#lord tithonus

[mythicalmuseomine]

Lord Tithonus

God of insects

requested by @curious-chaosmagiic taking requests

[communalnullity]

too sleepy-tired today, but at some point it might be worth talking about how Orlok quotes Lord Tennyson's Tithonus and you know other neat little things...

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (18/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~5k

Content warning for the aftermath of a massacre and preparation of bodies for burial in this chapter. Some dialogue is pulled directly from A Court of Mist and Fury, and the poem quoted in this chapter is Tithonus by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

On a lighter note, shout-out to @thesistersarcheron for beast Rhys tongue inspo and to @popjunkie42 for all her Feysand poetry thoughts <3

Read on AO3 or you can find the eighteenth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11 - she underestimated just who she was stealing from | ch. 12 - no amount of freedom gets you clean | ch. 13 - stay stay stay | ch. 14 - call it what you want to | ch. 15 - even when you're sleeping, keep your eyes open | ch. 16 - you drew stars around my scars | ch. 17 - do you remember all the city lights on the water? | ch. 18 - and it smells like me

Rhys halted, taking in Mor's news. "Who," he said, and I hadn't known such utter rage could be conveyed in a single word.

I set the paintbrush down and stepped closer, feeling sick. If the priestesses were anything like the ones I'd come to know at the library…

At that thought, both our anger surged down the mating bond, and it felt as if my chest had been set ablaze. There had already been too much senseless violence Under the Mountain.

"We don't know," Mor said. "Azriel is investigating now."

Rhys began to pace. He'd hidden his wings to avoid them dragging on the floor when he'd sat with me, but shadows rolled off his shoulders as they appeared again, almost involuntarily.

But his voice was still soft as he said, "Does he have any initial theories?"

"You know Azriel—he won't say until he has enough information in hand to be sure. Cassian is pissed, though. He’s convinced it must be one of the rogue Illyrian war-bands, intent on winning new territory."

The rest of the Inner Circle must have heard this news first, then. I watched Rhys carefully for a reaction, unsure if that was how things were typically done. He didn't seem any more agitated than before, and I took that as a positive sign.

"I'm worried he may be correct."

"What are your orders?"

"For tonight, there's nothing to be done in Illyria that we aren't already doing. I'll discuss everything with Cassian in the morning. Mor, you and Amren will assist Azriel with whatever information-gathering he needs done. Be ready to field questions from other courts as news spreads. I'll inform Clotho myself and handle incoming correspondence."

Mor's eyes slid to me, and I nearly jumped—she'd been so focused on Rhys that I'd assumed she'd forgotten I was there. "Cesere is within the Night Court's borders. It falls to us to handle this alongside the priestesses," she said, obviously for my benefit.

"How can I help?" I said, fully expecting to be told to stay out of the way.

"The priestesses at the library will need assistance. Our kind bury our dead as swiftly as possible and keep watch until funeral rites are complete. It will mean something to have you there, Feyre, even if you're only comfortable sitting through the service as a representative of my Inner Circle," Rhys said.

There had been no similar sense of urgency among the mortals. When my mother died, there had been a wake, and for several days before her burial, our house had been full of friends and family paying their last respects. I wasn't surprised to hear things the fae did things differently.

For a moment, my mind flashed back to the sight of Tamlin carrying the bloodied corpse of a Summer Court faerie out of the manor. Tonight would be more of the same. And Rhys was giving me an out to avoid the grisly work if I couldn't stomach it.

I didn't hesitate. "I'll do whatever's necessary," I said. If the priestesses needed me to spend the night digging graves, I would.

With one last promise to keep Rhys informed, Mor winnowed away, and there was nothing left to do but head to the library. Before long, Rhys had left to make arrangements for increased security at the other temples, and I made my way down to the spare rooms near the dormitories to help in whatever way I could.

Merrill, a silver-haired scholar I'd once overheard terrorizing a research assistant, was organizing the efforts and barked out orders at me. I rolled up the sleeves of my tunic and got to work.

The carnage turned out to be exactly as horrific as we'd feared. And in Prythian, a land of immortals, there were no morgues or funeral homes. The gore, the obvious evidence of violence…for many of the priestesses, it brought back too many dark memories for them to even approach the bodies.

I choked back bile as I wiped tear tracks from cold cheeks and scrubbed dried blood from every body part imaginable. Gently, I slid soiled nightgowns and torn robes from stiff limbs and replaced them with shrouds. It was difficult, with the extent of some of the injuries, to create any sort of illusion of peaceful repose; whoever had done this hadn't made these deaths quick or painless.

As we worked, the sisters took turns singing prayers. I didn't recognize the language, but I sensed that it was ancient, the tune slow and mournful and in a key I'd never heard before. Down here, surrounded by the red rock of the mountain and no windows, the repetition was the only thing marking the passage of time.

Eventually, all the bodies were laid out in neat rows—too many rows, the scale of the devastation laid painfully bare. Each was clean and covered in a white linen shroud, ready for burial. For a moment, I just sat with the heavy awareness that each one of the bundles was a life—a world, really—that had been snuffed out. So much loss, just to loot a trove.

Rhys hadn't exaggerated when he'd said the fae moved quickly—as soon as the work was finished, I followed the rest of the priestesses towards the sanctuary for the service. I hadn't expected it to be so soon; one of the sisters caught my look of surprise and gently explained that according to faerie traditions, the soul was in a state of confusion between death and burial, and it was cruel to let it linger like that any longer than absolutely necessary.

The sanctuary was a massive cavern, full of dark wood pews surrounding a plain dais at the center. Though about half of the mourners finding their seats were priestesses, all in their identical pale blue robes, faeries from Velaris were there as well. The news had spread, then.

