#keri dreams

[kerizaret]

Bro I had a ruikasa dream that thr weirdo wombo combo became such a popular duo in kamiyama (in-universe) that the (apparently existing there) school newspaper club, which often released short written stories or drawn mangas by the students who wanted to promote themselves, started using the "troublemaker loud-and-smart 1-2 duet" as a REOCURRING TROPE in said stories 😭😭. Like so often if uou read those fragments there would, even for a moment, appear a mention or a little scene with such two characters (of different names but the similarity was noticeable) and they were usually comedic relief characters

The dream was basically Rui and some other character i genuinely cannot recall who talking about this phenomenon which rui was aware of and found extremely funny. He even said how whenever it was a manga where they appeared there were almlst always two matching panels right next to each other specifically dedicated to a close-up of the two of them. Then the other chatactrr mentioned that there was once some romance manga where the main character was apparently falling in love with a different person each chapter and one chapter was them falling in love with the smart part of the duet and trying to get his heart only to find out that he was dating the loud part the whole time (I do NOT know if rks were dating in the dream)

And rui also remembered that manga fragment and caught up that yes it was also a super dramatic reveal scene with cannons shooting roses -- and he promptly started to just?? act the scene out?? Like he started to laugh like tsukasa and was saying some dialogue I can't remember and out of nowhere pulled up a cannon??? But the commotion attracted the real tsukasa who started running up to them and shouting at rui for bringing a cannon to school again, but rui then fired the canon and roses actually started to shoot out of it (but not far and didn't make a huge mess. Surprisingly) and just as tsuksds ran up, rui just caught one rose and gave it to tks who literally just. Paused. Looked at it, said "oh, thanks!" and left???? Just??? Zero questioning of it???? Just a casual thanks???

And i woke up so I didn't know Rui's reaction 😭😭

[mccoyquialisms]

fuck it, yeah, I need to get more comfortable saying it irl so I’m just going to say it on here a couple of times to start. I’m a bisexual woman. I have crushed on people of many genders and just because I have only ever had one relationship in my life and it was with a cis male does not make those feelings any less real or me any less bi. If I’m a little ace that’s okay too because I can be both. It’s fine, and no one can define it for me unless I let them.

[thegodthief]

Dreamt I was told a story, and the storyteller wanted me to share it with others. And for the most part, the story was one I was comfortable sharing, until it got to one certain point. I considered what other people have done with the stories I have shared before, and realized this wouldn't be a trivial anecdote.

I asked the storyteller if I could rewrite that portion, they declined. I had to write it the way it was told to me. I asked them if I could leave that part out entirely, and they declined that, too. That portion was the whole point of telling.

I asked the storyteller was it necessary that I share the story in the first place. They remained silent, but their face hinted at a feral smile.

If I did not share the story, they warned, then it would devour me instead.

It has been four days since the storyteller told me a story. It has been four days since I have declined to share it. I have considered the story coming and going. I see where my detractors will accuse me of bandwagoning and where they will accuse me of cultural appropriation. I see where my traumas made themselves known and the wishful thinking I thought was left behind but is still hooked to my legs. I see how the story is just one more in an ocean of words, but I also see how the story is unique to itself.

And each time I come to the scene that made me pause. I don't want to tell this scene as it was told to me. It's not that I am ashamed of my actions in the story. To be honest, my actions are no different in the story than it would be in any other event, waking or dream. It's not that the storyteller laid bare one of my fears. Those who have read my words from the beginning know all about my fears, and how I have worked to overcome them.

"You are a storyteller. Tell this story."

"I have a duty to those I tell stories to."

"The only duty you bear is the telling. What they choose to do with your words is their consequences to bear."

"If I leave a hot pan in reach of a child, and the child scalds themselves, whose fault is it? The fault of the person who knew better, or the fault of the innocent?"

"Do you write for children?"

"... No."

"Do you write for innocents?"

"... Heh, no."

"Then, who do you write for?"

"... I have been asking myself that from the moment I started telling stories. The answer has yet to reveal itself to me. I will sit on this story until I find the audience for it."

"It will devour you."

"As do many."

[janedances]

NATALIE PARIS AND COURTNEY MACK ARE THE BRAND NEW SEYMOUR AND HOWARD ON THE ARAGON TOUR WTF

[gennsoup]

This night is full of music. Even the tea is singing.

Keri Hulme, A Drift in Dream

[khattikeri]

i want a dating sim or multi route romance visual novel only with an option where i can matchmake the love interests with each other instead of being an actual party in the relationship. like i wanna meddle and see the capture targets in romantic situations. but not with Me. you get it

[sweetjollylooks]

[the-one-that-weeps]

Anyway after I fell asleep again the second dream I was in Spanish class and the prof was PISSED at us for some unknown to me reason. And decided she would give us an impromptu test. On BRIDGES.

Now APPARENTLY we were learning about spanish bridges recently. I wouldn't know I was in that dream world for like 2 minutes max and my dream self did not remember AMYTHING about bridges ever. But the STUPIDEST thing was that when she gave us the papers with questions, turns out we were supposed to identify some specific Spanish bridges, write their names and where they're located BASING OFF OF KEY WORFS. but not some logical ones. Just. It was just like.

