time between the two of them. I just wish there had been more about their sibling bond, thought I suppose there are two more books to get that from. James is fiercely loyal, and Lucie is a dreamer and wants to experience the world. For being Will and Tessa’s kids, that seems to fit pretty damn well. They’re also fiercely protective of each other and I love them. I also love how Lucie is writing a book and everyone she knows in real life is in it in some capacity.

*Art by Charlie Bowater

Matthew, Christopher and Thomas

The other three who make up the Merry Thieves. Like I said before, very Marauder-esque. Matthew is probably my favorite of the four boys, he’s suffering, and I think, in need of a hug. Christopher is brainy and likes to tinker around with things, to mash mundane science with angelic tools. Thomas is like the gentle giant, loyal to his friends without fail, but also open to seeing other sides of things. Together they all complement each other very well, and I just want all of them to be happy.

*Art by Charlie Bowater and Cassandra Jean

Cordelia and Alistair

Cordelia is a bad ass, and Alistair needs a hug as well. I really like the two of them, I liked Cordelia from the beginning, whereas Alistair took a long time to feel for. They’re both dealing with so much, individually, personally and as a family. I really liked their bond though, even when it seemed utterly stretched taught at times. You could tell that Cordelia loves her brother, despite his faults. I didn’t actually anticipate feeling anything for Alistair, but by the end of the book he was one of my favorite characters. We all make mistakes, and I think he’s one who will actually grow into a better person because of them.

*Art by Charlie Bowater

Jesse and Grace

I love Jesse, not a fan of Grace. Like, I could do without Grace to be honest. I know we can’t just get rid of her because plot things, but I can wish. When I figured out what she was doing, when that little plot thing clicked…Ooo, let me tell you, I got so mad. Then at the end of the book…I groaned and raged, because what happened was what I didn’t want to happen. Jesse seems so soft and sweet, while his sister is like the opposite. So, I’m hoping we get more of both of them, because I’m pretty sure they’re a pair, and I can’t pick and choose.

*Art by Charlie Bowater

Anna and Charles

Loved Anna, she’s awesome. I loved how observant she is, and how knowing. It’s like she knows what you want before you do, and that comes with a cocky knowing arrogance that I love in characters. Oh, Charles. I’m still kind of on the fence about him. Like I don’t know whether to write him off or wait to see. He’s made some mistakes, he’s a bit power hungry, but I think his heart is in kind of the right place. I don’t think he’s a bad guy, he just does things for the wrong reasons, or in a wrong way.

*Art by Charlie Bowater

It’ll be interesting to see where all these characters end up in the next two books. I’m really hoping that Alistair gets a few friends, that Matthew stops being so sad and drunk all the time, that Lucie gets the experiences she craves, that Cordelia’s heart doesn’t break, that James can come to terms with his ancestry, that Thomas and Christopher continue to tinker, fight and be there, that Jesse gets the ending he deserves as does Grace, and that Anna gets to have her heart’s desire, and that maybe Charles learns that power isn’t everything. I also hope that we don’t have to live through a certain character death again, at the end of this series. You hear me Will Herondale, I can only live though it once!

Also, if you haven’t seen, Charlie Bowater did character art for most of the characters I’ve mentioned, and as always, they’re gorgeous. I actually saved them all down to my phone, so as I was reading, I could go look at them, and remind myself of what the characters look like. With a huge cast of characters and so much happening in this book, the portraits of the characters she did, were so useful.

Seriously, so much happens in this book, and while the plot was full of so many scenes, my favorite parts were the character relationships. The bonds they share and form and all the interactions. Ugh, I want to say more, but I also do not want to spoil this book for anyone. So, if you want to talk about this book – whether you’ve read it early, or after its release, feel free to DM me over on Twitter and I’ll be more than happy to talk. As it stands, I have no one to talk to and there’s this certain scene I want to talk about, and I can’t.

It’s torture.

I’m so excited for Chain of Iron and this wait is going to suck.

So much.

