#juri elf | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mangotelevision · 7 months ago

Text

Jo9 simple backstories and power overviews

There's not a lot we know about the jury so all of this is very headcannon-y for warning. Some of this might clash with cannon so I'm leaning for this to be more so a part of my rewrite.

Zane Ro’meave (unofficial title: Zane the Undying)

Deemed leader of the Jury of Nine by Lorde Garte, his father, and instead of choosing a ninth guard for his squad he declared himself as worthy enough for the position. Still remains the ninth member of the Jury of Nine to this day and refuses to choose another as he believes one could not wield the power like he does, also refuses to take an official Jury title, feels as though it is beneath him and people should fear his name and his name alone.

Zane was never a guard, never took the oath and never trained as one, took the Jury Leader position per his fathers request after he finished his studies and became the High Priest of O'khasis. He has no knowledge or skill in weapons of any sort, physically he is weak, he uses others to accomplish the things he wants, his conviction and manipulation is his greatest advantage.

Has had the gift of foresight since he was a child, a magic that allows him to read people's thoughts and see fractions of moments of the future. He believes his powers come from the heavens and the stars, that he has a divine right to rule because of his power. He receives something akin to prophecies of the future, vague visions of what will come to pass, these visions have never been wrong- and he cannot change anything no matter how hard he tries. So he desires to seek out a magic that can, something that will provide him with the strength to alter fate.

(He can’t read Aphmau's mind and she has changed a future Zane saw, it was small and minute but it changed, she did something that resulted in his vision being wrong. Zane is never wrong. This is why he is so enamored with her, why he wants her dead- because she’s stronger than him, because she can change fate. It is a power he wants so desperately and if he can’t have it then no one can.)

Janus the Silver Death

Most everything about him is unknown, he is an enigma wrapped in a mystery. He hides behind his helm, and the only person to ever see under the mask and live to tell of it is Zane. Janus is thought to be an elf in some form, no one knows if he’s a full elf or half and he never answers when asked. He is the oldest member of the Jury, no one remembers how long he’s been there, and rumor has it that he’s been protecting the Lords of O'khasis for centuries. It is unclear if he was a guard or not before his Jury position.

Janus wields twin broadswords, one frost and one fire. Expert fighter, no one has ever seen him lose a fight. Although more often than not he relies on his Jury abilities. He is a necromancer of sorts, he possesses the ability to bring back those that his enemies have slain- the more people his opponent has killed, the harder they’ll fall.

It is unknown if he has powers that exist beyond those gifted to him through the Jury.

Katelyn the Fire Fist

Katelyn was sent to the Guard Academy after an “incident” per Lord Garte’s orders. No one is quite sure where she came from or what this incident was but it's largely thought to have been of a violent nature, something bloodied and bruised, although her early life is largely a mystery and she changes the story each time she’s asked. She was exceptional at the academy, a prodigy in combat, but after many disciplinary actions and detentions, Katelyn was expelled due to “excessive violence” and declared unfit to be a Guard. Was placed in the Jury Reserves, where she stayed until a member of the Jury had a more than suspicious death and she rose the ranks per Lord Garte’s orders. She stands as the youngest appointed Juror in recorded Ru’an.

Specializes in hand to hand combat and wields weighted adamantine gauntlets brazened with wyvern claws. Katelyn has magic that exists outside of her Jury powers, she’s a half-witch with a blood magic known as dragon's fire, which gives her the ability to use the fire of a wyvern while being virtually fireproof herself. She is not a traditional witch and cannot be taught any other spells or enchantments, all spells cast from her hands will always fail.

Her Jury power is that of absolute agility, possessing limitless agility, with her balance, bodily coordination, speed, reflexes and strength transcending virtually all other beings. With this power, time moves far slower to Katelyn and she has the endurance to keep it up for prolonged periods of time- no one has ever outpaced her in a fight.

Has a quick temper and doesn't work well with others, easily angered and her fire often burns too hot for her own good, oftentimes more than a little too eager to start a fight.

Lillian the Phantom Sword

Raised in Nahakara Village alongside her cousin Ivy, Lillian became a guard through traditional means. She went to the guard academy when she became of age and excelled in her studies, graduated top of her class and made high Jury List. Served as a guard in her home of Nahakara Village, where she remained second in command until Ivy finished her own guard training.

Lillian became cursed by unknown means while exploring the enchanted forest with Ivy, resulting in her reflection gaining a consciousness and a life of her own. Hears her reflection talking to her, telling her to kill and destroy, overall not good things. She ignored it for as long as she could before eventually stepping down as head guard to seek out someone who could help. She finds Zane, who's idea of helping is bringing the reflection to the physical world and combining the real Lillian with the reflection. The two can switch fronts at will, but the reflection is always in charge, she is always in control in the back of Lillian's mind talking and telling her what to do. Lillian is but a vessel for her reflection.

She wields a simple guards sword without her shield, believing it to be too bulky in combat. Lillian is an expert level swordsman, the above average guard will not win, fighting with her is often thought to resemble a dance with her graceful movements. Her Jury power is that of illusions, she can conjure things out of shadow and mist, make people see things that aren't there. Her powers are significantly stronger and her illusions far more believable when her reflection is casting them.

The reflection is forever grateful to Zane for freeing her and giving her the control and strength over a physical body, she'll obey his every order, she is indebted to him. The reflection of Lillian is his most loyal guard.

Ivy the Venom Scythe

Raised by her cousin Lillian's parents in Naharaka Village, Ivy never cared to be a guard, she was content with her own devices, researching and experimenting with her poisons and potions. Ivy was always in and out of trouble, always some misfortunate adventure she roped Lillian into, who more often than not got them out of said trouble. She joined the guard academy after much convincing from her cousin, her havoc showed no mercy to the school and although she graduated on the Jury List it was not without a few official warnings on her record.