Imagine a page. You're asked to identify the bridge. And your ONLY clue as to what bridge that is is the word "sunflower" ?????? Or "leaf"???? How??? Am I??? Supposed to know that??? So I didn't write anything 😭😭 and I saw nobody else in class did, or they wrote like one or two. And when the prof collected the pages I started arguing with her about how stupid this exercise is and how the hell was I supposed to know that but she was arguing that I just didn't study and would've known and anyway I was so angry snd baffled that I just woke up because??? What kind of an idea is that???

Anyway also i remember I drew robonene on the other side of the page. As a treat

Me when I am so pissed by the dream that I just exit the mindset and wake up. What the hell /pos

[mudstoneabyss]

had a dream where there was, in a Strex episode, some death robot mentioned and it wasn't even necessarily an anthro robot but people still drew it as one and shipped him with Lauren. pretty sure its name was deathmeister but idr whether that part was canon or fanon

[lethalchiralium]

Baby's gonna be so sad hearing her with his best friend and not him 🥲😈

simon’s not gonna spoil shit. he loves threesomes 🫣

[kerizaret]

I had a dream Nene gave Tsukasa two wind chimes for his birthday and he hung them up at the windows next to his desk so every time he sat there and the wind chimes rang he was just looking at them with the softest gaze possible OUGH IT WAS SO SWEET

[mccoyquialisms]

I GOT THE JOB I WANTED!!! I GOT THE HOUSE RENTAL!! FUCK I NEED TO BE READY TO WORK IN MY NEW CITY 30 DAYS FROM NOW!!

[thegodthief]

"Hey..." The curl of animated smoke wound around one leg before swirling up around my body to curl around one arm. "What do you say we start to get to know each other?"

I pulled my arm back. "How about... no." They had tried to tighten themselves on my forearm, but that area reminded me of someone else and kept me from being taken in.

"You're going to have to face me eventually. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be to do anything about it." The smoke flowed to encircle my waist like a belt. To my surprise, it did not attempt to evade me when I pulled it off of me as if I was plucking errant lint.

"I hate that you have a point. But I know enough of your nature to know that I'm not ready to have any dealing with you." I took a step back and felt the rim of something like a manhole just at the edge of my heel. I recognized it immediately and felt more secure in myself. I wasn't alone. I had help if I wanted it. "You're going to have to wait your turn."

The smoke puffed and formed a shadowy humanoid shape. They made themselves a little shorter than me, a little stockier than me, but a lot more arrogant than me as they grabbed my other arm and leaned in like they were trying to hit on me in a dark bar. "But what if I don't want to wait? What if I've been waiting all this time and now I'm bored? What if there's no one else to play with and since you can see me, we can play now?"

Something flowed out over the rim to cover my foot. It didn't attempt to soak into me, but made its presence very clear. The sensation was literally grounding and I knew that there was a huge mass just behind me that I could fall into for protection against my would-be suitor. They looked down at the crud and scowled. They pulled themselves away from me.

"Fine. FINE. I'll wait. For now. But I won't wait for much longer. Now that you're no longer their plaything, you can come into your own and I can help you with that, but I'm here for my own reasons, and I will see those to the end just the same."

They dissipated into the surrounding darkness with a derisive humph. Los Olvidados held on to my foot without comment nor motion.

"Thanks, guys." The crud squeezed my foot in comfort. "I'm starting to feel them more and more, but never this amount of interaction until now. They do have a point. I need to get with it, but I don't know where to learn more about this." They squeezed my foot again.

"Everything is accelerating again and I barely have my head out of my ass, much less any feet on stable ground. How am I supposed to run when I can barely walk?" I looked down at them. "Present company excepted." They squirmed around my ankle, tickling me, and then retreated back to the buried cistern behind me.