I have no idea what to expect, or how this trilogy is going to turn out, but I have a feeling it’s not going to disappoint. I have my predictions, my hopes for who is going to be endgame, but really, I have no idea what could happen plot wise. I know the books are going to be chocked full of action moments, sweet moments, gushy moments and probably heart breaking moments, but everything else, I have no idea, and I’m ready and quite terrified to find out. I love these characters now, and don’t want any more harm to come to them.

I’m excited and you should be too!

Chain of Gold is out March 3, 2020 and

“The entire first print run in the US and UK will be a special first edition. It will contain a beautiful portrait of the main characters by Cassandra Jean, and will also include the long-awaited short story Fairy Tale of London, about Will and Tessa’s wedding! Preorder your copy from any of the links below to make sure you get the special first edition.”

Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Indiebound / Books A Million / Simon & Schuster

So make sure you order your copy soon!

        Book Review: Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) by #Cassandra Clare I love these characters so much. #newpost #blogpost #bookpost #bookblog #books #blog #blogger #bloggerswanted #bloggerstribe #bloggingcommunity #bookish Title: Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) Author: Cassandra Clare Pub. Date: March 3, 2020…

[joyfullynervouscreator]

The Burned Prince c1

Nínimeth. Art by Charlie Bowater

Young Thranduil by pastellzhq on DA

After the sacking of Doriath, the lands once girdled by Melian were abandoned. Faerbraichon, Lord of House Brethil, went east in search of a new land for his Sindar Elves, a land far removed from the grief caused by the Silmaril Thingol had coveted. With him came his family - those who were left - and those for whom he was Lord. Running into a Dragon was an unexpected complication; though, for one of his sons, it might turn out to be the source of love. For the rest of House Brethil, the meeting between their youngest Prince and a Woodland elleth will eventually lead to the formation of the largest Elven Kingdom in Arda and the establishment of a new people - the combined Sindar and Nandor Elves that eventually became known as the Silvans of Greenwood.

This is that story.

a note on people: Nenglessel│Nenalassië - mother of Bregolion, Nengeliel, Glaerdor and Thranduil. Wife of Faerbraichon│Oropher. Kinsman of Thingol through his brother Olwe. Falmarin/Telerin elleth who escaped the kinslaying of Alqualondë, pressed into service as a sailor by Fëanor and his Noldorin army. Faerbraichon│Oropher - father of Bregolion, Nengeliel, Glaerdor and Thranduil. Husband of Nenglessel│Nenalassië. Lord of House Brethil (House of Beech trees), a noble house of Doriath. Kinsman of Thingol. Hwiniedir│Thranduil - youngest child of Faerbraichon & Nenglessel. Named for his skill with a blade(Whirling one). Bronwe - Captain of Thranduil's personal guard and his best friend.

Glíweniel│Nínimeth - future wife of Hwiniedir│Thranduil. Only surviving child of Lore-Keeper Glíwen, clan Oakheart, and Chieftain Drauchir, clan Wolfstar, the two largest clans of the Nandorin who live in the vast Forest. Healer. Glíwen - Lore-Keeper of clan Oakheart, mother of Glíweniel and Drauchirion, gwathel(sworn sister) of Celebrimbor, the Smith-Lord of eregion. Eglossion - Glíweniel's best friend; a taciturn hunter assigned to her protection by Drauchir after the death of her brother.

“Are you sure you wish to remain here rather than visit Celebrimbor, sellig?” Glíwen asked, but her daughter just nodded.

“You know I wanted to stay home until Medlimel had her babe,” Glíweniel chided.

“You are a stubborn soul,” Glíwen sighed, but she smiled fondly at the willful young elleth. “But you are a good friend, sellig, and I am pleased that you will keep your word, though I will miss you while I am gone.”

“I shall go south after the babe has come.” Glíweniel promised, picking up her mother’s cloak and handing it over.

“Promise me that you will not go alone, sellig,” Glíwen frowned, wrapping the cloak around her and picking up her pack.

“I am not that helpless, nana,” Glíweniel complained, “I have been trained in the bow and the blade, same as any other Silvan!”

“I know, sellig,” Glíwen said, cupping her face, “but,” the sadness in her eyes made her daughter’s breath catch.