Joined the ranks as a guard of Naharaka with her cousin, was difficult to work with and a shitty guard, always skipping patrol to continue with her experiments. Lillian was more often than not the one who got in trouble for Ivy’s disservice to the guard code, she was the one who encouraged her to be something she’s not after all. Was formally reprimanded and assigned her second strike to her guard record after being caught lacing her sword with poison. After Lillian was cursed and fled from her duties, Ivy left also and joined the Jury Reserves in O'khasis where she was assigned to a Jurors Team and allowed to experiment with her poisons and venoms as she saw fit. Was later appointed to the Jury through traditional means after a member stepped down.

She wields a large poison laced scythe, leaning very far into her self-assigned grim reaper motif. Her Jury powers are similar to a curse, she has the ability to take the life force of anything she touches, her body acts as a poison and she can spread that poison to others. This has an effect on anything living, ranging from plants to animals she can turn anything to dust and bones. She possesses immunity to all poisons, venoms and toxins and has a vast and incomprehensible knowledge on anything relating to such topics.

Ivy’s a wild card, someone Zane can’t easily control. They don't exactly see eye to eye but Ivy is here for a good time not a long time so she’ll do whatever he asks of her as long as it’s not boring.

Jeffory the Golden Heart

Became a member of the Jury through traditional means. Went to the guard academy to learn to protect others, excellent guard, the Golden Boy of the academy in the years he attended, perfect record and perfect marks, graduated early and managed to land a spot on the Jury list. Went back to guard his home in Skysted before transferring to O’khasis per Garte’s request, became head guard and general of the O’khasis military after a few years of service.

He's a brave soldier, loyal and kind hearted. His devotion to those he loves and the people he has to protect knows no bounds. Jeffory is the people's soldier, everyone adores him, the Golden Boy of O’khasis. After one of the Jury of Nine stood down to retire, Jeffory was given the mantle.

Fights with a very untrational choice of weapon, and his mastery of the glaive is something short of a marvel. He’s a flashy fighter, eager to show his skills and yet he is kind all the while. His Jury powers are simple and often overlooked, he possesses the ability of imprisonment, allowing him to create a barrier that can capture and imprison humans, creatures, anything, with little hope or no chance to escape. (functions similarly to the golden lasso from the original series) Although he uses this as more of a pocket realm, like a mythical handbag to store things in. He has no magic or other powers outside of his Juror title.

Knows that the Jury is corrupt and he worries he’s starting to become just like the others, he fears the day he’ll be just as bloodthirsty, just as power hungry. He’s concerned that the Jeffory that he has become has lost his heart of gold, and it scares him.

Ivan the Hallowed

Warlock hailing from a small mountain village, Ivan got into a lot of trouble with his magic as a kid, always felt as though he had to prove something, as if the world owed him a great debt. The Village sent him away to train as a guard in an attempt to keep him out of trouble and his head out of his magic books, believing they knew what was best for him. Ivan wasn’t a particularly great guard, unpopular and unskilled in the protecting front, but he seemed to make up for it with his fighting. After his training he was assigned to the Village of Pikoro, where he continued with his magic studies- the village was often known for its distast and distrust of magic, he was exiled shortly after his arrival.

Was offered the position of Jury member by Zane, even without making the Jury List post graduation. The High Priest was enamored with his ability to cast complicated spells, he had seen nothing quite like it, he wanted to study it, cultivate it as his own. Ivan’s magic is strong, impressively so. One of the brightest spell casters Ru’an has seen in centuries, although his magic is volatile and unstable: this instability seems to be his driving force, his bragging point as his spells don’t have to adhere to the normal laws of magic.

He seemed to have gained no excess powers after obtaining the title of Juror. He’s the most recent addition, so he feels like he has something to prove that makes him dangerous. Doesn’t take orders well and tends to do his own thing. Zane only keeps Ivan around out of his usefulness, once it has expired it’s not unlikely Ivan will as well.

Ein the Beast Slayer

Abandoned and taken in by a tribe of werewolves, Ein was raised and trained by the creatures of the moon as one of their own. Until a violent incident with a rival pack resulted in his adoptive family banishing him, afraid of his strength. They feared that which was stronger than them, the things they couldn't control. He joined the guard academy, he held the vengeful desire to become stronger. Graduating with decorated honors and a position fairly high on the Jury list, he took a position in a Village close to his old home. Early into his guard career, Ein slaughtered the werewolves from his pack, the ones that took him in as their own, raised him, betrayed him. He made them understand true strength, gave them a real reason to fear him. He now wears the skull and fur of the alpha werewolf.

Ein went on to kill nearly hundreds of werewolves, bringing their population to such a decline it caught the attention of The High Priest, Zane Ro’meave. Zane heard of his deeds and sought him out, mysteriously, a member of the Jury resigned and Ein took their place.

His Jury powers are a curse, it’s a blood beastman curse that allows him the ability to shapeshift into any animal that he’s consumed the blood of. It is unknown if this trick will work for humans. His weapon of choice is a battle ax, although he often prefers to do Zane's dirty work as one of the beasts in his collection. Ein loves the chase, he lives for the kill.

Teony the Bright Blade

Became a member of the Jury through traditional means, raised in the village of BrightPort Teony joined the Guard Academy and excelled in her studies. Often referred to as the brightest mind of her generation. Graduated with high honors, Jury List and signed to the Jury Reserves, where she swore her allegiance to the O'khasis Guard. Served as second in command of the O’khasis Military, until becoming a member of the Jury of Nine alongside Jeffory the Golden Heart, the two were given their titles during the same ceremony.

Teony has immense skill over any and all weapons, she has a mastery of the craft of fighting.