"I'm afraid," I whispered to the nonpresences around me.

~~~

"Words have meanings! But those meanings change with time, place, and language. What could have been a very positive compliment in the language that coined the term could become a derogatory insult in another. The context in which these words are used is often more important than the word itself."

The lecturer wrote several words on the chalkboard. I recognized the first one as an English word. Each word they wrote after was a slight change to the one before, but then the alphabet of the words changed. I was able to recognize some Greek letters, but the words that followed eluded me.

The lecturer turned back to the assembled class. "Take the word 'demon', for example. In common use in the English language, it currently means something nefarious and ill-intentioned. But the word it is derived from, the Greek δαίμων, is a neutral term and simply refers to a class of beings that may or may not be helpful to the speaker."

"When speaking, or really, when using any method of communication, consider not only the words and phrases you are using, but also consider the method you are using and the sophistication of the person receiving your communications. I don't mean for you to be a dick, as the parlance goes, and judge the receiver for your perception of their lack of education by whatever standard you call education. I mean, make the effort to use words, and meanings, that are mutually understood. if that means creating new phrases and terminology that can only be understood between you, then do so. You don't have to explain your terminology to those who are not in your audience."

They stood at the lectern and placed their hand on a book. "Your homework is to take a word or phrase that has been in use for at least a century and compare how it is used now against how that usage has developed over that century. Extra credit will be given if you document the development of that phrase over time to the earliest recorded use and what the modern equivalent of that earliest recorded use could be. You cannot use the demon-δαίμων example I just gave. Class dismissed."

They closed the book and disappeared as the sound pushed me into an alternate time of the classroom. All the other students also disappeared, and the time shifted from bright day to late night. Moonlight flowed into the high windows to illuminate me and the seat next to me. In the cold beam, an entity was revealed.

"Demon. Daimon. Bah! I'll tell you what a demon is... An excuse! A justification for the speaker to avoid doing the right thing! To avoid doing anything! A scapegoat for those who are too afraid to do anything that might strip them of the false comfort they have decided is their fate in life."

A red eye solidified in the mass of thick smoke and focused on me. "A demon is a construct of your fears, shame, and guilt. It is assembled from all the pieces of yourself that you pretend to be 'bad' so that you can justify being helpless against your own nature. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

I swallowed the rage that was strangely building within me. "If that is a demon, then what are you?"

A second red eye opened as it solidified and focused on me. I noted the mismatched pupils. "Well, finally you ask the right question." No face was there to hold the mouth that opened to speak. The teeth gleamed in the non-space they occupied.

"I am not a demon. I am a devil. There is a difference."

I thought of all my encounters and could not find a parallel or commonality with this entity. If anything, I realized a few key distinctions. "What is the difference?"

A cold hand rested on my forearm. "I don't give a shit about your feelings. That's the difference. I don't need your attention, your worship, or your fear to feed or sustain me. I am independent of you." Another cold hand gripped my shoulder. I recognized where I had encountered this being before.

"But you are in need of me. There is something I can do that you cannot, and you want that thing done."

The hands stopped moving. "I do."

"I guess you're my homework then."

"I am."

I looked around the empty classroom. This could be the lecture hall of any small or community college. I smelled echoes of chemicals and heard forgotten music. At first, I thought this could be any place, but then I realized all of my senses were equating the hall with one very specific place, even though I have never set foot in that building in my life.

I still felt the echoes of it just the same.

"Ah. You're that homework."

"I am."

I looked back at the devil, still formed of cold black smoke save for two red eyes and a tight black mouth. "I'm not afraid of you." I was surprised to realize that and even more surprised to say it out loud.

"Good. Fear of me would only cloud your senses and limit you. I know what was done to you." They looked around the dark hall. "Ah, if only you had grown up here. You wouldn't have to dig so hard to find the answers."

"Yea, well, as an old bitch, looking back, I can say that it's very likely a good thing that I didn't. If you know me, then you know how I was regarded. I would have been taught nothing, or worse, I would have been given a demon greater than I could bear."

They smiled to hear me use their definition of the word. "Yes, you understand, then. Good." They withdrew their hands. The nonspace around me felt warmer somehow. "I look forward to our mutual partnership and benefit. Class dismissed."

Before I could say anything, the dream completely dissolved.

~~~

What if I'm taking things too slow? What if in my fear that I'm going to rip open barely closed wounds, that I wind up dragging myself over uneven ground instead and create new ones? I trip and fall down. My knee is bruised. Those who witness scold me for not being careful enough, for not knowing my place as a neophyte, for not taking the path they keep saying is my right to walk.

Those who witness tell me it is my own fault that I can't score a goal because I'm not playing the game according to the rules that no one can agree on. So I go back to the beginning and try again being extra careful not to step on the same path twice, not to make the same mistakes, not to say anything that would get me scolded again.

Only to wobble and fall.

How many times do I practice writing the shape of the letter before I give myself permission to learn what the letter is? How many times do I practice the sounds that this collection of letters represents before I am permitted to learn what this collection of letters means? How many times do I wait for someone else to give me that permission?

I will never sound like a native speaker, because I'm not. I can only sound like myself.

I do not know the sound of my own voice. I have spent so much of my life mimicking others.

So much of my life trying to learn the right thing to do, the right way to be, the right way to apologize for the sin of existing. I realized that in trying to recover myself, I was making the same mistakes again and again and again.

I want to be found acceptable, and I need to let that go. Sangre sucia. [I]niquitatem magis quam loqui aequitatem. I know what that means now.

It means I need to take responsibility for myself.