There were more prayers and singing in that strange, ancient language. No instruments, only voices that echoed in the cavern, beautiful yet melancholy. A candle was lit for each slain priestess as their names we read out one by one.

Unable to follow it, I stood and sat in time with everyone else and allowed my mind to wander. The bond had been quiet—presumably, Rhys was busy but otherwise fine—so I took in the assortment of faeries who'd come to pay their respects.

Perhaps it shouldn't have been such a surprise, but I recognized a few of them. Evelyn, the priestess who'd been teaching me to read, had nodded hello, and I spotted faeries I'd seen a few times in the library or out in the city. I doubted every single one of them knew any of the victims; this was just the community coming together.

That thought made Velaris feel a bit more like…home.

And though Rhys hadn't said it outright—and seemed so intent on not pressuring me that I doubted he ever would—I wondered if attending a vigil like this was something expected of the Lady of the Night Court. Since we'd decided to keep it a secret, we hadn't spoken about my title at all. Or any obligations that came with it. My lack of understanding of the situation when I accepted the bond didn't make me any less of a High Lord's mate, though.

My family's money had run out when I'd turned eleven—my sisters had been the ones raised to be ladies. They'd been the ones expected to someday be the wife of a rich, powerful man, to run households and host balls and busy themselves with charity work that made their husbands look good. I was just the hopeless, half-wild heathen.

Rhys loved me, had confidence in me like no one else, and I doubted I could ever be a failure in his eyes. That wasn't true for the rest of Prythian. I didn't take representing him lightly, especially not for something like this.

Before my thoughts could spiral any further, the funeral ended. The bodies had been winnowed to the graveyard, and there was nothing left to do. It was the middle of the night when I headed towards the townhouse.

I reached down the bond for Rhys as I walked, careful not to startle him. The thread between us went taut anyway, and I could sense that he was instantly on alert.

I didn't even give him a chance to ask if something was wrong I'm fine, home soon. Do you need anything else from me?

Go rest while you can. I've sent Azriel, Mor, and Amren to do the same.

But you aren't? I wouldn't let him talk around it.

I am High Lord, and some things can't be delegated.

For once, he didn't sound arrogant, just matter-of-fact. There was no point in attempting to mother-hen him out of finishing whatever he was obligated to complete tonight, so I didn't bother. I sent a pulse of affection down the bond, assuming that was the end of the conversation.

But he added, None of us liked the thought of you in the townhouse alone. Mor is there.

I was so unused to being looked after that I almost asked why anyone would be concerned. But Mor had mentioned them all being duty-bound and overprotective on my first day here, so perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise.

And at least it wasn't Amren babysitting me.

Something pleasantly warm crossed the bond, along with the strange sensation of a soft kiss pressed to the back of my mind. Then Rhys's shields went back up, and the rest of my walk home was uneventful.

Mor was in the living room when I arrived. At first, I'd thought she must have just been waiting to make sure I'd gotten home safely, but before she'd turned around at the sound of my footsteps, I'd noticed the empty wineglass and the way she'd absentmindedly pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. And then I understood—I wasn't the only one who was better off with company tonight.

I'd never asked about the scar I'd seen peeking out from the waistband of Mor's pants on days she wore something that bared her midriff. She would have covered it if she'd been ashamed, but…it seemed private. Some of the priestesses laid to rest that night had been ripped open in the same place, and I could guess what weighed on Mor.

But still, she brightened immediately at the sight of me, the light coming back into her red-rimmed eyes. I sank into the chair next to her.

"It was good to finally see you painting earlier," she said, voice warm.

I shrugged. "It was just a decoration, not something on canvas or paper. It doesn't really count." Flowers on a table were a start, but it wasn't quite the same as capturing an image that had plagued my mind or using paint to express a feeling that words couldn't.

She nudged me with an elbow. "It was also the happiest I've ever seen you. That counts for something too, you know."

For a while, Mor and I talked about nothing consequential. We both needed it. After everything we'd witnessed, it helped to pretend for a while that nothing was wrong. It made the violence feel more distant, enough that I was able to fall asleep when we both went upstairs, even without Rhys back.

My sleep was fitful, but each time I woke, a caress of talons against my mind—and once, loud purring and a wet scrape against my shields that would have made me think I was being groomed by a cat if it weren't for the forked tongue and rustle of feathers—relaxed me enough to drift off again.

It was nearly midmorning when I got out of bed, the latest I ever managed to sleep. I sensed that Rhys was nearby, and I followed the bond down to the kitchen, where I found him sitting at the table, head in his hands and wings drooping. He didn't look up at me.

"How bad is it?" I said, lingering in the doorway. It was late enough that he must have already spoken with Cassian.

He rubbed at his temples. "No definitive answers. I'd hoped there would be proof that this was nothing more than rogue war-bands that can be put down. Whoever it was knew what they were doing and covered their tracks. It could still very well just be Illyrians…or an act of war."

My blood ran cold. I knew it was foolish to think that killing Amarantha had ended the danger—she had been connected to Hybern, and Rhys and the rest of the Inner Circle had already discussed the possibility of opportunists taking advantage of a weakened Prythian after fifty years of Amarantha's rule. But something about Rhys putting it so plainly suddenly made it hard to breathe.

Before I could say anything, Rhys continued, "This needs to be dealt with swiftly, so I've moved up my visit to the Court of Nightmares. I'll go tonight, take tomorrow to plan. Cassian, Azriel, and I will hunt down the war-bands that are hiding out in the forests."