Her Jury power is a summons- she can conjure weapons, knights, animals, most anything she needs out of light. These beings hold no physical form in the hands of others, weapons will disappear if she is not the wielder and the animals will vanish if they are cut through.

No one outside of the Jury has ever bested her in a battle of skill, she is the expert amongst experts, specialist in all weapons and can summon any of her choosing to wield. She is noble and strong, like Jeffory she is a true guard, her loyalty knows no bounds. And similarly, she often fears she is doing the wrong thing, helping the wrong people. Her oath to the Guard code outweighs her oath to Lord Garte, her nobility will always come first, her duty is to save people and protect, where there is darkness she shall be the light. Just like Jeffory, her heart of gold will be her downfall.

#i actually love the jury and i wish jess didnt write them off #they were gassed up to be these powerful guards and then they were never actually used #i like putting teony and ein in the jury to fill the ranks #from a writers perspective they can provide easy plot point and interactions between existing characters #and their personalities arent new as most viewers know them from mystreet and pdh #im making up the jurys powers as i go tbh #this is all just nonsense #lillians powers are based off football and bmo im being so dead ass #i changed her title because we already had silver and scythe in other names so hers felt boring #also in rebirth she sadly has a sword #love fire user katelyn shes my pookie #aphmau #minecraft diaries #mcd #mcd rewrite #jo9 #jury of nine #zane romeave #zane ro'meave #janus the silver death #katelyn the firefist #lillian the silver scythe #ivy the venom scythe #jeffory the golden heart #ivan mcd #ivan aphmau #ein aphmau #aphmau ein #aphmau teony #teony aphmau

51 notes · View notes

thekatebridgerton · 1 month ago

Note

Was rereading the 7 deadly sins au and my mind went, you know what would be funny? Throw in some office rivalry.

Imagine Heaven and Hell being two different offices of one big company, The Universe. The Bridgertons who represent the deadly sins and the spouses who represent the heavenly virtues are rivals competing over who gets the end of the year/quarterly bonus. Score is kept by how many humans they have committing sins/virtues.

As someone who works in the office admin industry and knows the kind of hell it can be. Why would you wish that on my poor precious characters who have done nothing wrong to deserve being stuck in an office competing for who gets the better performance review and bonus. You are evil and I love it.

Actually you know what since I already did an Angels and Demons au today, why don't we make this one a North Pole company au. (You know I really liked Red One. )

I like to think that all of them work in the same building just different companies. Nicelist and Naughtylist, every year the managers crack the whip to get up those numbers and the numbers are actually humans corrupted or reformed during the year. At the end of the year, whichever company did better in the gifts vs coal business, gets a paid vacation and a bonus.

We got Project manager team leads who are Kate and Anthony, obsessing over one upping the competition by whatever means possible even if it means sabotage and playing every dirty trick in the book.

Market Researchers Penelope and Colin reporting on the situation from different parts of the world to see where they need to send more manpower.

In Marketing you have Sophie and Benedict competing against each other over who can make the nice list and the naughty list look more appealing to the fans .

In Finance you have Gareth and Hyacinth, with Gareth externally complaining that Nicelist doesn't have the money! and Hyacinth cooking the books of her company because there's always money. Gareth low key suffers knowing that whatever his competition is doing in Finance Hyacinth would NOT pass an audit

Phillip and Eloise are some form of executive upper management that are frequently stuck in meetings discussing why they need more time, and fighting over unreasonable toy and coal deadlines. They both have some form of truce, in the sense that they both hate their jobs and want to quit, but they do this for the spirit of Christmas. Which for Phillip means that nice numbers need to go up and for Eloise means that naughty numbers need to go up

I think Francesca and Michael are both undercover field agents in whichever city os having the most naughty/nice tie ins of the year. Their job is to manually boost the numbers by spreading the spirit of Christmas nice / naughty all over town. If Francesca is a mall Christmas Elf signing people up to do charity work, Michael will show up at the same mall as some sexy Santa Klaus advertising the opening of a strip club. If Francesca is hosting a Christmas community fair, Michael will host a Holliday party with free booze. You get the gist. And this year their tied 50/50

Simon and Daphne are the corporate spionage side of Research and Development. As such they are pretending to date each other to extract information about the competition. Daphne is insisting that she's being nice to Simon because she wants to and Simon is insisting that he's being naughty because he wants to... Jury is out on what those two are reporting to their bosses

Finally Lucy and Gregory are in HR, Lucy as a decent HR agent, obviously wants to jump off a window with how many HR and OSHA violations get committed by her company every year and she lives stressed out of her mind by employee complaints and is the most valued member of the team. Gregory as the less decent HR agent of naughtylist, has a very cushy job pretending that he doesn't see or know about all the HR and OSHA violations HIS company is deeply into commiting. His job is just to make sure nobody sues. Guess which one of them is up for a promotion?

Problems arise when the numbers on the nice list and the naughty list begin to look... Modified, hacked somehow. And it's a race against time to figure out, which company managed to hack the North Pole mainframe and which company is getting framed.

So what do you think? How about this Christmas au for you bestie

#Christmas office au #polin #kanthony #benophie #office au #oh the joys of corporate brainwashing

17 notes · View notes

thelordofgifs · 2 years ago

Text

Part the fourteenth! I've been looking forward to this one :)

A ripple of shock goes through Curufin’s temporary camp when the High King of the Noldor rides in.

“What is going on here?” Fingon demands, all bright hard-edged fury. “Have you all gone mad?”

“My King,” croaks one of Maedhros’ people. “We thought you lost—”

It is very easy to believe, looking at him now, that Fingon’s father dealt seven blows to Morgoth himself.

"Did you," he says. "Well, here I am! So you can all stand down this instant." And when they hesitate, "Where's the command tent?"

Curufin is not expecting Fingon to rip his way through the tent-flap.

"Fingon!" he exclaims, instantly on guard. "What a surprise."

