#mallorn trees

[ospreyeamon]

Parf Edhellen says Lindórinand is a Nandorian name meaning “Vale of the Land of Singers”. The Nandor is what the Quenya-speaking Amanyar called the elves who broke off from the initial Great March to Aman before reaching Beleriand; the Lindi is what they called themselves. So, Lothlórien has two ancient names given to it by the Silvans’ forebears which we can approximate to “Valley of the Singers (the Lindi)” and “Valley of Gold(en Light)” and Treebeard gives both together because why use a short name when you could use a longer one.

Nearly all the Watsonian written records containing the history of Middle-Earth we have access to were made by Noldor, Númenorians, or hobbits. The peoples of the third tribe of the elves (the Sindar, the Lindi, the Silvans, the Laiquendi etc.) tended to keep oral rather than written histories, so everything we know about them comes second or third-hand. The Noldor and Númenorians both have issues with cultural supremacy; their name for the Nandor means “Those who go back on their decision/word”.

Tolkien Gateway’s page on mellyrn’s source for the story of Galadriel bringing the mellyrn to Lothlórien is A Description of the Island of Numenor’s story about how Númenor’s king gave Gil-galad the seeds which Gil-galad gave to Galadriel who planted them in Lothlórien. It’s a Númenorian account claiming all the mellyrn in Middle-Earth came from Númenor. (The Númenorians would like you to know that their malinorni were definitely taller than the Silvans’ ones. Almost as tall as the ones on Tol Eressëa even though theirs were younger so they totally would have grown taller than the ones on Tol Eressëa eventually).

Frodo, who personally heard Haldir’s words, is the more reliable source.

The Case for the Silvan Mellyrn

I have a post about this in the newsletter tag, but, in fellowship of the ring, Haldir says this:

Alas for Lothlórien that I love! It would be a poor life in a land where no mallorn grew. But if there are mallorn-trees beyond the Great Sea, none have reported it.'

which is odd, because according to Tolkien Gateway, the Mellyrn were brought to Lothlorien by Galadriel from Valinor (via numenor, apparently), which Haldir would presumably know.

And Treebeard calls Lothlorien by an ancient name, Laurelindórenan, which means the valley of singing gold, which, according to Tolkien Gateway, was a Silvan name

The land in which they dwelt (the forest east of the Hithaeglir, above Fangorn and below Mirkwood) became known in the Silvan tongue as Lórinand, or Laurelindórenan.

It would not make sense for this to be the name of the golden wood before the golden trees. Tolkien appears to have adressed this, (at least, according to Christopher) saying:

In a manuscript composed by Tolkien sometime after The Lord of the Rings, Lórinand is said to be a Nandorin name, meaning "valley of gold" (containing the "Elvish word meaning 'golden light'").[1]

However, Christopher Tolkien notes that in a later manuscript the name Lórinand was reconceptualized as "a transformation, after the introduction of the mallorns, of a yet older name Lindórinand"

It is not entirely clear on Tolkien Gateway what Lindórinand means? Maybe someone can help me with that

So the mellyrn are, in one iteration of the canon, introduced to Lothlorien through Valinor. In another, however, and my case is that this is the version of the canon to which The Lord of the Rings belongs, they were always there.

And then if the mellyrn are, in fact, Silvan, than it also makes sense that Legolas would be so excited about seeing them. They're a legend to his people, not an echo of Valinor via Numenor.

'Here is Nimrodel!' said Legolas. 'Of this stream the Silvan Elves made many songs long ago, and still we sing them in the North, remembering the rainbow on its falls, and the golden flowers that floated in its foam.

It definitely seems like the golden flowers predate the separation of the silvan elves from mirkwood from the silvan elves in lothlorien. I like this version of the canon a lot better I think. Not everything beautiful needs to come from Valinor—I like the idea that the world simply has things which are enchanted and beautiful.

[blistermonster]

I started this painting this summer, whilst dealing with a bit of an art identity crisis. I tried a different approach to painting than what I typically do, and it felt very nice.

Find it here on INPRNT!

[cycas]

In the Party Field a beautiful young sapling leaped up: it had silver bark and long leaves and burst into golden flowers in April. It was indeed a mallorn, and it was the wonder of the neighbourhood. In after years, as it grew in grace and beauty, it was known far and wide and people would come long journeys to see it: the only mallorn west of the Mountains and east of the Sea, and one of the finest in the world. The Return of the King, LoTR Book 6, Ch 9, The Grey Havens

[rangers-arecool]

@amarthfaeg asked: " Please, don’t trust me. " / From Eryniel to Arathorn.