And still... I wait for a sign that it's okay to do just that.

~~~

The morning of this post, I received that sign. Scrolling my dash because it's too early for the alarm and too late to go back to sleep, I see a thing and am reminded what it personally means for me. I recall the public history of it, how it went from Point A™ to Point B™ and how that became intertwined with the history of that branch of my family and how I came to understand what that personally means for me.

I saw the thing and realized just how much of a fucking coward I am. How I have burdened myself with unnecessary complications so that I have the excuse to do nothing but cry under the covers that no one loves me and how hard it is to be alone in this cruel world.

Which is true. But why am I remaining in this false comfort? In this set of circumstances that I would be encouraging my worst enemy to do their best to get out of, but here I am, turning over and going back to sleep.

Sure, I could try to do something and fail, but at least I fucking tried.

I know I'm waiting for the cycle to reset. I'm waiting for the inevitable trip so I can fall and skin my knee and be told what a horrible person I am for daring to think that I can be better than the filth in the gutter.

As if that same filth in the gutter wouldn't hesitate to kick my ass and send me back out.

I'm standing again. I have been stripped bare and forced to see myself for what I am and instead of turning away in shame, I am standing.

Okay. This is what I have. This is what I am. No amount of shame or wishful thinking is going to change this. If I am going to be what I have always been, then I need to step up and take responsibility for myself. Those who watch will judge me according to their definitions. I can't change that.

This is not going to be a walk. There is no safe speed to move forward here. There will be obstacles and confrontations and private derision and public aggression and there will always be someone telling me that I'm not clean enough to sit at their table. Okay. How is any of this new?

There are demons and there are demons and there are devils and there I am.

Okay. Let's go.

[frecklystars]

THE LOVES OF MY LIFE OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it's been so long since I've rly felt love bursting in my chest for any F/Os and I am feeling so so so so much for my girlboss girlfriend and my horsegirl boyfriend 😭😭😭💖💞💓💓💗💖💕💕💕💟💝

Her smile!!! god!!!! HIS smile!!!! god!!! these two are fucking saving my life I can't believe how much these characters are helping me get through the worst time of my life. THESE TWO are helping me get back into self shipping and helping me feel safe again when I really thought I'd never ever recover. I'm collecting screenshots of these characters and sighing with hearts in my eyes every time... I haven't done that in over a year... I'm making gifsets and writing fics and doodling again... it's all because of them and I'm such a weepy mess over it

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 12

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9 and 11), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut)

A/N: Once again, the chapter ate words, and demanded that it be split into two. So here's the actual wedding, and then the coronation and wedding night will be in the next part! Also - the Quenya is probably pretty horrible/inaccurate, and I take full responsibility for bad translation. -WTT

Part 12

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear. The sun shone down through the trees, turning everything a pale gold, as if the weather itself were smiling and approving of what was to come. 

The servants had brought her breakfast, but Linnea had barely been able to eat. She had managed tea, and had nibbled on a piece of fresh, hot bread, but the thought of anything more sent her stomach twisting into knots. She reminded herself that there would be ample food at the wedding feast - and perhaps her nerves would settle by then. 

She slipped into the bath and let Pendes carefully wash her hair, trying to relax in the hot water. Steam drifted around her, scented with roses and lilies, and she ran her sponge over herself as Pendes massaged her scalp. It felt so ordinary - the same motions as she performed every morning - and yet, there was a sparkling haze over it all. The previous night had been restless, everything almost too clear and sharp to her eyes. Today was softer, as if half in a dream.  

When the bath was finished and she was dry, Linnea wrapped herself in her robe before going into her dressing area. Her wedding dress waited for her, another thing that didn't seem entirely real; as she drew the dress over her head, it felt like it was barely there in her hands. Lavan laced it for her up the back, and once it was tightened, she lifted the skirts and stepped into her shoes.

Hair next. She seated herself at the dressing table and Pendes carefully combed out her curls, arranging them just so on her shoulders. For the wedding feast, she would wear the gold filigree circlet that she had worn the prior day, but that would be replaced by her new crown at the coronation.

The crown was not in her rooms. It was waiting along with everything else for the wedding; the gold rings, and Gil-galad’s cloak, that she had carefully wrapped in gold silk. Elrond had been entrusted with the logistics of the ceremony, and even though she had not spent much time with him, she felt confident that everything would go smoothly. She had been able to give Elrond the cloak and whisper that it was a surprise, and trust that her secret would be kept safe.

Pendes finished with the comb, and stepped back. Linnea looked in the mirror.

Her hair shone. Her skin was clean and flawless, glowing with health and vigor. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were pink.  

She was ready.

The courtyard that they had chosen for the ceremony was fitting. It was just the right size for the small group, and moreover, it was private, and it was reasonably close to the kitchens for purposes of the feast. And it also happened to be the courtyard that Linnea had arrived in, that very first day in Lindon.

Adabes had overseen the decorations. Poles had been erected, with cloth streamers and garlands of flowers stretching between them. A small dais had been set up for the musicians, a harpist and a flautist and a singer. More flowers had been strewn on the tables; lanterns and banners had been hung; candles had been placed. The tables themselves were small, no more than four seats each, allowing for more intimate conversations. It had also avoided any awkwardness in seating; it had been easy to put groups together that would not risk offending anyone.