"So I've heard," Fingon says coldly. "Where's Russo?"

Curufin wills himself not to falter under that thunderous glare. "Himring," he says.

"Himring," Fingon repeats flatly. "Am I supposed to believe that? He let you march on Doriath without him? What is he thinking – what are you thinking? And why are my people all looking at me as though I've walked straight out of Mandos?"

Curufin's mouth is dry. He wants, very badly, to confess to everything: to say, as he might in childhood, having broken one of Caranthir's toys, I made a mistake, help me fix it.

But Fingon is not one of his brothers. Curufin can't trust him, especially not after what he's done.

"He is at Himring, truly," he says. "He wasn't – well, when we left. We thought you lost."

"Why?" Fingon asks, puzzled. "Curvo, you knew where I was – you saw me go!"

"I thought Thingol would kill you," Curufin says.

Fingon's eyes harden again. "Did you? Or were you just angry because I took the Silmaril?"

"I thought you'd fail, and Thingol would take it from you!" says Curufin. "As you clearly did – where's Káno?"

"I did nothing of the sort," says Fingon, stung. "He's in Himring. With both the Silmarils. So you can call off this idiotic attack, for a start. How were you even planning to get through the Girdle of Melian?"

Fingon, as we've seen, has absolutely no compunctions re: lying about Silmarils.

Curufin thinks this sounds far too good to be true. But then he realises. "Wait. You mean that?"

"I'm not the one who can't go five minutes without some sort of deceit," Fingon says, more sharply because the accusation is true.

Curufin shakes this off and presses. "You left Káno in Himring," he says, "but you didn't see Nelyo there?"

"I left in a rush," says Fingon; "I thought he was here." Then he pauses. "When you say he wasn't well, what do you mean?"

Maedhros in the foothills around Himring, deciding to take on a party of orcs entirely by himself—

Maedhros pale and wild-eyed, his knife pressed against Curufin's throat—

"I have to," says Curufin, through suddenly numb lips, "I have to get back there."

Fingon stares at him. "I think first you might let me know what it is exactly you're not telling me."

Curufin feels a little sick.

"You don't want to know," he hedges.

"I'll be the judge of that," says Fingon.

Curufin takes a breath. "I told him you were dead," he says. "You and Káno both."

There is a long silence. He stares at the ground.

"I see," says Fingon at last, his tone very level.

"Fingon—" Curufin says.

"Get out of my sight," says Fingon. "I have no wish to become a Kinslayer again."

"I have to get back to Himring," Curufin says, feebly.

"Planning to finish the job, are you?" Fingon asks. He isn't looking at Curufin.

Not so long ago, Curufin manipulated an entire people into turning against their king.

If he can only have a little time, he can summon up the words to convince Fingon of the danger he has seen—

One of the scouts he sent ahead while setting up camp chooses that moment to burst in.

"My lords," he gasps, glancing with some confusion between Fingon and Curufin, "we've seen them: the banners of the Sindar. Thingol is marching to war."

Meanwhile

[juggling timelines for dramatic effect. "meanwhile" here means "some hours earlier"]

"Nelyo, I'm sorry," says Maglor, rapidly. "Thingol took the other Silmaril from me – I tried to convince him to give it back but he didn't listen – I'm sorry—"

"You aren't," Maedhros says faintly.

His lips are slightly parted. He still hasn't moved from the doorway.

Maglor flinches. "I failed you," he says. "You mightn't believe me, but I am sorry, truly."

"No," says Maedhros. "You are not – he is not—"

Maglor has made Maedhros his chief study for many years.

He looks at him, now, and understands.

“Can you tell me where you are, Nelyo?” he asks gently.

Maedhros shudders and closes his eyes.

“Nelyo,” Maglor says, “listen to me. You’re in Himring. You’re free. Take as long as you need – I’m here.”

Slow and careful. Don’t startle him.

“Enough,” says Maedhros, “enough. You have overstretched your hand, Sauron. He cannot be both dead and alive. You will have to pick one.”

Don’t ever contradict him directly. That only makes it worse.

“Why do you think I’m dead, Nelyo?” Maglor asks. “Talk to me.”

“You cannot trick me anymore,” says Maedhros. “You are – he is alive. I know it. I rode away from him in Mithrim. It does not matter what you say! You are not he.”

“But we left Mithrim, Nelyo,” Maglor says softly. “Do you remember? We went to East Beleriand. You hold Himring yet, and I with you.”

Maedhros opens his eyes. Maglor has not seen them filled with such anguish for many centuries. “Well, then, which is it?” he asks. “If he is dead then you are only a wraith wearing his shape. If he lives – and – and none of it was real at all—”

(It's worth noting that, with the exception of the twins, Maglor and Curufin are the two sons of Fëanor who most resemble each other: they have the same colouring, and they're both slighter than their brothers, with the same long skilful fingers.)

(It is not implausible that a shape-shifter, tired of impersonating Curufin, might switch to Maglor's form without too much difficulty.)

"It was real, Nelyo, I promise," says Maglor. "Listen to me. You know it to be true."

But Maedhros laughs despairingly. "I don't know anything to be true," he says. "You have made sure of that. Well, you have got what you wanted. No doubt it amuses you."

Be kind. Remind him he is loved.

"Nothing that hurt you could ever amuse me, Nelyo," Maglor says. "Look at me. Look at this."

He picks up the Silmaril and, with an effort, gets out of bed. Very painfully, he limps the few steps across the room to where Maedhros is still shivering at the door.

Maedhros glances at the jewel as it's held out to him, but his eyes snap almost immediately back to Maglor's face.

"You don't need to do anything," Maglor says, soothingly. "But there is light beyond the darkness, I promise you."

Maedhros shivers. "I won't," he says. "I won't believe you again."