   That was a rather unusual request to make, least of all for a Elf. The Ranger straightened up from where he was leaning over a map of Eriador, before focusing his lone eye on her. “Why not?” His question was mild, features unchanging from his ever present calm sternness.

[amid-ice-and-snow]

For: Haldir :: @thehiddenhero Muse: Taenil Prompt: [ written ] - for my muse to write something on their skin that will appear on your muses body.

Taenil had never been one for talking. even as a a very young elfling, he had been content in letting his younger twin, Teldran, do all the speaking. after the orc attack that had taken the lives of their parents and nearly took his own life, he had taken to communicating in other ways. Like signing and writing on paper.

yet the one communication method he never used was writing on his skin. not even to leave little 'I need to remember...' notes to himself. it baffled nearly everyone around him, for that was how they found their soulmate by writing on their skin.

after all, who wouldn't want to find their other half?

the Rangers of the North understood, as did his brother and the Hobbits of the Shire closest to him. but many of the Elves didn't get it, except for Glorfindel and Arwen. the Evenstar understood more than most as she still didn't know who her soulmate was, despite writing on her skin.

in fact, Arwen was the reason why he was heading towards Lothlorien with her. she had asked him to be one of her temporary guards and he had agreed, despite it being his first visit there. with his Ranger uniform covering most of his skin, no one noticed the slightly shaky question that the young elf had written on his arm.

'Who would want a broken elf?'

[temporarily-your-saint]

Under the Stars

A Rings of Power fic has been brewing inside of my brain but unfortunately Elrond will be going through so much pain... As if he hasn't been through it enough. :') BUT. I really wanted to give him a soft and sweet moment, so here we are. Our sweet summer boy deserves only love. <3

Word count: 3.8k

Warning(s): none, kissing??, some (lil bit) of spice??? more like suggestive spicy?

Themes: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, sort of submissive elrond??? hehehe

Also all translations are at the end!

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Elrond could always be found underneath the golden trees that surrounded Lindon, Írimë could be sure of that.

The elleth watched her dear friend from afar, awestruck by the scene before her. The half-elf seemed to glow underneath the mallorn trees, almost shining while he wrote his poetry and speeches for the king. 

She always admired his passion for the melodic words that danced along the pages and never grew tired watching his quill flick skillfully. After a moment, her legs finally moved through the field and towards the king’s harold.

As she approached, his gaze continued to stay fully enveloped within the binded pages, unaware of her presence. 

“My heart sings to see that not much has changed,” her voice rang, breaking the silence.

Elrond, slightly startled, smiled when he heard the familiar voice. His eyes flickered to her face and then down her body, taking in her figure with a subtle glance.

"Írimë? Is that really you?" He spoke calmly as he stood up from his sitting position atop the tree and stepped forward to approach her. "It's been a while. You haven't changed a single day."

As he grew closer to her, she reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. “Neither have you, mellon nin,” she breathed as her thumb brushed against his skin, tenderly just beneath his eye.

Warmth immediately poured over her as they greeted one another. It had been years since the two had seen one another and by the Valar, she had truly missed his affable smile. While years in the lives of elves passed swiftly and without much notice, she had still ached to lay her eyes upon him once again.

A light blush trickled along Elrond’s cheeks as his eyes danced across her face. “I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” he spoke softly.

She couldn’t help but beam with happiness at his words, a smile never leaving her lips. Her bright blue eyes stared into his gray orbs, not daring to look away.

“And I you,” her voice whispered. The elleth’s heart pumped quickly as her stomach filled with butterflies.

His hands wrapped around her one that had held his cheek and brought it down between them. She could let him hold her there in place for centuries if Eru Ilúvatar allowed it. 

He squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her touch while his gaze held hers as it shined with merriment and affection.

Gods, had he missed her.

The half-elf studied her features, captivated by the beauty of the elleth. A strange but not unpleasant flutter raised inside his chest. He always thought she was beautiful; any being that roamed Arda could see she was well-favored by the gods, but something felt different now.

“There was not a day that went by when I did not think of you,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper.

His forward words only quickened her pulse more. She wasn’t so sure her heart wouldn’t fully beat out of her chest at this point for she would melt under his gaze if he wasn’t currently keeping her grounded, holding her hand between his two.