She couldn’t see it, but she could picture it; she had seen it all the previous day, one last look to ensure that everything was ready. And she could hear it; the guests were mingling, and she could make out the murmurs of conversation. 

Linnea had paused in a small antechamber that led to the large terrace out front, the terrace where Gil-galad had waited for her. He would do so again now; she would emerge so that everyone could see them, and they could greet their guests. And then the feast would begin.

She waited, but she did not wait long. Adabes came into the cool, shadowy side room, beaming. She was dressed in gold and green, and had wrapped the silk shawl Linnea had given her over her shoulders. 

“It is time,” she said. “All awaits you, my lady.”

Linnea inhaled deeply. 

“Thank you.”

It didn't even sound like her voice, coming from her lips. But she smoothed her skirts, and then stepped forward.

As she’d known he would be, Gil-galad was waiting for her on the terrace, where everyone could see them coming together. And he glowed.

He had chosen white samite, shot through with threads of gold, and she understood his smugness when he had seen the color of her dress. The cut was similar to his council robe, long and fairly simple, with an overrobe of the same samite. The edges and the sleeves were bordered in pale gold, and the gold was embroidered with flames in silver thread - the noble fire of his name. His dark hair looked even darker against the white and gold, brushed smooth and shining, and his crown shone atop it. 

The crown was not his only adornment. He wore the gold pectoral he favored, and a gold belt hugged his waist. And both Vilya and his betrothal ring sparkled on his hand. 

She wondered how all of this had happened. What she had done, how she had been so fortunate to wed him. He was beautiful in every way that an Elf could be, but seeing him now - how was it her he had chosen to wed? 

No sooner had she had the thought, than she felt the ósanwë come to life.

I am the fortunate one, rîn vuin. You have chosen me, and I will be grateful for it until the end of my days. 

She could feel it, too. His joy, his gratitude, his wonder.

The warmth of it made her smile, and as he held out his hand, she placed hers in it without hesitation.

Gil-galad led her to the edge of the terrace, to the stone railing that circled it. The musicians, that had paused when she stepped out, began to play again. And, still with her hand held in his, he raised his voice in song.

Eldalie!

túl rimbë símen esse sina sinome 

i lillassea laurë, i nen lutta 

túl ar morco cetta ana sina ertie

i tuine sir, i wilin l��re. 

Eldalie!

Túl sina, i amaurea o veryanwe 

i salque na lai, i úrin na calima 

túl ar líre, túl ar merenya 

túl cen sí ve emme vanda melin oiale.  

It was a song of welcome, a song of invitation for all to come and celebrate their marriage. A simple melody, but one that set the tone - and Linnea would never tire of hearing him sing, whatever the reason for it. 

Once finished, he led her to the stairs, slowly descending to the table that had been prepared for them as the guests took their seats. The expectation was that the two of them would not stay seated for very long at once; they would move about the other tables to speak to the guests. The feast was presented in courses, and after each course, they would visit another group.

And they would also receive their gifts.

She had realized it only a few days ago, but of course there would be wedding gifts. And given that this was a royal wedding, they would likely be extravagant. She had shyly asked Gil-galad if there was any way they could request that gifts be foregone, but he had shaken his head. And she understood why; this was political too, just like the wedding itself.

Gil-galad seated her gracefully, keeping her hand in his as she took her chair. It had been plain to her from the start that he enjoyed these small courtesies of a husband: helping her from the saddle after a ride, giving her his arm when they walked together. And those things delighted her as well; small though they were, they added to the constant feeling of being loved, being cherished and cared for and protected.

Once she was seated, he sat beside her. They were the only two at the table, allowing for a few private moments while they ate. The wine had already been poured, and he raised his full glass in salute to the guests.

“Á tule! Mate ar suce merendesse.”

A rumble from the assembled group, everyone else raising their glasses as the first course was brought out and set before the guests. It was a light start, an arrangement of fresh sliced fruits and berries, and Linnea was grateful for it. Her stomach had settled slightly, and the sweet aromas tempted her.

But there was another small ritual that accompanied the food, and it was one she had looked forward to. Perhaps unreasonably so, but seeing it at other weddings had touched her heart in a way she could not explain. 

She picked up her fork, loading it with a small bite of the fruit, and turned to Gil-galad.

He was smiling, as he opened his mouth to receive the food. She carefully extended the fork and he took the bite, chewing and swallowing, and then repeated the exchange for her. The juice spread on her tongue, bursting with flavor. 

A bite from her plate for him, and one from his for her. A wedding ritual for commoners and royalty alike. Perhaps it was the symbolism that had always moved her so, that bride and groom would always care and provide for each other, putting each other first. And she knew that her own marriage would not always be so - she was marrying a King, she was going to be crowned queen. There would be times when the realm’s needs would have to come above their own. But seeing his smile, the love in his eyes, none of that seemed insurmountable.       

“Gi melin,” she murmured, once she had swallowed. 

He reached over, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Gi melin. Once again you render me speechless, rîn vuin. I shall have to find a better way to praise you than to call you beautiful.”

“When you discover it, I would be glad to know of it,” she smiled back. “For I am in need of such as well, aran vuin.”

He kissed her hand again, and perhaps it was for the best that they sat by themselves. She nearly laughed at the thought of others having to tolerate these words, these displays of affection. It was often so, at weddings - part of the joy in celebrating was to see and share in the couple’s love. But it felt more intense now than she had ever been part of, and perhaps that was simply because it was her love. Perhaps everyone felt this way, when it was their turn. 