Don't try to use force to convince him – the Enemy did that often enough.

"That's alright," Maglor says, still holding out the Silmaril. "Take your time."

Maedhros' eyes are so strange and wild. Maglor would almost be afraid, if he had ever in his life thought to fear Maedhros.

"I do not," says Maedhros, "I do not want this anymore. It was – it was not so terrible, when I could still pretend – but now – you are only taunting me now, doing this. Let it end."

Maglor's bad leg gives out. Before he can fall Maedhros catches him, putting his right arm around Maglor's waist.

Don't ever touch him without asking. But it can be a good sign, if he's the one who reaches out.

"Thank you, Nelyo," Maglor breathes.

Maedhros' lips are white and trembling. "Let it end," he says again.

The heat hits Maglor first, before the pain registers.

Too late, he looks away from Maedhros' face, down to where his brother's knife is protruding from his side.

He always keeps a knife on him, Maglor recalls.

Maedhros' breath is coming sharp and terrified. Forgetting every rule, Maglor reaches up to put a hand against his cheek.

"It's all right," he says calmly. "It's all right."

Quickly, unsubtly, he starts to sing a lullaby. The same lullaby he sang to Carcharoth, in fact, not that it helped much then.

But Maedhros is so very tired, body and soul. And the song was written for him.

His eyes slide closed.

Maglor sits down hard on the floor before he can fall, drawing Maedhros' head into his lap, keeping up a quiet hum as he does so.

There is blood soaking through his clothes, beginning to form a puddle on the stones.

It hurts more than Maglor expected.

He does not have the strength to shout for help – and who would hear him, up here in the tower room he calls his own? So that you don't keep the whole fortress up when you're composing every hour of the night, Maedhros told him with a laugh, when he first gave him the room.

And he cannot stop humming long enough to call for aid, anyway. He will not be able to subdue Maedhros again should he wake.

He can stay here, then, with one hand holding the Silmaril, and the other resting in Maedhros' hair, and the steady drip-drip-drip of blood onto the floor his only metronome.

It is not the worst way to die.

(Maglor has never really wanted to die.)

He is still sitting like that when he hears the orc-horns outside.

(to be continued)

the fairest stars

What if Angrist was a little tougher, and Beren and Lúthien managed to steal two Silmarils from Morgoth instead of one? Somehow I’ve already written NINE parts of this unhinged bullet point AU here and decided it was time for a fresh post to avoid that one getting too long.

Where we left off: Lúthien has been negotiating with Mandos like a pro, Maglor is nearly-but-not-quite-dead in Menegroth, Thingol has taken one Silmaril from him, Fingon has the other Silmaril and ditched Curufin outside the Girdle even though they did some bonding on the Worst Road Trip, and people are still upset about Celegorm’s death. YES I am well aware that the pipeline from the fairly normal first sentence of the post to this mess is insane.

Fingon and Maedhros are both very, very good tacticians. Between them, it isn’t very difficult for Fingon to follow Maedhros’ directions towards Menegroth, and then to find the hidden pathways by which Huan led Maedhros out of Thingol’s halls.

It helps that Thingol is still under the impression that the Girdle is impenetrable with the aid of his Silmaril, so he doesn’t have anyone keeping an eye out for the High King of the Noldor sneaking into his realm on an Adventure.

Finding Maglor's sickroom/prison cell/whatever is a little trickier, but not impossible. Long ago in Tirion Fingon was a mischievous child, so he's well aware that the best way not to get caught sneaking into a forbidden place is to make it perfectly clear that you belong there.

He strides confidently down the corridors, silently reciting Maedhros' directions to himself. Nobody stops him.

He's hoping that Curufin was wrong, and he'll know Maglor's door by the holy light showing through the cracks; but when none is evident he's forced to take his chances and start trying doors in the area Maedhros indicated at random.

Since he has plot armour is very lucky with this whole improbable-rescue thing he comes across Maglor without any trouble.

Maglor is only half-conscious – quite apart from the wounded leg, he hasn’t eaten in days – but his eyes flicker open when Fingon comes in.

“Hello, Makalaurë,” Fingon says, deliberately cheerful. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“You can’t do that,” Maglor says dazedly. “It burned – in the Bragollach – remember?”

Fingon opts not to answer that. “Russo said you were healing when he left,” he says instead, frowning at the bloodstained bandages around Maglor’s leg. “What happened? Has Thingol been mistreating you? I thought Lúthien at least was kind!”

Maybe he was too hasty in leaving Curufin outside the Girdle.

Maglor hurries to explain that Lúthien is dead, and that he’s actually in this pathetic state by choice or something.

“Right,” says Fingon, “well, you’re coming back to Himring now.”

But Maglor shakes his head. “I can’t, Finno,” he says. “Thingol took the Silmaril from me. I don’t – I’ve been trying to hold it back. The Oath. But I can’t leave it in Doriath and go, I can’t. So you’ll have to leave me behind.” He manages a brave and tragic smile.

On Thangorodrim while Fingon was struggling futilely with Morgoth’s iron shackle, hopeless tears running down his face, Maedhros said, You’ll never be able to free me, Finno, just kill me, please—

Fingon is rather sick of Fëanorian melodrama.

“One step ahead of you,” he says brightly, and he produces Maedhros’ Silmaril from its box, handing it to Maglor before his Oath can stir at the sight of it. “Here it is.”

This would never normally work. But Maglor is very tired and ill, and not thinking as clearly as he otherwise would.

As long as the obvious question doesn’t occur to him until they get outside the Girdle again—

Maglor takes the jewel and gives a relieved little sigh as the bite of the Oath eases. “You really took it from Thingol?”

“Of course,” Fingon lies. “Let’s put it back in the box for now so that it doesn’t attract too much attention?”