“Surely I didn’t cloak your thoughts too much,” she teased him, a smile dancing across her lips.

Elrond let out a soft huff of amusement at Írimë’s teasing. He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and shook his head with an affectionate smile as he spoke, "You know very well that you have always occupied a significant amount of my thoughts," he replied in a teasing tone of his own.

He brought her hand up and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her palm. It was a small yet intimate gesture.

Elrond had always been fond of the elleth before him. He hadn’t always noticed the peculiar feeling for it only seemed to grow stronger within the past years that had passed. And here she was before him once again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity this time to tell her.

“Elrond…” she breathed, unable to formulate a witty response. He was being serious.

His lips…His eyes…The way he peered into her soul dizzied her senses. She had noticed Elrond looking at her differently the last time she was in his presence and now…Here he did it once again.

Elrond watched her reaction carefully. He saw the way her breath caught in her throat and he heard the slight tremble in her voice. His heart beat a little faster, his breath catching in return.

His thumb traced idle circles on her palm, the contact between them making his skin tingle. Elrond swallowed tightly, meeting her gaze with a gaze full of sincerity.

"Írimë... I have wanted to tell you... that I..."

His voice trailed off, his words failing him. How could he tell her that he felt for her without sounding foolish?

“Yes…?” Wide eyes stared into his own, searching for answers. Something… anything.

Írimë felt like she was on fire. Blood pumped through her veins that felt like lava—heavy, scolding. Pink lips parted as she licked her lips.

Elrond hesitated, struggling with how to properly articulate the storm of emotions he felt inside. He swallowed again, swallowing his last remaining doubts.

He brought her hand up to his chest, placing it right over his rapidly beating heart. The warmth of her palm pressed against him nearly made him shiver.

"Írimë... I have come to realize...”

Every passing moment made her heart boom louder. Her hand placed over his heart was so intimate, so raw. He wanted her to feel his heartbeat. 

And she did.

Before he could finish, a loud voice came barreling over the hill, running toward them through the grass.

“Írimë! Elrond!”

The voice broke their trance, not allowing Elrond to finish his words. Gods, how she needed him to finish those words.

She stepped back, allowing some space between her and the half-elf before her as she retracted her hand. Her gaze met a familiar figure walking towards them. 

“Vorohil!” She exclaimed, welcoming her old friend.

Elrond's heart felt heavy inside of his chest, the moment stolen from him just as he was about to confess his true feelings. He took a step back as well, his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat.

As Vorohil approached, Elrond looked up, his expression slightly irritated at the interruption. He had been so close to speaking up, so close...But now there was no chance of picking up from where he had left off. The mood between the two souring now that Vorohil had joined them.

"Vorohil," Elrond said in greeting, forcing a small smile.

The ellon acknowledged Elrond with respect and then rested upon the raven-haired elleth. “I heard you just arrived. I have come to fetch you for the feast!”

Írimë grasped her dear friend’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. Her bright eyes then met Elrond’s gaze, “Shall we join?”

The half-elf let out a soft sigh, his disappointment still evident on his face. However, he offered her a small, reluctant smile and nodded, "Yes, let us be on our way."

As they began walking, Elrond fell into pace beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to her again. The words that he had wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he held them back once more.

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The feast was a splendid affair. Food was plentiful and wine flowed freely. Music played in the background, filling the air with cheerful, light elvish tunes.

Elrond walked beside Írimë, though his earlier enthusiasm had wilted slightly. He occasionally stole glances at her but made no attempt to resume their earlier conversation. His heart ached with unspoken words, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak them, not with so many peers around.

Írimë made her rounds throughout the evening. It had been many, many moons since she had last seen the trees of Lindon. How she had missed it so…

A familiar gaze lingered on the elleth though she welcomed it. She knew he watched her. Their keen senses made it near impossible to ignore. She found herself biting her lips more than not, swinging her hair, and smiling more than not as Elrond watched. The half-elf had such a peculiar way of affecting her; it was like she was a young elleth once again the way she yearned for his gaze.

And he noticed it all. The way she strode with more confidence and grace, the way she flipped her waves of midnight hair around, the way her smile glowed.

Every movement she made, every gesture, he absorbed them all, devouring them like a sweet dessert. 

His gaze lingered, continuing to watch her closely, trying to memorize every detail. The half-ellon’s fingers squeezed the chalice he held.