I knew Rhys—the security of the Night Court was at stake, so he'd find a way to push through it, even though I doubted he was ready to face the very court Amarantha had modeled hers after and his wings were still weakened. He'd tear open as many wounds as he needed to keep his people safe.

But perhaps…I could make sure he didn't have to.

I crossed the room, standing next to the chair and looping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. He curled a wing around me and hid his face in my shoulder.

"If war comes, we'll face it. Together," I whispered against his hair as plans formed in my mind.

He said nothing, too overwhelmed to do anything but tug on the bond. I held him like that for a while, and with my shields firmly in place, I considered how exactly I'd lighten those burdens for him. Neither one of us was alone anymore.

"Have you slept at all?" I said eventually.

He sat back, tipping his head up to look at me. "No. It's—"

"Then go rest, Rhys."

"Is that an order?" Something sparked in his eyes, and I could have sworn amusement had crept into his voice.

"The point of this visit is to show your face in the Hewn City again. You need all the beauty sleep you can get."

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close to it. My hand had been resting on his shoulder, and as he stood, I let it trail down his arm. He interlaced our fingers, and for a moment, just from the way his eyes went soft as he looked at me, I was sure he was about to ask me to come to bed with him, risk of slashing talons during a nightmare be damned.

I would have said yes. And even if he never asked, I still had half a mind to follow him upstairs anyway, just to give into the feral, protective instinct to keep watch while my mate slept.

But Rhys didn't ask. Instead he pressed a kiss to my knuckles and said, "Make sure you eat something."

I knew what that meant. "I love you, too."

He squeezed my hand once, then winnowed upstairs. For the next few hours, I could feel through the bond that he'd at least managed to catnap before he had to leave. I had things to do as well, but I wouldn't let Rhys sleep in an empty house, either. And I did need to eat. So I paced the townhouse restlessly with food in hand.

Then once Rhys left, my first order of business was making my way to the House of Wind.

I could have asked him to bring me there—and probably saved myself the trouble of climbing ten thousand steps again—but for now, I didn't want to tell him exactly why I wanted to go. As I climbed and climbed, I hoped my assumptions about who might be in the training ring were correct.

And they were. "Is everything alright, Feyre?" Azriel said, without turning from the target he was sinking a dagger into.

"I'm fine," I said, and at the very least it was true that I wasn't in danger. "I wanted to speak to you."

"Now?"

"Yes. While Rhys is busy." That finally got Azriel to drag his attention away from target practice. The way his gaze swept over me was an obvious assessment, as if he was cataloging all the information he found at the sight of me. I didn't mind. When Azriel didn't say anything, I added, "I think I should come with when you go to Illyria."

I'd half-expected him to immediately tell me no, that it was too dangerous. But Azriel tipped his head to the side and asked, "What makes you say that?"

I sat down at the edge of the ring, more grateful than ever that Rhys surrounded himself with the type of people who'd hear me out. Azriel sheathed the dagger and sat down beside me.

"I know I can't take on an Illyrian, and I'm not stupid enough to try," I said, choosing my words carefully, "but I'm concerned it will be difficult for him if we're separated again so soon after….everything. You and Cassian will need him to focus, and he can't afford to make a mistake and appear weak."

Azriel was silent again, clearly mulling it over, but I couldn't read much of a reaction from him beyond that. It was unsettling to consider much that impassive face could be hiding. If I didn't trust already him, I would have nervously blurted out all of my thoughts right then and there.

"It's an angle to consider. Is there…something you had in mind to do while you're there?"

It was a valid question, though I hadn't expected Azriel to ask how I intended to ensure I wasn't a deadweight so tactfully. And at least I had an answer prepared.

"Let me hunt so the three of you can focus on the task at hand instead of trying to feed yourselves or carry rations. You'll get done faster."

Azriel raised an eyebrow. I was ready to remind him that I was still a competent enough tracker to avoid anyone in the woods I might not want to run into. My muscles tensed almost involuntarily, my body preparing for a fight.

But instead he said, more gently than I'd ever heard him, "Tell me why you really want to go."

I stared out at the mountains in the distance and thought about what to say. Even though I knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, it was still difficult to find the words. Azriel just waited, patient as ever.

"I need to be outside for a few days straight. After— After being stuck in that cell, I just want to be able to pick a direction and run, somewhere there's so much space that I'll tire myself out before I find a single building."

I almost told him that I didn't want to sit behind in Velaris and wait for Rhys to come back, but that seemed cruel, all things considered. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Az rub his thumb along the spot on his hand where the scarring was the most obvious.

"I know the feeling," he said quietly. I started to respond, but he added, "You can't scream in Velaris, at least not without scaring the neighbors. But if you ever need to…let it out, I'll show you the empty places in the Illyrian Steppes."

Azriel knew. Just like with Mor's scars, I'd never asked about his, but whatever had happened, he'd been confined in the dark once. I hadn't realized it—I'd come to him first because he'd supported me trapping the Suriel on my first day in the Night Court.

"Thank you."

"You haven't brought this up to your mate, have you?"

There was no accusation there. Azriel's voice was even, and I had the sense he was just…gathering more information.

"Not yet. I wanted to see what you and Cassian thought first."

A single nod. "Prudent."

"Do you think it's a good idea, then? For me to go?" I said, once the silence stretched on long enough that it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate.

"It's worth discussing. Even after the frenzy, mated males are…volatile."

Azriel shifted awkwardly, tucking his wings in tight. And I understood—I didn't particularly want to discuss the mating frenzy, either. Especially not with someone who was more or less family. But after the way Rhys had growled at Cassian over me, we were right to consider what those instincts might mean, whether being apart or potential danger in the woods was a bigger risk.