It seemed no time at all before they had finished the fruit and were standing, walking arm-in-arm to the first of the tables, where the four commanders of the armies were seated. Once again, this had been carefully planned; the most important of the guests would be greeted later in the feast, corresponding with the main dishes. Yet there was still honor in being first, and the choice of the commanders was an acknowledgment of the storms that awaited them and the fights to come.

A long box lay on the table waiting. And after the greetings and wishes for happiness, Gil-galad opened the lid to find a matching pair of daggers resting on a bed of blue silk. They were fashioned expertly, sheathed in ivory leather, and the handles were chased with gold and silver. Beautiful, but also simple; there was no disguising that these were weapons of war. They were meant to be used.

The day that they had begun their journey to Lindon, Hellathas had - without comment - presented Linnea with a dagger to carry. It had been plainer than these, but no less a weapon for that. She had not had to use it, and had been relieved. Her hand, accustomed to shuttle and thread, did not know how to hold a blade. The dagger in the box - the smaller one, plainly meant for her - would feel foreign to her, she who had never had cause to go armed.  

But those thoughts tickled at her again, the reminder of her responsibilities as queen. The responsibility to defend not just herself, but the realm she and Gil-galad ruled.

She echoed the thanks he bestowed on the commanders, praising the skill and beauty of the craftsmanship, and took his arm again to return to their table, her thoughts astir.

A light vegetable soup for the next course, and a visit to the Lorien table, where Amdír and Amroth sat. Their gift was simpler than the daggers, but Linnea privately thought it was much lovelier; they had brought a set of wooden drinking bowls, carefully carved from tree burls and polished to a brilliant, smooth finish. She was on more solid ground here than she had been with the weapons; she lingered, examining and handling each of the bowls carefully. Gil-galad stood watching, smiling as she praised the work, and he chuckled as he nearly had to pull her away for the next course.

“Nán alassea alassetyanen,” he murmured, as they finally returned to their table. Your joy gives me joy.

The next course was fish, poached with wine, and accompanied by root vegetables. And afterward, the table of the Dwarves.

The guests had placed their gifts on their tables, and Linnea had been curious about this one. It was a wooden crate, large enough to where it was difficult to see Durin and Disa sitting behind it, taking up most of the table. It was simple; the shape gave no hint to what it contained. As they approached, the Dwarves stood, and came around to the front of the table to greet them. 

Disa spoke first, beaming as she curtseyed. “High King. My lady. May your marriage shine as bright as Aulë’s own forges.”

As she straightened, Linnea extended her hands, clasping the Dwarf princess’s. “We thank you, Princess Disa, and are honored by the presence of yourself and your lord husband.”

“Indeed,” Gil-galad murmured from beside her. “We look forward to continued goodwill between Lindon and Khazad-dûm.”

Durin cleared his throat, nodding. “There is much that is uncertain,” he rumbled. “As you well know, High King. Yet let our gift be an indication of the potential we see in friendship.”

Gil-galad raised a brow, and reached to open the crate. As he lifted the lid and set it aside, Linnea’s eyes widened.

It was ore. Silvery ore that shone with its own light, heaped in the crate. They had been given mithril. 

Linnea was no smith, but even she could tell that this quantity was vast. It would forge a full set of armor and to spare, or multiple weapons. And with that thought, she was struck by the political brilliance of the gift; something made by the Dwarves would have been difficult for the High King and Queen to accept and use, but the means to make it was entirely different.

Gil-galad looked as stunned as she felt. He reached into the crate, picking out a small piece of the ore. A hush fell over the guests as he raised it up, as everyone saw the light emanating from the depths of the metal.

“Lord Durin,” he murmured. “Your generosity honors us beyond words. This gift is indeed above mere friendship.”

“There's more,” Durin said. “We brought two others. Didn't want to break yer table with the weight.”

Linnea had to stifle a laugh. Gil-galad had shared the incident involving the stone table with her from when Durin had first visited Lindon; he had known the entire thing was a ruse, but had gone along with it as an investment in the future, a seed of friendship planted. 

“My bride and I give you our most humble thanks,” he said. “And we bid you enjoy our hospitality here in Lindon for as long as it pleases you to remain.”

“We depart in the morning, High King,” Disa said. “There is much that demands our attention at home. But perhaps you and your Queen would honor us with a visit one day.”

She had made the offer to Linnea the previous evening, after Tinnaril had left. The expression on her face had been shy - strange to see, on a Dwarf - but it had been honest, and hopeful. And Linnea had assured her that she had not overstepped, that she too would take pleasure in it. 

Gil-galad's face did not betray any of his thoughts, not even to Linnea; he merely inclined his head. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “If the King and Queen of Khazad-dûm wish it, such might indeed be possible.”

He had writ between his words, and it was clear enough as to his meaning. If Durin came to the throne, the friendship between the realms could continue. But it was contingent upon that, and perhaps would even serve as some encouragement to Durin. Seeds planted, indeed.

Gil-galad once again offered his arm to Linnea. As they moved away, back to their own table, she could see servants coming to retrieve the crate - and even they grunted at the effort to lift it.

“What will we do with it?” she whispered.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark. “I know not,” he murmured. “But I feel it should be kept until we are certain. Such a gift has a purpose, even if we do not know it yet.”

His words echoed her own thoughts, and she nodded. “We shall save it until the time is right. Our minds are as one in this, meleth nín.”

He smiled as they reached their table, once again gracefully seating her. “May it always be so, melethel. May it always be so.”

There were several more courses, each more delicious than the last, and in small portions to allow everything to be fully enjoyed. And between them, more gifts; it was an effort to keep track of them all, but Linnea was conscious of Adabes’ watchful eye in the background. She knew there would be a list the following day, precisely noting who had given what, to allow her to send letters of thanks after the wedding was over.