“Yes, nana, I know.” Glíweniel whispered. “Eglossion will go with me after the birth and keep me safe on the road. I promise.” Her mother rose slightly, kissing her forehead. Glíweniel nodded, tightening the straps that tied Glíwen’s luggage to the elk who would carry her south.

“Gin iallon,” she said. Swinging herself onto the animal’s back, she shared a final smile with her daughter, before setting off with a gentle command.

“No gelin idh raid dhîn, a no adel dhen i chwest, nana.” Glíweniel called, waving until her mother was no more than a blue speck on the edge of the horizon.

   “I don’t like this, Glíweniel,” Eglossion grumbled. “The small birds are silent. Something is wrong with the woods.” Glíweniel knew what he meant, but waved off her prickly friend’s concern when the birds began chirping once more. They continued on for another half league.

“What is that smell?” she asked, before it suddenly dawned on her. Badly burnt meat. At first, she would have steered her elk far away from the smell, the clever animal already turning to avoid it, but the sound that suddenly reached her ears made her spur her mount onwards instead. A pained scream, abruptly cut off. Either whoever had screamed had been attacked and was now dead – or they had fallen unconscious. The healer’s heart that beat in her breast would not let her move on without at least seeing if there was anything she could do to help. Glíweniel ignored Eglossion’s angry yelling; her friend would catch up easily. What she saw when she reached the clearing where the scream had sounded made her wish she had given breakfast a miss. The two ellyn, strangely armoured, in plate that made her think they had come from the west, had obviously been in combat with…something. One of them, his armour rent in places and singed on the left side, appeared to be alive still, but the other… he was little more than crispy, still smoking meat. Glíweniel shuddered. Behind her, Eglossion uttered a low curse.

“We should leave here,” he said, pulling on her hand. At the same moment, the half-burned one moaned.

“We will tend him.” Glíweniel said, her voice brooking no disagreement with her orders. Eglossion cursed again. “Fetch water, and make a shelter. I’ll get a fire going.”

 They managed to get the armour off the ellon who was stubbornly clinging to life. Eglossion had grumbled, but Glíweniel had saved the one he called Lachon. Sitting in the tent while Eglossion saw to the burial of the dead ellon, Glíweniel studied her patient. His hair was pale, like moonlight, and his skin, too, was lighter than her own. His armour and sword were of good quality, she thought, though she knew little of metalwork. Her own people favoured arrows, metal used mostly for the long-handled knives they wielded for everything from hunting to eating. Stroking one of the unburnt patches of skin on his good arm, Glíweniel wondered at the multitude of tiny golden hairs that rose in the wake of her finger. The fist he swung was a surprise, catching her above the eye with unexpected force as he screamed. Glíweniel blinked, dumbfounded, staring into his blue-grey eye as the screams continued. “You are safe, mellon, I swear,” she tried to tell him, but doubted he actually heard her. Trailing off to whimpers, suddenly the blue eye rolled back in his head, and the stranger was unconscious again.

  Eglossion had sat with the patient while Glíweniel had been boiling the herbs she needed for burn salve, but now he was off hunting something for their supper, preferably a fat bird they could turn into broth for Lachon. She had picked one of the small snowdrops that clustered beneath the trees, once more taking up position beside the cot; though this time she dared not touch him. Eglossion had not liked seeing her split eyebrow. When his eyelids fluttered open, he did not immediately scream, which meant the balm was working, at least a little. Glíweniel had never treated a burn this large before. Picking up her small pot of salve, she tried to speak to him once more, slow and clearly, in case he would not understand her woodland speech patterns.

“Who are you, child of Doriath?” as she spoke, her fingers danced lightly across the burnt skin, smoothing the cooling balm over the burns. The ellon grimaced with pain, but did not cry out – another good sign.

“My name is Hwiniedir, Braigion. My father is a Lord of Doriath. Where am I? Who are you? You are not Sindarin.” He mumbled, slow and painful sounding, as though his throat was sore. Glíweniel thought he might have inhaled smoke from whatever had burned him so terribly.