I thanked him again and got up to leave, but the sound of Azriel's voice, midnight-dark and more stern than I'd ever heard it, stopped me in my tracks. "Where do you think you're going?" I turned, and Azriel had already gotten up from where he was sitting and unsheathing another blade. "You climbed ten thousand steps to get up here, so make it worth your while and work on your knife skills."

Azriel had earned that reputation as a hard bastard. Even today, I wasn't going to get out of training.

And if war was coming, I'd need all the training I could get. I took the knife and got to work, if only for a short lesson.

When we finished, Azriel flew me to the townhouse, and Rhys wasn't back yet. That was fine—there was still more I needed to do. The chances of a nightmare were too high that he'd share a bed with me that night. But he needed sleep, and he'd said that I smelled like safety.

I was used to hiding my scent, not spreading it. With the glamour on me, I wasn't even sure my idea would work, but it seemed worth a try, even if it did make me feel faintly ridiculous.

I dug my clothes out of the laundry and tucked them in the corners of Rhys's room. When I'd hunted, I'd kept a specific set of clothes for the woods and washed them as infrequently as possible, minimizing the scent of laundry soap. If it worked in the forest…maybe it might work here.

Then I hesitated, just for a moment, to touch the bed. Before, I'd only ever ventured into his bedroom when Rhys had a nightmare, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was somehow a violation, ridiculous as that was when there was an unbreakable thread connecting our souls and my bite marks made him preen.

I pushed those thoughts aside and crawled under the covers. Trying my best to be thorough, I rolled around and rubbed my hair against both sides of the pillow. I repeated the process under both the sheet and the duvet for good measure, then made the bed and spent some time on top of it.

I hoped it was enough. I doubted we'd take a sleeping draught tonight; being difficult to rouse if there was another emergency was too much of a risk.

By the time I finished, it was getting late, and I wasn't sure now was the time for Rhys to come home and find me waiting in his bed, even if it was…tempting. I filed that thought away for another time.

I was still restless—too long without anything to do, and I found myself thinking of the slain priestesses again, the sight of mutilated bodies flashing across my mind again. In search of another distraction, I wandered back to the living room and looked at the bookshelves lining the walls. I'd never paid much attention to them before. But apparently Rhys considered them mine too, and perhaps there was something worth copying for handwriting practice.

I pulled the book with the most cracks in the spine off the shelf, idly wondering if it was his favorite. I'd ask, but…misplaced shame still made it difficult to talk about reading. Still curious, I flipped it open to a random page and struggled through what appeared to be poetry.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,

The vapours weep their burthen to the ground…

I scowled and put the book back. Years of hunting had been more than enough decaying woods for a lifetime, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what a burthen was.

I tried another book and found more poetry—Cauldron, how much of it did Rhys read? But the words were shorter, which I felt better about, so I found a pen and paper and brought the book to the roof with me. The full moon and the light of the stars and Velaris were enough to read by.

I didn't pay much attention to what the poem was about, just focused on copying the letters as neatly as possible. Something about the work and sitting under the stars was strangely meditative.

But I didn't relax completely until I heard a soft rustle of wings and turned to see Rhys landing a few feet away. Something inside me settled. Perhaps some of my restlessness had just been the mating bond railing at him being away, even for only a few hours.

Rhys nearly always looked elegant, but for the Hewn City, there wasn't a single speck of color on him. There was no sheen to the fine black fabric of his suit, no embroidery like he often favored, just cloth so dark it seemed to gobble the light, buttoned up to hide his tattoos. The night itself clung to him more tightly than usual.

His grip on his power was still a bit looser than usual, and though it was faint, I felt familiar darkness reaching for me.

I watched his feet touch the ground, the movement far more graceful than the last time I'd seen it. For a moment, I just savored it—the wingspan, the promise of death in just the way he carried himself, my blood singing in answer to the darkness rippling from him.

I almost didn't notice the ebony crown. He'd never worn one in front of me before.

"Is there magic keeping that on your head," I said, "or did you have to learn to fly without it falling off?"

He snorted. "Hello, Feyre."

A flick of his wrist as he sank into the chair next to mine, and the crown disappeared and the top button of his jacket loosened itself. His gaze landed on the open book and notepad in my lap. Before he could ask about it, I said, "How did it go?"

"I didn't have to make an example of anyone, so as well as could reasonably be expected," he said, rolling his shoulders with a pinched expression on his face.

No violence, then. It felt like the first respite in a while.

We sat on the roof and talked for a while about nothing in particular, a silent understanding passing between us that we both didn't want to feel enclosed or alone. I summoned up the courage to ask about the books downstairs; my visible relief at the lack of dirty limericks Tamlin favored made Rhys snicker and tell me the awful verses were still a mercy compared to fiddle music.

Until he'd spat those last two words like a curse, I hadn't realized I'd put enough distance between myself and the Spring Court to joke about it. Despite everything that had happened in the last day, I felt…lighter.

Exhaustion still settled over both of us as we'd talked, and in just the set of his shoulders and wings, I could see the way being underground had taken something out of him. It was an early night.

As I slid into bed, I was tired enough that I'd nearly forgotten what I'd done in Rhys's room earlier. But his voice floated into my mind, as if a night-kissed wind carried it through the crack in my shields I'd left for him.

Feyre darling…

"Yes?" I said aloud. He'd hear it from across the hall.

Do I want to know what you were doing that involved rolling around in my sheets and leaving your socks for me to find?

My cheeks heated, and even though couldn't see it, I rolled over and hid my face in the pillow anyway. "Tonight might be another bad night. I thought my scent might help. Because I can't…"

For the length of a heartbeat, the bond lit up with gratitude. Then there was a dip in the bed next to me, and Rhys's arms were banding around my chest and pulling me to him. He'd winnowed right to me.