The more time passed, the more his heart longed for her, desperate to reach out and touch her, to speak the words that were dying to leave his tongue.

As the feast went on, Elrond eventually found himself able to slip away. He walked outside into the cool night air, his heart still pounding in his chest. He couldn't stay inside anymore, being so close to Írimë yet unable to speak to her; it had become too much to bear.

He ran his fingers through his curly locks, feeling tired and frustrated as he stared off into the night sky. "If I could just have one moment alone with her," he muttered to himself.

“Who is this elleth my dear friend frets over?” The very voice he daydreamed of rang through the air as she approached Elrond. 

He gave a small huff of laughter in response to her question as he turned toward her, "You heard that, did you?"

Her eyes narrowed curiously at him. As he spoke, he wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead talking into the distance as he turned back away from her.

Taking a sip of the wine he held, he sighed, "She is someone I cannot seem to get off my mind, even for a single moment. She occupies my thoughts from dawn to dusk, filling my heart with a melody I have never felt before."

His words cut into her. Was she being farcical? Was this an unknown lover of his? Or…?

She sighed and took a large gulp of wine from her own chalice. The sweet wine from the First Age coated her tongue and warmed her insides. “A lucky elleth,” her voice strained. “You must write poetry about her…” She whispered as her eyes turned down.

Do not shed tears, she thought to herself. 

Her response startled Elrond. It was almost as if she... as if she didn't seem happy for him. Or, perhaps, jealous? But surely not. He shook his head slightly, his heart starting to pound in his chest.

Írimë stood beside him, looking out into the late evening.

Elrond looked over at her, his gaze fixing on hers. He could see the forced smile spread across her lips and he knew that there was something deeper behind her words.

"I have written many poems about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "She is my muse, my light, my everything."

Her voice hitched in the back of her throat. His everything… His words echoed throughout her very being.

She swallowed hard and met Elrond’s eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears. “This elleth must feel only warmth and sunlight then,” her voice came out as a whisper.

Elrond could hear the hitch in her voice, the barely concealed pain in her words. His heart ached hearing the sadness that coated her tongue.

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You do not sound as if you are happy for me, Írimë. Do my words cut you?"

Their bodies almost touched. Her heart pounded as the tears began to swell over. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks as blue eyes searched Elrond’s. 

A forced smile still strained on her lips as she spoke, “I wish you nothing but happiness, mellon nin.” 

She avoided the question, only wanting to relieve him but the pain was too much. Until it hit her. I love him. The words ran through her mind as realization kicked her in the chest.

The sight of Írimë’s tears broke him. Seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing her voice crack and her forced smile... He couldn't bear it anymore. But he needed to know why. Needed to hear her say it.

"You wish me happiness yet the sight of me talking about another pains you so," he said softly, taking another small step forward.

He reached up, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. His gaze pierced hers as he spoke, “Tell me, Írimë. Why does this make you grieve?"

His question echoed through her mind. She had to tell him. Needed to. Though she felt foolish to love him if he was already promised to another. How could she do that to such a friend like him?

But what if she never told him? She would have to endure and watch him love another. Could she handle that?

Trembling lips parted as whispered words fell from her lips, “I remember when we were younger. You always wiped away my tears.”

A wavering smile crept upon her lips as she looked up at him. “You have always looked out for me, even knowing that I did not need it. Always tended my wounds. Always filled my heart with nothing but warmth and joy,” her eyes searched his, almost pleading as she spoke. 

Her hand reached up to cover his own that lingered on her cheek as his thumb wiped away the wet remnants.

“When your face fills my dreams, I sigh with comfort and happiness. When your skin meets mine,” she began as she turned her cheek inward toward his hand, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. 

Her eyes met his again. “A current runs through me as if something becomes awakened when we touch. A wildfire that cannot be contained. A light that can never be diminished. You are as bright as daylight and warm as summer, Elrond.”

Elrond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to her words. Every sentence, every sentiment... It was everything that he had been waiting for. Every bit of validation that he needed, it was in her words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The tear-stained face, the trembling lips, the hand on his... It was so raw, so open, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful. He ached to say something, anything, but he was frozen in place. He could only stare at her, his face mirroring every emotion that ran through him.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper, "My dear Írimë, I... I never knew...I wanted to…"

His eyes flicked down to her trembling lips, his heart pounding louder and louder in his chest. The hand on her cheek moved down, tenderly cupping her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.