Maglor acquiesces. He and Fingon aren’t close exactly, but they get on well – certainly far better than Fingon does with Curufin. There’s an odd shared camaraderie that comes from loving Maedhros; it lends itself well to cooperation in difficult circumstances.

Fingon picks Maglor up – he's alarmingly light – and they begin to make their way back out of Menegroth.

"You're to be my betrothal gift," Fingon tells Maglor, and Maglor actually laughs.

Unfortunately it's much harder to look innocuous when you're carrying someone about five minutes away from expiring on the spot.

They haven't got very far before an angry voice comes from behind them: "Who are you and where are you going with the Fëanorion?"

Damn.

Meanwhile

[I should clarify my definition of "meanwhile" here. Evidently time runs much slower in Aman than it does in Middle-earth, even post-Darkening, or it's difficult to fathom why Beren and Lúthien canonically took two years to return from death. In vague support of this, the Fellowship find that time runs slowly in Lothlórien, presumably with the aid of Galadriel's ring, so I posit that the more Divine Stuff there is near a place (and Galadriel was ofc a student of Melian too), the more weird time shit occurs. So since I've anyway fudged the timelines so that travel times work out conveniently, we can also put the bits of story occurring in Aman here for funsies.]

Meanwhile, Finrod has been following Celegorm around in the Halls of Mandos.

"Was it worth it?" he asks. "Did you take joy in the lordship of Nargothrond, once I was gone?"

"I could ask you the same," says Celegorm, responding for the first time. "Did you die for anything in the end, Ingoldo? The mortal's here, after all your efforts. So much for your oath."

"So much for yours," says Finrod; "it looks like that eternal darkness you doomed yourself to wasn't that dark. Or eternal. So what was it all for? Do you even regret any of it?"

The dead can't lie. Artifice and deception are matters of the flesh, and they are buried with it.

"I didn't want you to die," Celegorm says.

"Well, that's a start!" says Finrod. "I can't say I'm glad to see you here, either."

"O Fair and Faithful one," says Celegorm, "spare me none of your pity. They are already whispering that you will be released soon, first of all the Exiles to walk again in Aman. So it's all turned out rather well for you, despite your evil cousins' machinations."

"I suppose it has," says Finrod, thinking.

The thing is, it was worth it. Beren's life mattered. It mattered that he saved it, even if he died to do so, even if Beren is dead now too (although word is that might be changing).

He did not do it expecting a reward.

"And my werewolf was bigger than yours," says Celegorm.

Finrod rolls his metaphorical eyes. "At least I actually killed mine."

Cousinly bickering is still kind of fun, even when you're dead.

Curufin, fuming outside the Girdle, would not agree.

After a time he's forced to conclude that the only thing he can do is head back to Himring.

The ride through Himlad, once as green and fair a land as any, does not improve his mood.

Also his burned hand is still hurting.

Look: here's the little stream where Celegorm caught a huge fish once; and here are the low hills where, a couple of centuries ago, they held some war games and Curufin's people thrashed Celegorm's decisively.

Here's the copse where, years before the Dagor Aglareb brought tentative peace to East Beleriand, Curufin and his son were surprised by a party of orcs, who took their small patrol all captive.

Tyelpë was just barely of age at the time. How trusting his eyes, then, how baby-soft his hair: how easily he had believed that his father would fix everything.

As for Curufin, he spent the hours-long ordeal learning anew what terror was, rendered compliant by the mere possibility that they could hurt his child.

They were fine, in the end. Celegorm rode up to the rescue while the orcs were still quarrelling over where to take them.

But Curufin remembers: how disabling love can be.

Meanwhile Fingon finds himself surrounded by a crowd of angry Iathrim in their home city.

He sets Maglor down on the floor and sets a hand on his sword-hilt, wondering if he is about to become a Kinslayer again.

(Fingon regrets Alqualondë more than anything; and he'd do it again, for Maedhros' sake. He knows this about himself.)

Before things escalate too far, Thingol shows up at the scene of the disturbance.

"We haven't met," Fingon says. "Fingon son of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. I've come for my cousin." He gives Thingol a rather dangerous smile.

Thingol thinks he might be in serious trouble. He attempts to adopt a conciliatory tone (which is really really hard for Thingol ok he's trying).

"He'll die if he's moved," he says, nodding to where Maglor is slumped against the wall, shivering.

"He'll die if he stays here!" Fingon says. "Is this the famed hospitality of your halls?"

"He has been offered every treatment he could ask for," Thingol says. "It is not the fault of Menegroth if he chooses to refuse them. Now tell me, son of Fingolfin, how came you through the Girdle of Melian – without her leave or mine?"

Maglor puts the pieces together. "Finno, you lied to me," he breathes, glancing at the box in Fingon's hand.

Fingon wonders if it would be diplomatically insensitive to kick Thingol.

"The jewel alone does not explain it," Thingol insists. "While I hold the Silmaril my daughter won, surely—?"

"I could have told you that, had you asked," says Maglor. "Silmarils aren't weapons! You can't use one as some sort of military defence."

Thingol is now questioning all his life choices.

He only took the Silmaril from Maglor in the first place because he thought it would protect his kingdom, and now—

Maglor is feeling resigned. He should have known Fingon's claim was too good to be true. Thingol still has the Silmaril, and Maglor can't leave Menegroth without it.

Face pale and set, he attempts to get to his feet, mostly unsuccessfully.

Fingon looks down at him. "Seriously, Makalaurë?" And when Maglor ignores him, he says, "Sorry about this," and kicks Maglor's bad leg – carefully, but still hard enough to hurt.

Maglor faints.

Fingon picks his limp body up. "The Silmaril isn't yours," he tells Thingol.

"The white ships of Olwë my brother's people were not yours, either," Thingol returns.