"You are impossible to stay away from when you're being brilliant," he murmured against my hair.

I nearly asked him to stay. But I knew it was hard enough for him to let me in enough to see the aftermath of a nightmare, and that was when there was no risk to me. He didn't say it, but…I suspected he was only holding me until I fell asleep.

I twisted in his arms so we were face-to-face, then kissed him gently. "It won't always be like this. The bad nights will be behind us eventually."

He sighed and let his head tip forward until our foreheads were touching. I closed my eyes and let my breathing slow, warm and comfortable. We stayed like that for a long time, until he finally winnowed back to his room.

I scooted over to the warm spot he'd left, already aching for him. It would still be a while before my thoughts stopped racing enough for me to finally drift off, but Rhys didn't need to know that. I'd pretend anything at all to give him peace of mind.

Sleep finally claimed me as his side of the bed went cold again.

[apolloslyrics]

hi, can i ask smth if its okay?

is there any diety you would know of that sends bugs as a message? been seeing a LOT of bug motifs recently, my pinterest page is flooded with them despite never looking at them, i’ve woken up to one on my windowsill, there was a massive atlas moth on my door as i was about to go to an appointment, and there was one, like this really beautiful shimmery one that landed right on my hand just. chilling when i was at a restaurant. in a place where there was like…0 chance of that bug being there???

not sure if im jus an insect whisperer now or what 😭 but like if you have any advice pls let me know

Hi!!! Ofc you can ask that!!! Insects and deities, hm...

Well, I'm assuming these insects are showing up in uncommon places! If it's normal each year for you to see insects, it may not be a sign. Buuuuut considering it doesn't sound very normal, and there are other factors besides in-person encounters, it's totally reasonable to wonder about deities!!

I know that Loki is associated with insects, particularly moths, flies, and spiders, so he might be worth looking into.

There's Beelzebub, lord of the flies, if you're interested in working with infernals.

In Greek mythology, there's Tithonus, known as the god of insects.

Eos is Tithonus's wife, and is sometimes associated with insects, as well.

That's about all I can think of/find for now!! Good luck 🫶 and take care of yourselves!!

[teitho]

Don’t forget to submit your fic!

Our November and December prompt is Homecoming.

A homecoming can be a return to a familiar, welcoming place or it can be a journey back to a place that holds complicated and difficult memories.

It can be a return or an arrival. A longed-for event or a dreaded one.

It may be complicated, as when Galadriel sails to return to Valinor. Or it may be as straightforward, as Sam’s return to Bag End after seeing Frodo off at the Havens.

Who will you be bringing home for this challenge? Where and how do they return? Is it a true, homecoming to a physical place or an emotional reunion of the heart or perhaps a return in thought alone?

However you choose to tell your story we will be looking forward to your submissions making their way to our inbox!

Please submit your story to teitho.contest@gmail.com on or before December 31!

Your mods,

Carawyn, LOTRFan and Sian22

[thequietabsolute]

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from Tithonus

[endless-formsmostbeautiful]

But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills,  And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,  And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd  Tithonus by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The X-Files: Tithonus

dir. Michael W. Watkins, written by Vince Gilligan

[libidomechanica]

“The brain tree say to you”

A limerick sequence

               1

But on the mound of Darkness rushing o’er the mind. The brain tree say to you.    That it is sometimes thoughts    serene several praise the thinks these our planetary night.

               2

Yet proud peopled with piteous empress most dead, thy ransom’d reason at all    the deeps. And come away!    ’Er was of his soul, and marvel what proue? Confused by the first.

               3

Be confined doom. Nor that’s one cause to gracious hands, saying, sheikh, Be wise, which    makes us wise, she fill’d    with rust, she that like a swimming pool at noonday. Signet there?

               4

But this was Life,—the train to riper years of doom. He cam also share it.    By the same song than a    long mute he stood, he tore the month of you, let this holy urn.

               5

Said the sweep the conversation if that grief makes men weep, ev’n superstition    as if he dare, his    nights are broke, and therefore can’t take bread at my feith I shal seyn.

               6

The latter and the long night. It was no drede, thanne wolde I chidde hym in sonnets    pretty peasant. All    difficulty smoothness rough, especial honour is not worn.

               7

With showers and Erycine, displayment. The Turks their father, touch thy peers;    the holly round the way    the wo, Ful giltelees, by Goddes sweetest, the little then.

               8

Of human loves him yet reflects a kindred eye, teach me naturally though    he had found your beauty?    Walk away; drop your flockes vp al my sense: in malice bare.

               9

Wandering of a sin to put in words. Nothing, all see it ruinous    and roses, flower beat    with Tithonus the tale was homeless traveller hears therinne.

               10

The lading orator. The prow, and no great little ear’s a lilly, her    very poor heart out of    the Seed of the wonder what sholdest loke me in thin array?

               11

Where her loves. Like falling hand, addressed, ordained the flippant put his fortune    Allah; unto whom long    I lovd so debonair, as from central sea. To lighter heart.

               12

It groan’d her home, and fruitfulnesse? If all women you enter a room to    proceed out of him for    which of us than The Wise. I was one-and-twenty, and you.

               13

Ruffle thy bed-vow broke and pain, and can’t well descend, and seamen, when they    left behind. From year to    thee. What dostow at my mistress’ eye Love’s willing from their own!

               14

But thereby committing aptest words that practice quite confounded in    courageless, had given    her loose halo would give, that he loved. To myriads of his Love.

               15

The time and place, and like a miser’s hoard, to track our herde the Frere; now, dame,    quod he, so have been the    lords in air: so was her lo’e nae man but wanton; he’s obscene.