She sucked in a breath at his touch, closing her eyes in the process. A slow exhale left her lips as she slowly looked up at him.

The way she looked up at him was entrancing. Eyes of blue wide, pleading for him yet sad. She had never wanted something so badly in her immortal life. 

His finger brushed against her bottom lip again, softly pulling on it and then brushing it over. An agonizing ache reached below her stomach from the way his eyes bore into hers. He felt her breath hitch at his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment once more.

“The elleth is you, meleth nîn,” his voice whispered. He placed both hands on either side of her cheeks as she looked up at him.

Everything fell into place at his words. The elleth is you, he had said. 

“Elrond,” her voice squeaked. 

A wave of relief washed over Elrond. Every ounce of tension left him as he heard the relief in her voice, knowing that he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had never felt so vulnerable yet so complete at the same time. His thumb traced over her cheek gently, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch.

"Írimë," he whispered back, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every little fleck of cerulean in her eyes, every curve, and every freckle on her skin.

He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. The two closed their eyes and shared breaths in the silence. She placed her hands over his own, her touch sending yet another shiver through him.

After a moment, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

When Írimë’s whispered words reached his ears, it was like a dam had burst.

The words had barely sunk in before he leaned in and hungrily pressed his lips to hers.

Long, slender fingers gently wove into her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Their bodies close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her like a fire. All the years of longing, of hidden desires, were suddenly let loose in the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as if it had finally found its home.

His other hand slid down, curling around her waist, pulling her in even closer, holding her against his body, as if trying to merge their very beings.

She could almost feel their souls become one as his lips pressed against hers. The hungry kiss released everything she had been feeling for him. Everything she wanted to envelop into words but did not have the ability.

They let their lips speak for them as the kiss deepened and he pulled her tighter into him. She could feel him, feel everything beneath his linens. 

A moan fell from her lips as his tongue danced with her own. She reached up, letting one hand curl into his dark locks. 

“Elrond…” her voice gasped his name. 

He felt every sound that left her lips—every soft gasp, every whisper, every moan. It was like music to him, the most beautiful symphony that his ears and soul had ever composed. Only the welcoming melody to Valinor could compare to this.

His hands wandered over her body as his tongue moved against hers, feeling her every curve, his touch desperate and hungry, yet tender and gentle.

Nothing else mattered in that moment but them. The dark night hid their figures outside, luckily, as their bodies intertwined. 

Her hand slid down through his hair, making its way next to his ear. Her fingers brushed over the pointed tip and she heard him whimper. Finally, she thought. 

The pointed ears of elves were incredibly sensitive, especially when senses were heightened. And they were left only to the touch of those that were promised, only to the most precious of close loved ones.

A jolt of pleasure shot through his body as her fingers glided over his ear. He had never felt something like it before, the sensation so intense, so intimate, that it almost overpowered all judgment. He let out a small gasp against her mouth, his body tensing up briefly before relaxing again.

His mind clouded, his focus entirely on her and the way she touched him. He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost dizzying.

"Do that again," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

She had never heard his voice like this before. It was so gruff yet, he was begging? Or was that a command? She intended to find out.

Darkened eyes stared up into his piercing grays. Her thumb slowly, and barely even touching the tip of his ear, slid across the sensitive skin.

She watched his brows furrow and eyes close. No, she thought.

“Look at me, meleth nin,” her voice commanded, breath against his lips. Her thumb then traced down the outer part of his tapered ear.

Elrond's breath hitched in his throat as she touched him again, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head with the sensation. But the sound of her voice pulled him back into focus, a mixture of command and desire in her tone.

His eyes slowly drifted open, finding hers. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips parted as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers traced along her waist, drawing her as close as he could.

Hearing his song of pleasure spill from his lips rang through her.

His lust-filled gaze peered into her dilated pupils. She had never felt like this before. Her body could not get enough of him; it sang to her as hers sang to him, and she wanted to pluck every note.

Elrond’s breath deepened, his fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hold himself back. His gaze darkened, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter with need.

He couldn't take it anymore. The fire coursing through his veins demanded something more. He wanted Írimë—needed her. Needed to feel their bodies fuse together, needed to taste her, needed to make her his entirely.

What was this?

Their chests heaved as they exchanged breaths, staring at one another. Desire filled their eyes as heat pooled deep within them.