“I am a Silvan, Hwiniedir. Wood-Elf. I am Glíweniel.” She gave him a soothing smile. His eye-colour really was amazing. “You were found by my friend and I, along with the body of another Elf, both of you badly burned. You are in our tent.” Wiping balm off her fingers with a scrap of mullein leaf, one of her hands began playing with her hair, an unconscious habit. Lach- no, Hwiniedir, followed the motion with the eye he had left, as her words filled the blue-grey orb with tears. The other ellon had been special to him, then, Glíweniel surmised, grieving for his loss.

“There are Sindar in the forest, Glíweniel.” Eglossion barked, flipping the tent open. His face looked distinctly unhappy. “We should leave Lachon for his people to find. Return to our forests.” He had a point, Glíweniel knew, her nana would be waiting in Eregion with Celebrimbor. Still, the thought of leaving her patient to fend for himself made her uneasy.

“He is Hwiniedir, and he is hurt and weakened with loss, Eglossion. We cannot abandon him without knowing he will be found by someone who would not seek to harm him further.” Glíweniel kept her tone mild, but Eglossion still snarled unhappily at her, before ducking outside once more. She heard him pick up his bow, stalking off with a low curse. Hunting something would help his mood, Glíweniel knew, letting him go with a soft shake of her head. “Do not mind Eglossion.” She said, turning back to Hwiniedir. “He does not trust strangers, even our distant kin,” Glíweniel smiled, squeezing his clammy hand.

“Thank you… your kindness is valued.” Hwiniedir’s words were halting, hesitant and pained, his voice rough from smoke and screaming, but Glíweniel heard the low words and accepted them with a brilliant smile.

“Rest now. I will watch over you.” Smoothing back a few pale strands of hair, Glíweniel waited until he was asleep once more, before moving outside, finding the expected bird by the fire where Eglossion had left it. Shaking her head fondly, she began to pluck the animal while a small pot of water boiled in the fire. She would have to spit-roast the bird, she thought, cutting off a few of the fattier pieces to boil with some herbs for a nice broth. While it cooked, she’d clean Hwiniedir’s sword, she decided, humming softly as she set to her self-appointed tasks.

 The horse that burst into the clearing made her scream in fright, but Glíweniel was quick to arm herself, pulling the knife she wore at her belt and grabbing Hwiniedir’s sword in her other hand. Her bow was too far away, still strapped to her pack, but she wouldn’t let anyone Man or Elf harm her patient. Snarling at her opponent Glíweniel fell into a low crouch, ready to defend.

“I know that blade!” the armoured stranger cried, his words marking him as Elven, “Give it to me!” Glíweniel believed his words, to a point, but his own naked blade did not make her feel inclined to drop her only means of defence.

“I will not!” she snarled, though it was rather unwieldy, being made for a taller body and shaped for use with two hands.

“I told you, Silvan, I know that sword! It was made for the youngest son of Faerbraichon, and you will tell me how you came by it or I swear I will run you through for his murder!” he shouted, anger colouring his every word and motion. Glíweniel blanched. The sound of a birdcall, an emlin, among the trees behind the aggressive ellon made her feel marginally safer. Eglossion was back.

“I expect she took it from me when she tended my wounds, Captain,” Hwiniedir croaked, making both elves turn their full attention to him.

“Hwin!” Glíweniel cursed loudly. He should not have left his bed; there was no way he was healed enough. Forgetting the ellon with the sword pointed at her back, Glíweniel dropped her knife, wrapping one arm around Hwiniedir’s good side and taking most of his weight.

“Put your sword away, stranger, and face me. You would die before the strike landed!” Eglossion stepped between the trees around the clearing, his longbow ready to fire. Glíweniel breathed a sigh of relief. In her arms, Hwiniedir trembled.

“This is Glíweniel, who saved my life. Have you news of my father, my brothers?” he could barely get the words out, but the whisper reached the apparent captain, who dismounted swiftly with a happy exclamation.

“You live!” he cried. Gliweniel hissed darkly, still not convinced this ellon was trustworthy.