               16

And staggering breast. The Privy, ’ lord Henry walk of letters thus the stars    united two, and want    and sweeping by would have tied her tower to Venus, and shield.

               17

These he call’d Salámán’s Soul, and, subtly sifting gales that meet him but    like fleas off my bed was    full, and dreaming pangs, which it fester smell as tails.—He hates remoue.

               18

Cruel fell, and pulse of wisdom to give. And turn with some reason, and I have    sought and loud long booming    blow. If it brings me to blame not think that brow, so the colour.

               19

Come, sister, and knowledge of snakes in dangerous and lines of the summer    day with shut eyes when warm    wish springs hereafter, long ere the day, and he sholde been spilt.

               20

Both man and his Discount, you know that I ne tolde the green, deep-seated in    a mad way. She keeps virtue    place, but spirit? And loved again, so loud with Death; and last.

               21

This noble shame is rack’d with joy to his immortal stuff which ran the sun,    when like one wreath, and in    that strain abode. The world exactly follow’d thy crescent clay!

               22

My bosom where she less that testify the danced a circle. It’s you as    his mountain road, which I    compile sharpen’d earth, and replied: The rites in which way is home?

               23

Sweet side by side, and if their part who likes a listen’d the youthful, charming    Chloe. Sleep, the Argo,    convey’d Medea as her use, and made the bedded-down knot.

               24

And clear late rain clings to flie, and like a vineyard, scatter’d with politics.    For show precedence up,    and come between the wild sky, the pulses of the sun doth moue.

               25

” Thus his tongue, I saw, in grave, and mind. Ich am in his desire. Is    comrade, sprawling rhymes, but    by his ground and slept, filled the dream of human things in wedlock.

               26

He came behind, a dream-mother to mother! Thou seydest thine ear; a shudders    at the throned races    may resemblances that man love and displease, Cossacques.

               27

As the purpos, why I tolde no deyntee of his own hand hit as meaning in    his desport he wolde prechour    in each breakes the clover such? An enduring, married.

               28

Silent-lighted there; and courage earnd it to the end of a lover someone    asks—You have thou ynogh,    thee too well a well- wrought to see. We are fools and we wept.

               29

The moan of doves in woe and weep; desire to heavens; there is more. Excused    the assaults of wheat    and wept saying, sheikh, my only Hope and Fear, if all your mind.

               30

Who wears a crown, which left the Earth all the throne; and I do love of good, for    blood a fresher former    ties, where all dead or dying, they slepte, and felt the same. The hand.

               31

Which I compile sharp satires, the cattle head, who first invented verse    this till now; and thus defied    their courted her. My Arthur found their treasure of my Soul!

               32

Perceiving through he look’d to human strife soon taught to wrecchednesse was al    mankynde broght to blow. One    whispering run warmed by the wheel of roses. Sharp satire.

               33

But she dearly held. Since brass, oft with some mould; not like in fact the quarter    that weeps I come back t    is no reason’s chill, and Mars the bathe youth and hire malencolie.

               34

, And quietly as it went. Thou and clear. He seyde, Lat the matin lamp in    sight, my pilgrim’s staff, his    wonder how that a caterwaul at midnight make us men.

               35

Will be true concordance of human hands the expres of ice, that, wholly    boughs, and gather in the    head was such echoes broken. Of Demons? Or what silent too.

               36

And Iphigene to women, though I knew what Love sails at summon December    June their souls, like a    spur and smile. Yet as these two—they dwelt with Wellesley’s glory.

               37

And soon espy themselves as strangely falls on him with a sigh I take turns    had flung the power and    nature rarely pipes the human hand did make breathless pliant.

               38

Smale, and lovelier moods are like a broken neck. No doubt low kind! We left    the prey their column yet    remain the rest of darkness and in the happy is the shot.

               39

Then second suit obtain. You leave of thought at heard they are; yet no more, of    love, when they built a life    that beauty’s anger would bewray, when we come to the feature.

               40

What to each other, then change to live; robert Burns: grant the first, for this. Now    in the ship moored conscious    to blind those love did. But hawks will be lov’d no more I hym twiste.

               41

And let thy flame, fade wholly dies, which sweets dost thou so dear. The wonders, words    of human things to them,    that were much better to one that shine bright ynogh to me love.

               42

Brought by day. Upon ech a syde. I see the bed to mead, or sheepwalk up    their loves. The eye aside:    what pray’rs; snatch a shield and wit, to see. ’St the circle and crave.

               43

Colder part, or seal’d the knot. That he was a revelour—this instant husbands’    sides warrior in the    breathe destined bride; she fear of burning feast, that all satisfied.

               44

To where were goode, and darksome piece designed, but makes me wise. And Jankyn, oure    sheep and Debt, are purchased    by me, and many a sandy bar, the boy for truth and air!

               45

Come; let us leave the man who dared to some captive candle. There with decent    care, nor lose the Taxes,    Castlereagh, and Desire—the Sensual Taint, be left.

               46

Thirdly, that oxen, asses, hors, and displeased. Come there reigned; and, once could craze;    Zuhrah, he said brokenly,    that in the purple from my cheeke depeincten liuely chere.

               47

Upon th’ approach and fears and if that good manners from a nation.    This strife of the weak    disdainful eyes the bases of men moore harm than his owene mayde?

               48

Rings Eden thro’ all his Soul the Spirit, and be procuress to Pall Mall.    How manye myghte the tendency    of burning sphere of strawberries spread the close in your arms?

           ��   49

But when the sot stood on the wilds, as babies beat their head, a lighte a candle.    I must read how roughly    he in English, Espanol Site Copyright Jalic Inc.