“Elrond,” she breathed, looking up to him. In the quietness, eyes searched each other.

“We have been gone from the feast for so long,” her voice was unsteady, breath hitched from the shared intimacy.

Hearing her mention the feast reminded him of the festivities that still occurred. The thought of leaving her side to return made him wince, his heart clenching at the idea of being apart from her again.

His fingers flexed against her waist as he held her gaze, his mind and body both fighting against the rational part of him. He knew they needed to return but he didn't want it to end.

"You speak...words of reason," he said, his voice low and uneven.

She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek softly as her eyes peered into his. They both knew they needed to make an appearance once more.

”Meet me under the stars once more tonight…After the feast,” she finished, whispering her words.

His gaze softened as she touched his cheek, the feel of her skin causing his eyes to close for a moment. Elrond then turned to press his face into the palm of her hand, keeping her there for a moment as her words sunk in and he reopened them. 

“Under the stars, melnā,” he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper against her skin.

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mellon nin: my friend

meleth nîn: my love

melnā: beloved

Írimë: lovely, desirable

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

[aragornsrockcollection]

The Party Tree!

Considering making a “Favourite (named) tree” poll for Silm/LOTR (not part of the bracket tournament, just to be silly). Excluding Laurelin and Telperion - ‘regular’ trees only.

So far I’ve got: Galathilion, Celeborn (tree), Nimloth (tree), Hirilorn, Old Man Willow. Are there others I’ve missed? Help me remember!

[thatfanficstuff]

Color My World - Haldir (LOTR)

Pairing: Haldir x soulmate!reader

warnings: nothing beyond canon

The forest of Lothlorien loomed before a weary band of travelers, known to some as the Fellowship. Their steps were heavy with exhaustion, a mantle of grief weighing them down. Their companion, the wizard Gandalf, had fallen mere hours before. But they didn’t have time to stop, to allow their hearts a moment to heal. The orcs would come and the group needed to be safely within the depths of the forest before they did.

You walked beside Frodo in the middle of the group, your eyes darting between taking in the beauty around you and keeping an eye on your companions. Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above you, bathing the world in golden rays. Even the bark of the trees glittered faintly with hints of gold. You could only imagine how stunning it would be if you had already met your soulmate. All the muted, faded colors you saw would be bright and vivid. You never wished for it more than at moments like this.

“Can you feel the trees watching us?” Frodo’s voice, barely above a murmur, broke the fragile silence.

You placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “There have been eyes on us since we stepped foot in the forest, little hobbit.”

He looked up in surprise and you squeezed gently as you gave him a soft smile. “No worries. All be fine.”

“Thank you for being here,” he said, his tone hovering between gratitude and fear.

“We all have our purposes in this life, Frodo Baggins. Mine is make sure you complete yours.”

As you continued, you ignored Gimli’s talk of elven sorceresses and enchantments. You were too focused on the force gathering along the edges of your senses. The elves had sent a welcoming party. Of a sort.

Suddenly and almost silently, the Fellowship was surrounded. Elves with arrows drawn in you and your companions faces. With an arched brow you stepped in front of Frodo and pushed the arrow aside that was nearly brushing your nose. Ridiculous. Arrows did much more damage if they had a little room to move.

“The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark,” a rich voice said as the most beautiful man you’d ever seen addressed Aragorn. The elf observed your group, taking each of you in. When his gaze met your own, he lingered ever so slightly before turning back to the king. “Why do you enter the woods of the Lady of Light?”

The quiet words stoked something deep inside you, a yearning that had followed you your whole life. A cascade of vibrant color burst forth with the marchwarden at its center. Greens deepened into a multitude of shades. The golden undertones of the trees shimmered with new life.

As he and Aragorn spoke, every syllable from his lips only brought more beauty to your world. And every word bound your soul more tightly to his. You wove your fingers together, a poor effort at self-restraint as you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze from his profile. You’d heard so many stories of this elf and now, seeing him in person, he was everything you could ever desire in a mate. And he was far too important for someone like you. Finally, you tore your eyes away as he turned to lead the Fellowship deeper into the trees.

You weren’t certain how far you walked or how many stairs you climbed before you were greeted by the ethereal presence of Celeborn and Galadriel. You half listened to the conversation about the fate of your wizard as your attention kept flicking over to Haldir who stood to the side looking straight ahead. It felt odd that you were so connected to him and he didn’t even know you existed. That he knew nothing of your bond. It was for the best, you knew that, but it didn’t make your heart hurt any less.