And at last, the final course was finished, a layered pastry confection that was so light it practically melted on the tongue. And the last table waited for them; they had saved Oropher and his family for the end, to allow their gift all the attention that it merited.

There was no box. It was a bundle of leather, placed on the table carefully. The Woodland Elves stood as they approached; Linnea fancied that Tinnaril’s gaze held a trace of warmth, but Oropher and Thranduil were stern and cold. They looked as though they might be twins, with their blond hair and distant eyes. 

“Gil-galad,” Oropher said. “Lady Linnea. Please accept this gift to celebrate your marriage.”

No flowery words; that was not Oropher’s way. Gil-galad had dealt with him enough to know that, and knew better than to push back. Instead, he simply nodded, and began unwrapping the leather. 

Just like the very first gift, it was a pair of matched weapons. But these were bows, both light and sturdy, made in the fashion of the Woodland Elves. Unadorned and yet beautiful; the grips were carved bone and wrapped in virgin leather, and the limbs were smooth and shining. Linnea did not know the wood by sight, but it was dark in color. 

One bow was smaller than the other. She reached out and lifted it free, and her hand curled around the grip in a perfect fit.

The daggers had not spoken to her. This did.

She felt Gil-galad's eyes on her, watching as she turned the bow back and forth. He had not touched his own bow, but he was smiling faintly as he looked at the one in her hands.

“It pleases you, melethel?”

She would need to learn to shoot it. There would be no lack of teachers among Lindon's warriors. And for the first time, the thought of having to fight did not fill her with trepidation; rather, it was a sense of pride, a sense of honor that she would do so for her realm. It was a responsibility that was hers to accept, and with the bow in her hands, she felt that she could accept it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “It does.”

She turned her gaze to Oropher, and bowed her head deeply to him. “We are honored by the workmanship of our Woodland kin, King Oropher. You have our gratitude.”

Oropher nodded at her, and then shifted his gaze to Gil-galad. “I hope you are not so preoccupied with your new bride that you cannot return to the Greenwood soon,” he murmured. “I await the continuation of our discussions. Especially given your queen’s acknowledgement of our craft.”

Inwardly, Linnea groaned. Oropher was proud, she knew that, and she saw the trap too late. The Woodland Elves were skilled, but the Noldor were more so, and it was a sore point for Oropher that his people were less well armed and armored than Gil-galad’s.

But Gil-galad did not rise to the bait; he simply lifted a brow a fraction of an inch. “If my queen is welcome to accompany me, we would be pleased to visit as soon as it is convenient.”

Oropher didn’t reply; he simply nodded once more and sat back down, and Tinnaril and Thranduil followed his lead.  

Do not fret, melethel. 

That candle lit back in her heart, even as Gil-galad turned from the table and extended his hand to her. Oropher is a slippery snake. But there is honor in him, and we will find our way to pin him yet. 

She took the extended hand with a wry smile. Your patience will outlast the stars, my love.

Perhaps in some things. But in others…no, my queen. I have spent these last hours growing more and more impatient.

The ceremony.

Now that the feast was finished, it was time.

He led her to the far end of the courtyard. The murmuring and conversation among the guests died down as they walked, their destination clear; a bower of flowers and vines had been set up for the ceremony. Elrond had seen their movement, and was already waiting there, his hands folded in front of him. He bowed as they approached, and offered Linnea a smile as he straightened up and stepped to the side.

They needed no priest or commander to officiate, as Men did. Their marriage was between the two of them. Silence fell over the courtyard; the only sound was the occasional chirp of the birds. Linnea turned to face Gil-galad, and he did the same, carefully taking both of her hands in his.

“Nál melme coivienyo,” he said simply. “Ma aþal vesta ninna?”

A tear welled in her eye, spilling down her cheek. She knew it would not be the first.

You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?

“Nál melme coivienyo,” she whispered back. “Aþa.”

He had known her answer, but he still smiled at it. His eyes shimmered, and closed briefly.

“Ta, nai Manwe Súlimo tiruva me, Ereinion ar Linnea, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

Then, may Manwe Lord of Wind watch over us, Ereinion and Linnea, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The invoking of Eru’s name sent a shiver up her spine.

“Ar nai Varda Tintalle hlaruva ellorlma, Linnea ar Ereinion, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

And may Varda Star-kindler hear our calls, Linnea and Ereinion, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The words were simple enough, but as they rolled off her tongue, she felt the power in them. It was similar to how it had felt walking to the clearing of the Yavannildi; the eyes of the Valar were upon them, and she could practically feel those gazes pressing against her skin. 

And a warmth, too. An approval of the love that filled the clearing. A feeling even greater than the sense of the Valar, a feeling that made her tremble in its power and its vastness.

But all that paled next to the look in Gil-galad’s eyes.

She could have beheld it until the sun set. But Elrond was coming forward, taking a small bundle of velvet from within his cloak, and that meant it was time for the exchange of rings. 

Once he reached them, he unfolded the velvet reverently, letting the two rings rest in his palm. They were plain bands, no jewels or engraving, just an unending circle of gold.   

Gil-galad went first, and Linnea couldn't help but marvel at his confidence. He took her hand and slipped the silver star off her finger, setting it back in the velvet that Elrond held, and then lifted the smaller of the two bands of gold. In another moment, it was resting cool on her finger, simple and pure. 

Her turn.

The betrothal ring slid off his finger easily, as if even it knew that its task was done. And the gold ring went on just as easily. It was the work of a few seconds at most, but even in that short time, that gold ring looked like it had always been there. Vilya itself was overshadowed.