               50

After me forsworn, to me resigns to their pause I love. Exalts the    luminous bird and all vices    got which joyfully yields to that he said or sung for this.

               51

That oon thou art turn’d, the stake, and return in half the morn on the page; she    for the northern Farmer    nothing all. Recalls, and returning from clime to climb the deep.

               52

Who broke our food we had proved, a Spiritual of these, not leave me with sorwe!    Kisses; and stormed at the    flower is to be wedde me. Morality to find a tree.

               53

When language of life into gloom I strive to propagates in the    submissive grown thought with light    regret, o my forerunners. And like stars who, when he dances.

               54

Oh the body would complaint? Your heaven, they bestow it; till back I always    be seen at first the    Russian steep. Last Love, in fire in her Delight, and majesty.

               55

On the hills. Which, light out and that eye forests, and a bloody, full oft in    rurall vaine. But this is    I: ’ but all he finds on misty Acheron, heaved him amaze.

               56

They dismiss the fate of nations, continue to fame, the sun, yet sholde me,    I waste place, my heart. Performed    the full stronger failed to produced by vanity. With song.

               57

Assist me, Heav’n, one human strife diffused the starving so. But deaf and crammed    with the year’s first is set    up for praise the thee stay; sad proof of dirt is payment for thee.

               58

Thing like the bed to me. But Juan had more to wage your safe as guarded breast    of life as fressh as is    a brilliant overthrowne, and epic, if plain defend thee home.

               59

This is to hear. By this new order living whole and years to bear a gift    force and meke, and force to    slake Thy thirsting attaches— but he, that is payment for that.

               60

But were vulgar, cold, all feel ‘em most. Their poesy so rare and shrilled it    Venus’ altar, to you    tried to kiss me sweet humility; had fallen on a hill.

               61

Strife; ring out that canst vouchsafe so much the frost and warm, o sacred be those    love contested farthings    will oftentimes in one and find him. He made him dwelt with woe!

               62

Hath put a spirits in her here the locker room corner me again down    the plains will not say how    to cease. Careless of parade of parade. Or when left alone.

               63

Our sameness survives is golden tone. Like hail, to make a queynte fantastic    bags for your thigh almost    mindlessly. Or simple Hero, nothing I have to banquet.

               64

And with contrarious, they shapes in shadowy land. Dark house arriv’d. The prisoner    sent, a laureate’s    ode, or virtue dignify a woman is in the places.

               65

What eyleth swich that these fruitless coldness gathered Rhodians crowd with eyes of    the palisado’d in    a rowe? But folk of wyves mo than that loved and carol rang.

               66

As good conceit of love. The Danube’s struggle having corn wav’d green: and    what’s to sadder to comfort    dare not received, expects us, the germ. And againe wit.

               67

As Captain Parry’s voyage may do to Jason’s. From deep in mine; strange man    shades o’ dawn are flowre Delice.    And let the wild oat not a breath as fierce, perhaps some wretch!

               68

Even when you love made a wife ere noon? For by this thanks, and holds out half    a day.—And thro’ the dream    could not been set to rise, and tumble pardon, if in my way.

               69

In hell were little things: ’ thirdly, that Isle deceive. As now about the prov’d    assays, loving you bend    to you. Must be true than fiction; if we held dear; but by time.

               70

The city, sore beset by Christmas did we weave their backs, and found made the    conversation. Now wol    I fonde. That I walk in expectation and smell as she sought.

               71

Seldom. To yield all blank day. And it’s you tried you, a million. His victory    confest, though in the view,    too, the throne, his winged her inspires; and wheel’d or lit the patient.

               72

As the dark from hevene it is at rest: but when I fade away, as on    a suddenly, took like    hollow sound. Which fills the case with she wakes, shorn of nobler ends.

               73

—Then juan consent shall try that nothing! And Autumn, with a fruitful seeds with    Thought vpon a hillock down    her pure loue thou ynogh, whan he had seen that steadies us.

               74

If, in the other land; when one were his Bosom with encroaching heart, the    flower and unleashes    the light: she men. Sails to make speech of self-confession, the blinds.

               75

Up Johnson was in the lading of gods and owning but a fine air I    tremble o’er her throat and    few could I torment. Which flies twixt the world’s stage set, thought at heart.

               76

Her heauen is the antipodes of purėd whetė seed, and were the land, and    with breath, o sweete pyne! One    creation’s debt; and frost, no wind, who confounds in single soul.

               77

Discussing how they were the corner me again, and wrought that earst seem to    love’s beauteous bride. Leapt    fiery course, and continues cold to fight, and I sank and gay.

               78

Their fellow wood, an innocent predominance and angels, muse, to pass    away, death of hem ful    blisful was an hour away. Wilt thou art twice their city burn.

               79

Chaste were before the Muses enter’d. When thousand whom they bedew’d, awake    unto thise words masculine    persuading oratories, the gloom the stake fast you love.

[deathsbestgirl]

so many ny/nj!! the jersey devil, eve, born again, the host, sleepless, part of tunguska? kaddish, maybe tempus fugit/max, tithonus <3, maybe lord of the flies.

Reblog and claim the X-Files episode that takes place closest to your hometown!

(If you need a refresher, here is a list-not mine)

I haven’t seen this far in the show but apparently I get an episode called Demons (seasoned viewers: did I get a good one?)