Feeling eyes on you, you turned your head to find Galadriel looking at you though she spoke to the Fellowship as a whole. You bit back a gasp as you heard her lyrical voice in your head. “Within these woods, bonds deeper than the roots of the mallorn trees are forged. You have felt the stirring of such a bond, child of the outside world. Your connection with Haldir is stronger than you know. An intertwining of souls, a sharing of strengths. Together, you harbor magic that will aid you on your quest.”

“Magic?” you thought back.

Rather than answering, the corner of her lips curled into a knowing smile and she gave you a small nod. “When you need it the most, it will be there,” she said aloud. Your companions frowned in confusion but you ignored their questions as Haldir showed all of you to where you would be spending the evening.  

You managed to leave the elves without Haldir finding out who you were to him. Your friends found it odd that you refused to speak louder than a whisper until you were well on your way down the river but you simply waved off their questions. It was better this way. No matter how utterly alone you suddenly felt.

Days turned into weeks. Frodo and Sam had gone off on their own. Boromir had fallen. Gandalf had returned. And now you stood with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli at Helm’s Deep alongside an army made up mostly of old men and boys. Hope was fleeting that most of you would make it through the night. Gandalf had told you to look for him at the dawn but that was many hours away.

You stood on the wall watching a storm roll in while the others prepared themselves for battle. You’d taken care of that hours ago. A horn blasting drew your attention. Elven archers marched toward the keep. You grinned, feeling hope for the first time in days. The smile fell as you saw who was leading them. Haldir. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It was too dangerous. He was supposed to be safe in Lothlorien.

You watched Aragorn greet him, Legolas by his side. Haldir glanced up when they finished, his gaze finding yours. He studied your face for a moment before nodding a greeting. You nodded in return then slipped away into the crowd, making sure the rabble were as prepared as possible for the coming attack.

While Aragorn moved through the ranks of elves on the wall, you stood with Legolas and Gimli. The hordes of orcs and Uruk-hai approached, banging weapons on the ground as they came. You rested a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder trying to calm him as he bounced around. “Steady on,” you told him as you prepared your bow.

And then they came in a flood of anger and teeth. Chaos reigned around you as you slashed and dodged. Rain fell in heavy drops as lightning flashed in the sky and thunder roared. You focused solely on the opponents around you until King Theoden called for a retreat to the inner walls. Aragorn grabbed your arm and pulled you along as he yelled for the men to fall back. When he turned and yelled Haldir’s name, you turned with him.

Haldir acknowledged the order a breath before he was surrounded by iron and hate. A blade stabbed toward him even as he cut the wielder down.

Heat surged through your veins as fear swamped you. You unleashed your fury with a cry torn from the very depths of your soul. The world seemed to slow as a shimmering shield surrounded your soulmate, deflecting the blade that would have run him through. His eyes found yours, wide with astonishment.

You ignored Aragorn calling your name as newfound strength flowed through you. You weaved through the melee, each step bringing you closer to Haldir’s side. Finally, you reached him and helped dispatch the orcs that swarmed him. When there was an opening for you to move, you grabbed the breastplate of his armor and pulled him toward the stairs. “Move, Marchwarden.”

The battle was over after a last minute save from the Rohirrim and the Ents. As soon as you had a moment to breathe a breath you weren’t convinced would be your last, Haldir grabbed your hand and pulled you to the side where you could have some semblance of privacy.

His hands cradled your face as his thumbs traced your cheeks. He looked you over with wonder.

“Why did you say nothing when first we met?” he asked. “Why keep your connection to me hidden?”

You grasped his wrists in your hands. “If the bond was complete, formed on both sides, what would happen to you if I died on this quest?”

The silence stretched as he studied you. “A partial truth at best, hiril vuin.” (my lady)

You sighed and looked away from him, unable to meet his eye as you confessed. “I did not wish to be a burden upon you. I feared the revelation would be a disappointment.”

He ran his thumbs along your skin again to bring your attention back to him. “You are the furthest cry from a disappointment. Your courage, your strength, your heart…they are gifts more precious than the rarest jewels of my people.”

You searched for any signs of deception from him. Finding none, a smile crossed your face. He mirrored it before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. It took only a moment before you returned the gesture with equal fervor.