Another tear welled up and spilled down her cheek. She saw his hand move, and a moment later, felt his warm palm cup her face. 

“Melethel,” he said softly. “I have something more for you.”

At that, she looked up, her eyes blurred from the tears. He smiled gently at her, and then tilted his head slightly so that his voice carried out to the guests. 

“On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new wife.” His words rang out clear, and even had the group been twice the size, no one could have failed to hear him. “For you, melda tarí, as a symbol of the light you have brought to my heart.”

She wasn't entirely surprised. Not after she'd revealed having a gift of her own. And she guessed he had adhered more to tradition, as he extended his hand to Elrond and the herald filled it with another small cloth-wrapped bundle. But she still lost her breath when he opened it.

It was a pendant, wrought of gold, on a golden chain. It was faintly oval in shape, but formed of swirls and curls, evoking the flames she'd thought of when she'd first seen the embroidery on his robes. But at the center of the swirls was a fire opal the size of the pad of her finger, glowing from within, and setting off glittering sparkles in its depths as the light struck it. 

She dragged her eyes from the jewel to Gil-galad's face, unable to speak.

“Calagûr,” he murmured. “May I?”

Calagûr. Heart-light. Linnea had never taken an epessë; not her, a simple weaver. But the word resonated in the air as Gil-galad spoke it, settling upon her shoulders like a cloak of her own. A name, and one that she would carry for the rest of her life; she knew that with utter certainty. 

In the face of it, all she could do was nod, and turn her back to him. His arms came around her, his hands deftly settling the pendant in place and maneuvering the chain beneath her curls. And once he hooked the clasp, the necklace settled into place just above her heart, and the gold was not cold, but as warm as if it had been in the sun all day. 

She turned back, and she met his eyes.

“Melda aran,” and her voice was soft; it was only for him. “Hantanyë tyen.”

It was the most thanks she could give at that moment, with everyone there; it would be most improper for her to grab him and kiss him as thoroughly as the gift merited. But she would do that later - and there was something else she could do now, something she'd been eager for ever since she had begun working with the brown wool her mother had woven.

She took a breath, raising her voice. “On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new husband,” she said. “For you, melda aran, the work of my hands, that you may feel me near even if we are apart.”

She saw him smile at her words. As Gil-galad had been putting the necklace on her, Elrond had discreetly slipped away, and now he was returning with a much larger bundle. The bulk of it filled Elrond's arms, the gold silk wrapping shining.

Gil-galad didn't look entirely surprised either, but of course she had told him she had a gift, and it would not take great wisdom to surmise that it was something of fabric. She accepted the bundle from Elrond and then extended it to Gil-galad, and he took it. He shifted it to one arm, using his free hand to unwrap it, and then the gold silk fell to the ground as he shook out the cloak.

Linnea had cut it with ample room, using every bit of the brown wool. There were pockets inside, reinforced and concealed within the lining, and the lining itself was of brown velvet. She had given it a deep hood as well; if the need was there, he could wrap himself in the cloak and draw the hood and be all but invisible. 

Even without touching it, she could feel her mother's work. Lhénes’ charms had held strong through the cutting and sewing, and the cloak hummed with them. 

And she herself had done more. His vision had stayed with her, of the brown sheep and the snow and the fiery heat of Sauron. Between the wool and the velvet, the cloak was warm and heavy, but she had embroidered charms into each of the seams and along the hem. Inside, protected by the lining so they would not snag or unravel, dozens of charms against fire and heat. He could not stand in the middle of a bonfire in the cloak - at least not for long. But it would buy a few moments, and it was often enough where even moments counted for much. 

She flattered herself that the cloak was pleasing to the eye, but it was a purposeful garment - its place was in war, not at a wedding. But Gil-galad cared nothing for that; he swirled the cloak around himself, draping it over his shoulders to try it on. The edge stopped just above where his feet would be; she had gauged his height well. He looked at the fabric where it hung over his chest, stroking his hand down it.

“It is as beautiful as its maker,” he said softly. “And wearing it will remind me of my wife's embrace. Thank you, melethel.”

She smiled, and bowed her head to him. He slung the cloak off and handed it to Elrond, and then extended his hands to her again. This was the final part of the ceremony, and she placed her hands back in his with no hesitation. Normally, they would speak these final words in Quenya just as they had done with their blessings, but out of consideration for their Dwarven guests, had agreed to do so in Common.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Ereinion Gil-galad and Linnea Calagûr are wed, now and forever.”

His voice was still soft, but again it carried. Linnea swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on his.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Linnea Calagûr and Ereinion Gil-galad are wed, now and forever.”

She wasn't certain that anyone had heard her, the words had come out so quiet and so choked. And her eyes were fixed on Gil-galad. But she heard the applause start - restrained and polite from the Elves, exuberant and joyful from the two Dwarves - and that was proof enough. 

And then Gil-galad leaned down.

It was a chaste kiss, a brief and gentle touch of lips. Appropriate for such a public setting. But she felt just the softest nibble, the briefest hint of the desire and the love behind the kiss, and she nibbled back just as quickly. 

It would do for now.

Continue to Part 13 - warning, contains smut!

Gil-galad's welcome song:

O Elvenkind

Come gather here in this place

The leaves are gold, the water flows

Come and bear witness to this union

The river runs, the birds sing

O Elvenkind!

Come on this, the day of our marriage

The grass is green, the sun is bright

Come and sing, come and celebrate

Come see us now as we pledge our love forevermore.

[khattikeri]

if they dub omniscient reader to english i NEED them to get jerry jewell for kim dokja