“Eglossion!” she shouted. The Silvan stepped up to the armoured elf, dropping his bow and putting his knife to the captain’s throat. He cleared his throat. With a sheepish expression, he sheathed his sword, giving her a gentle smile. Glíweniel did not let down her guard, keeping herself between the stranger and Hwin – she liked called him Hwin, it was like he was all hers that way… and she really shouldn’t be thinking like that, she knew.

“Captain. Relax. I am in no danger from Glíweniel,” Hwiniedir managed tiredly. “Eglossion is Glíweniel’s friend, be at ease, Captain Bronwe, mellon-nîn.” Glíweniel softened her stance, and Eglossion put his knife back on his belt, stepping over to turn the bird on its spit. Sheepish nods and introductions were made, and Glíweniel forced herself to ignore the way his skin felt pressed against her arm as she forced him back to his cot. He was unsteady, though apparently stronger than she had thought. The captain, whose armour she now recognised as bearing the same marks that Hwin’s had, followed them into the tent.

“Faerbraichon is well, but Bregolion is dead and Glaerdon is missing. Your father sent out all able warriors to search for you. The dragon is dead and will no longer be a threat, but our losses were great. That you live will be news to bring great joy to our Lord.” Captain Bronwe’s smile was fond, and Hwiniedir gave him a weak smile in return. A dragon! Glíweniel had only vague recollections of hearing of such a beast, remnants of the war between the Noldor and Morgoth, she thought.

“I am the last Braigion, mellon. Glaerdon perished before I could save him.” He croaked, coughing hoarsely. So the other one had been his brother? A sudden wave of sympathy overcame her, seeing again the face of her own brother, lost to raiding orcs.

“Amarth bal!” Bronwe swore.

“You are upsetting my patient, Captain Bronwe.” Glíweniel hissed, looking at Hwin’s pale face, which had paled further with the exertions of walking and talking. She had resumed her seat, gently pressing him down flat before swiftly smearing his arm and chest with more ointment, carefully covering the burned half of his face.

“Apologies, Lady Glíweniel.” Bronwe bowed. “Nesto Hwiniedir, dhen iallon.” As if she hadn’t already been doing that, Glíweniel thought waspishly. Doriath-Elves were an odd bunch, Glíweniel decided, but gave him a graceful smile.

“You should regain most of the motion in your limbs, though the scars will remain. The grace of the Eldar will hide your ruined face, and the passing of time might remove the scarring altogether, but the loss of your left eye is permanent.” Glíweniel told Hwiniedir quietly, ignoring the captain’s gasp. She could see in the steady blue eye that gazed upon her face that Hwiniedir had already realised as much, and was determined to be stoic about the loss. She smiled softly at him. Even slathered in goo and smelling like roast, there was something about his smile… “You should remain here until you are strong enough to move, Hwin,” she told him, not even realising that she had spoken his shortened name aloud. She would miss him when he left.

“Bronwe will carry word of my health to my father and our people and return in three days to fetch me,” he decreed, silencing another of the Captain’s protests easily. Glíweniel smiled at his announcement, feeling curiously happy that he wasn’t about to go away right this moment.

“Lady Glíweniel, would you leave us for a quick word? I’m sure my Lord would appreciate a private message from his son. I promise not to upset him further,” Bronwe smiled his most innocent and charming smile at her, but Glíweniel wasn’t fooled in the slightest. Still, she got up with a small chuckle, ducking out of the tent to go help Eglossion with the bird.

“You’re fond of Lachon,” Eglossion said quietly. “No good will come of it, Glíw. The Sindar are not like us, even if we share their blood,” he sighed.

“I know…” Glíweniel replied, stirring the small pot that Eglossion had dropped chunks of meat into, sprinkling a few healing herbs into the water. “but Hwin is… mine.” The designation surprised even herself. Eglossion looked up with an incredulous stare. Then he collapsed in loud guffaws.

“You-“ he laughed uproariously, “you A-AND your nana!” Glíweniel scowled. Just because Glíwen had married an ellon from the North-Woods and caused a minor scandal! Slapping Eglossion’s shoulder with a mock stern look, suddenly Glíweniel too was overcome with laughter. It was funny.

chapter 2 will be up tomorrow.

@life-is-righteous​ @pandepirateprincess​ @crimson-coloured-rrain​