Fingon inclines his head, acknowledging the point. "I don't wish to start a war over the Silmaril," he says. Maglor is so cold and still in his arms. "My cousins have done enough for that cause lately. Only let me take my kinsman home."

Thingol hesitates. The iron box in Fingon's hand is so close, and Fingon is outnumbered, and he has his injured cousin to worry about—

It could all be over, if he took the second Silmaril. He'd never need to worry about his people's safety from invasion again.

"Elu," comes a voice from behind him, "enough of this. Let them go."

"Queen Melian," says Fingon, bowing his head.

She barely looks at him, meeting her husband's gaze instead. "Time and again you have disregarded me," she says. "Lúthien is lost, and yet you persist with this. Will you heed me now?"

Thingol stares at her, and then, finally, he waves his hand. The bristling guards move aside, allowing Fingon free passage down the corridor.

"I trust you can remember your way out," Thingol tells Fingon, and turns away.

Fingon looks at Melian. "Thank you," he says, "and I am very sorry about your daughter."

He has met Maiar before, of course, in Valinor: but Melian is still unsettling, with her implausibly flawless face and eyes that hold yet the memory of a time before Time.

"Little king," she says, "only hope that you will not know any such pain yourself."

Fingon manages a smile. "I'm good at that," he says. "Hope."

On that note he leaves Menegroth, carrying Maglor, and begins to make the long trek back through the Forest of Region, and thence to Himring.

Curufin has managed the journey significantly more quickly. On a crisp cold morning he rides back through Himring's gates.

Maedhros has been... managing. Not well, but he trusts Fingon.

Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you.

But here's Curufin by himself, looking pale and tired, and after all it was only a hastily-scribbled note, not an incantation.

Maedhros arrives at the gate at a run.

Scarce weeks ago it was the other way around, Maedhros riding into the fortress with Fingon's cloak only just concealing his bloodstained clothes: and Curufin met him as he came in and he can still feel the terrible jolt of knowledge in his stomach, and Celegorm is still dead.

How can it be borne?

A thought comes to Curufin and for a moment he thinks it the cruellest idea he has ever had, but Celegorm is dead and his hand is still burned and nobody expects any better of him anyway.

"They're dead," he says flatly, "they're both dead," and Maedhros just – stares at him.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #fingon #curufin #maglor #maedhros #have I mentioned that. I love them.#is maglor an elf or a pincushion? the jury remains OUT

345 notes · View notes

lilaccccc · 2 months ago

Text

Let it be known to the ladies and gentleman of the jury that my witness Sir Drosselmeyer is not a goblin, brownie, or some other like-ghoulie. He is a noble elf, truye and bravyéd. And let it be known that my opposition, the Prosecutor Areolus Mapleserd was seen not only a fortnight ago cumming into a damn flowerpot in the lobby. He is a knellknocked Glaive, a bottom-mouthed downfeader and most importantly a two faced bitch.

How I imagine Fae Courts go.

18 notes · View notes

cappurrccino · 2 years ago

Text

mermay........ it's nyalori's month.....

#//juri speaks #oc: nyalori'ixash #i know she's a sea elf but shhhh

0 notes

laurancezvahlslefteyebrow · 1 year ago

Text

I wanna talk about titles and names for things in my MCD au/rewrite

This may be long, you’ve been warned

First and foremost Lord Lady and Sir:

In my universe, it was generally uncommon (though not unheard of) for a woman to be the head of a village until Aphmau. If a woman was the head of a village she would be called Lady (her name) and never Lord (her name). Aphmau was the first woman to call herself Lord, and since then it became customary.

Though there are other reasons someone may be called “Lady”. If they are the wife of a Lord, a high or head knight/guard, or if they are someone of great importance. For example, Lady Katelyn the Firefist and Lady Azura of Bright Port. While Katelyn is a member of the Jury, Lady Katelyn the Firefist is her official title, but when she is stripped of her rank, that title is taken as well and she became just Katelyn. Azura being head guard of Bright Port gives her the title of Lady Azura.

And finally, Sir. Similarly to Lady, Sir is the title given to male head guards. While Garroth is head guard of Phoenix Drop, he is known as Sir Garroth of Phoenix Drop. While Laurance is head guard he is Sir Laurance Zvahl of Meteli. Though when he left for Phoenix Drop he lost that title. He still sometimes introduces himself as Sir Laurance by accident.

Next, Werewolves:

There are a few different kinds of werewolves: pure blood, half blood, and turned. Werewolf is the umbrella term used for any Lycan kind.

A pure blooded werewolf is also known as a Wolfer. These wolves do not have a human form, though they do have a human-like form (think how we usually see Bodolf or Lowell). They also have a pure wolf form or natural form, where they appear like a normal wolf, though slightly larger.

A half blooded werewolf is also known as a halfling wolf or halfling wolfer. These are werewolfs that are born of both werewolf blood and the blood of something else, be it a human, meif’wa, elf etc. These wolves have a pure wolf form, a pure human form, and the ability to show their wolf ears and tail while in their human form. Examples of halfling wolfers would be Yip and Leona.

And finally a turned werewolf is exactly how it sounds. A werewolf who was not born but rather turned. Their traits depend on what the wolf that turned them’s traits were. In Logan’s case, he was turned by a Wolfer, therefore has the traits of a wolfer along with a human form.

I also want to mention a bit about werewolf hierarchy.

Most werewolf villages are small and refer to themselves as tribes or packs, depending on if they are made up mostly of halfling wolfers or full wolfers respectively. Their leader is referred to as The Alpha or just Alpha. Never by their name unless it is someone they are very close to.

Finally Magicks Users, Witches, Warlocks, etc.

The term used for any type of magickal person is Magi. They are also sometimes referred to as Mystics, though this term is fairly outdated.

A magicks user is any person born with the ability to use magicks. Pretty simple. This does not include witches.