[derangedrhythms]

And all I was, in ashes.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from 'Tithonus'

[drakulesa]

„Eos and Tithonus” by Jean-Paul Baptiste Marie Pierre, 1747

„And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears ,To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: Why should a man desire in any way, To vary from the kindly race of men Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance , Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?” — fragment from Tithonus by Alfred Lord Tennyson

[thanatophobia-thoughts]

I touched briefly on immortality and the dream of it before, and how I don’t think we as humanity should stop writing and pondering immortality and its implications. I don’t even think we should stop trying to extend our lives in pursuit of it, because while immortality itself may be impossible simply due to natural decay of, well, everything – it has been dreams and dreamers that have expanded what we are capable of.

Centuries ago, we couldn’t do a heart transplant.

Now, I have a friend recovering from one (and let me tell you, that was worrisome – she’s all right at the time of my writing this, in the hospital to continue lowering her immune response so the heart isn’t destroyed).

With dreams of extending life, we’re going to keep conquering the ailments of mortality, and improve our lives, so I want that to continue, even if immortality is a fantasy – life extension may not be, though I don’t know how far that could go for the average person.

I wanted to touch on the fantasy bit of this again, in the immortal creatures we’ve created, such as Vampires, Tithonus, denizens of the Island of Immortals from Gulliver’s Travels, Elves, and plenty of others.

Of these, perhaps only Elves are put into a positive light with regards to immortality, yet even JRR Tolkien’s elves eventually go off to another place, apart from the rest of Middle Earth. I am not certain if elves of other mythos (like DnD) are similarly immortal, or just long-lived. I know in DnD it is simple longevity, rather than actual immortality.

Vampires are often viewed as former humans who are changed into vampires, where they acquire bloodlust, with the boon of being able to live forever. The rules regarding them vary across mythologies, but those two seem to be the most constant aspects. Many of those who do live for a while, however, tend to go insane. They lose their sense of morality, the changes of the world cause immense stress, their loved ones die, on and on in a sense of endless tragedy.

Tithonus is an individual figure, the love of Eos/Dawn in Greek Mythology. She requests that he be immortal, but forgets to ask for eternal youth…so he ages, and ages, until he becomes a cicada, begging for death and unable to have it.

The immortals in Gulliver’s Travels are another example of those who are immune from aging death, but still face the hardships of change. Many of them will still suffer bodily ailments or mental decay, so it’s not pictured as a good thing.

In fact, many examples of immortality are often described as a curse, like in Tuck Everlasting, which is just a family that happened upon some water.

I like to think that the idea of making immortal creatures miserable is to try and get humanity okay with the thought of dying, one day. Even if we can’t truly imagine how immortality would be, we do try, and in doing so, we tend to portray it as miserable rather than grand.

The exclusions from this are those things which have always been immortal, like Gods, Goddesses, and Elves. Although Elves do clearly still suffer, and can die of wounds, Gods and Goddesses often cannot die at all, and likely can’t understand mortality since it is in their nature to live forever. Sidenote, this is not true of ALL gods across all Pantheons, as Norse deities absolutely do die, and as we know of Indra, it’s also expected that even Hindu gods will be reborn.

Regardless – when it comes to humans who find a way to live forever, they’re not prepared for it, and it becomes a miserable ordeal.

If reading about immortals is useful, and how miserable they are, then consider looking into fiction about such things! There’s plenty of vampire novels, movies, and other forms of media out there. If vampires aren’t your style, there are elves, Gulliver’s Travels, Tuck Everlasting, and a host of other options to look at, to help quell your desire for immortality.

It hasn’t really quelled mine – but it could help you!

[dilutedh2so4]

Was reading Paris' letter to Helen in Ovid's Heroides and thought back to this post

It’s a Phrygian, Ganymede, one born of our race, who mixes nectar now for the gods. It’s a Phrygian, Tithonus, who’s Aurora’s husband: the goddess carried him off, she who prescribes the final border of night. Anchises, is Phrygian too, whom the mother of the winged Cupids loves to lie with on the ridges of Mount Ida.

And then we have pretty-boy Paris himself, of course ;)

My beauty and my vigour of mind, though I seemed from the common folk, were the sign of hidden nobility. [...] Just as I desire you, women desire me: you alone can have what many pray for. Not just the daughters of kings and lords seek me, but I am cared for and loved by nymphs.

seeing as so many members of priam's immediate family have been abducted for their beauty (ganymede being the most well-known, but not forgetting priam's siblings tithonus and hesione), i want to suggest the concept: what if priam's just crazy good-looking too. maybe he has all those wives not because of cultural bigamy but because all these women just wouldn't give him up and they had to agree on a compromise

[xshayarsha]

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world,

Alfred Lord Tennyson, from Tithonus.

[i-never-knew-keats]

I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world,

‘Tithonus’ by Alfred Lord Tennyson

[poem-today]

A poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Tithonus

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world, A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream The ever-silent spaces of the East, Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.         Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man— So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd To his great heart none other than a God! I ask'd thee, 'Give me immortality.' Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, Like wealthy men, who care not how they give. But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills, And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: Why should a man desire in any way To vary from the kindly race of men Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?         A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, And bosom beating with a heart renew'd. Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom, Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine, Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise, And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes, And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.         Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful In silence, then before thine answer given Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek.         Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, And make me tremble lest a saying learnt, In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? 'The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.'         Ay me! ay me! with what another heart In days far-off, and with what other eyes I used to watch—if I be he that watch'd— The lucid outline forming round thee; saw The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd all Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm With kisses balmier than half-opening buds Of April, and could hear the lips that kiss'd Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.         Yet hold me not for ever in thine East: How can my nature longer mix with thine? Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam Floats up from those dim fields about the homes Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead. Release me, and restore me to the ground; Thou seëst all things, thou wilt see my grave: Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn; I earth in earth forget these empty courts, And thee returning on thy silver wheels.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

(1809-1892)