Witches are born witches, much like an elf is born an elf. It is a species not ability. Witches are born with a higher connection to the earth and have the ability to learn witchcraft rather easily, though they don’t all choose to. Witches are often female, but it is possible for a male to be a witch.

A mage is a person who is not born with any magicks or witchcraft. They give themselves Rune Tattoos and often Scar Runes, and teach themselves magicks. This often takes a very long time, so in some cultures (like Zerimar) they do this at birth so the child will grow up with the ability. Mages are outlawed in many places throughout Ru’aun.

A Shaman is a mage who teaches themselves magicks for religious purposes, usually under the faith of Irene or another Divine Warrior. In Castor, the Chicken Shaman’s case, it was under the faith of the chicken gods… or something… no one really knows..

A Demon is a bit blurry. Not much is known about them other than that they come from another realm and are often evil.

A Shadow Knight is anyone brought back to life (or in Laurance’s case transformed against his will) by the Shadow Lord in the Nether. A Shadow Knight that has not claimed their immortality is often referred to as a “premature” Shadow Knight.

A Divine Being is anyone with borderline unnatural magickal abilities, or anyone able to master both a magicks and witchcraft. They are believed to be either divine beings or divinely chosen.

And FINALLY, a Warlock is anyone who falls under any of these categories (aside from the last three) and uses their abilities solely for evil, their own selfish gain, and/or to deceive others.

51 notes · View notes

dearchloe · 2 months ago

Text

3 december

Ivy awoke with somewhat more trepidation the next morning, and it was to her relief that a thorough inspection of her lower half provided nothing more alarming than the revelation that she'd somehow managed to work her way out of her pyjama bottoms during the night. A one off, she decided, as she climbed out of bed and went about her preparations for the day. It was understandable, after all. She'd been under a lot of stress recently. This was a big trial, perhaps the biggest that she'd been involved in so far throughout her career. She couldn't afford to make a mess of it; if it went her way, she was sure it would see a big increase in her work going forward.

Of course, the previous day's chaos was not exactly helpful in that respect. The judge had been sardonic, to say the least, and though the prosecutor had been understanding, he had been understanding in that particularly condescending way which was far more infuriating than outright aggression. It wouldn't win her many points with the jury, either, and especially not at this time of year; she was keeping them from their Christmas shopping, she imagined.

But it couldn't be helped now, and she didn't think anyone would have thanked her for carrying on in her condition yesterday — at least, the cleaners certainly wouldn't. There was nothing that she could do to change the past. She would just have to keep on looking forwards, focus on the job in front of her, and do the best that she could for her client. No one could ask her for more than that; at least, if they did, then they wouldn't get it anyway.

She buttoned her blouse carefully and then took her hairbrush through to the living room, where she positioned herself carefully in front of the big mirror over the fireplace. Fighting the morning tangles was a job she'd never quite managed to master over the years, and she was unashamedly envious of friends who seemed to spring into being every morning as fresh and flawless as if they had just stepped out of the salon door. Ivy swore softly to herself as she brushed, each time that she encountered a knot, in fact, and she was always glad when she had finished the daily grind of reducing the mop on her head to something a little more presentable. She'd given up on perfection a long time ago.

This morning, as she brushed, a flash of green caught her eye at the corner of the mantlepiece, and her habitual hair-related frown deepened slightly as she examined it more closely. Though Ivy was no Scrooge, she tended to limit herself to lights and tinsel around her apartment, and she was pretty sure she would have remembered if she'd bought something like — what did they call it? An Elf on the Shelf, that was it. Apart from anything else, she found them pretty tacky, and she thought they'd gone out of style recently, which she couldn't pretend she was sorry about.

Stepping forward, she picked the thing up and looked it over, turning it under the ceiling light since it was still dark on the other side of the tall sash windows which were among her favourite features of the building. It was a cut above most of the version she'd seen, Ivy had to admit; the little green coat was made out of something soft and velvety, and the painted smile was more friendly than the exaggerated grimace that was usual. All the same, she didn't think it was something she'd have bought, and she ran over a quick mental list of the people with keys to her door. None of them seemed likely to leave her unexpected gifts of this sort.

It was a bit of a mystery, she decided, as she replaced the thing in its former position with an internal shrug. But it wasn't doing anyone any harm, and at least it made the room look a bit more festive. Ivy hadn't had the time to get her Christmas decorations out yet, being rather too occupied with her ongoing case, but this was a splash of colour amidst the determinedly restrained decor that she favoured, and there was nothing wrong with that. Besides, she didn't have the time to launch a full-scale investigation this morning, even if she'd wanted to. After the catastrophes of the previous day, she absolutely did not want to be late into court, and she was running dangerously close to it, yet again. It was time to get a move on.

Wrapping a scarf around her neck, she picked up her umbrella from the stand by the door and set off into the streets, ducking her head against the persistent drizzle which seemed to come from all directions at once and work its way underneath the sheltering brolly no matter how she held it. Her journey felt like a very long one that morning, especially since she had one eye on her watch all the way, and it wasn't a moment too soon that she found herself hurrying up the court steps and making a beeline for the robing room, where she began changing quickly into court dress.

It was as she was settling the bands around her neck that her sparring mate of the previous day made a sudden appearance, walking up behind her so quickly and quietly that when she turned to see him there, she let out an involuntary gasp, fumbling the clasp that she was attempting to fasten.

"Yes, Mr Goodacre?" She did her best to regain some sense of composure.

He gave her a slightly sinister smile. "Oh, nothing much. But you will remember to go to the potty before we start, won't you?"

Ivy felt herself blushing from head to toe, and she only hoped that it wasn't obvious. "Fuck off," she hissed, turning away. Behind her, she heard a soft laugh.

#dearchloewrites #ab dl girl #countdown to christmas #serial

9 notes · View notes