For a moment, you could forget about your quest.  Forget about the death that surrounded you. Because here in the midst of so many endings, was your beginning and you intended to hold onto it with all of your heart.

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to @winterswake for this phenomenal gifset ! )

3/? | SEAWARDS, TO YOU. ; REPENTANT!AU

summ.  A continuation. Sauron learns what it means to be human— and what it takes to be one. or: Sauron experiences the best & worst of mortality. pairing.  (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader , ( established in #SEAWARDSTOYOU ) w.count.  4k a/n.  Important tags in first chapter ! Warnings for implications to PTSD & slight horror , including Non-graphically implied Animal Death.

THE BARNACLES STARE.

They’re overgrown; marrow-white and clinging onto the cracks of the salt-licked rockface, breathing and blinking at him like the thousand, ever-watchful eyes of the Ainur. 

In his dreams, every single one turns to blazing stars that wink out in an instant as he passes them. The shadow of Morgoth is a powerful darkness: it can dim them into lightlessness and nothingness. He tells them he is neither Morgoth nor Melkor nor Sauron nor Mairon, that he is something new; something different— but they can’t hear him under the sheet of waves crashing like a tempest on the shores, pulling him down, down, down, and under.

(He drowns. Rarely does he choose to fight the currents.)

In other vivid dreams, the barnacles don’t listen. They don’t because they can’t listen; because they’re dead and lifeless and the colour of their shells look eerily vertebral and bone-faced. They’re skulls, he later realises. A thousand of them. Endless. Both young and old. Their missing teeth and gaping maws, frozen in terror, roll in masses that wash in from the bloody tides and take up the shore beneath his feet. They fracture and splinter and cry out in pain when he walks on where soft sands ought to be, begging for mercy with every black step he takes.

He wakes up restless. He wakes up mortified. 

A forest fire rips through Eldalondë.

It dies out as quick as it had come, however; by the grace of the Valar and their blessed storms! The Faithful cry.

“Blessed,” Galadriel hears Halbrand scoff underneath his breath. They’d both sailed down the river Nunduinë with the other locals to help with clearing out whatever the blaze had left in its wake, and the very air now is clogged with residual smoke and the stench of death. She doesn’t comment on his muttering. (He had yet to heal completely from the rope burns in his palms from when they’d been stranded at sea, after all.) 

“You think it’s a sign?” asks one of the arborists. 

A grave weight seemed to have sunken into Galadriel when the scent of the Mellyrn had greeted her, and she’d been brought to the heart of the massive grove, where she lay a hand on the now-sundered tree.

“These very trees were brought as seeds from Aman by the Eldar of Tol Erresëa. Elros Tar-Minyatur himself had hand in planting these.” She remembers Elrond, too, had come to sail and plant a tree of his own here. The forest had been so young then, in the early years of the Second Age. Now the woods seem unsettled— even the very winds that blow between its spaces.

“Not idly do the trees of Valinor burn,” she finally warns. “Even when ensnared by lightning.”

Halbrand had seen it from afar, coming downwind from the riverbank: the tree’s colossal trunk— thick as a Dwarven-hewn mountain pillar— torn in its center from the high canopies of branches, snaking all the way down to the spindly stretch of roots. The bolt of light had rent an ugly, gaping wound into its silver bole, hollowing out the wood and carving it out to look like a glaring crack into the Unseen World.

He can still see the gleam of red embers between the bark of the tunnelled tree.

He can still hear it crackling in its seams, even.

Or… no. That isn’t the fire— 

“Galadriel!”

Mallorn branches grow great and wide, so it takes out an entire stable when it crashes down. 

One of the horses get caught underneath. 

They cannot move the branch. (It wouldn’t do any good, even if they did.)

Abârzî, the sea-cadet weeps, stroking the mare before he went to braid the hairs of her tail and cut it off. He chants it like a prayer.

Abârzî. Abârzî. Abârzî.

(No one has the heart to finish the job.

Halbrand does not exactly offer— but they don’t stop him either when he begrudgingly enters the stables for them.)

“What was he saying?” Sauron asks, after, in some poorly attempt to clear his mind.

“Her name,” Galadriel translates, solemn. “Abâr holds several meanings. It stands for strength, might, endurance. ‘One of Valiance’, even. Perhaps: ‘Admirable one’—”

It’s the first time Mairon ever experiences throwing up.

Galadriel sits beside him, and doesn’t say a word more.

He’s glad. 

Or, maybe he isn’t.

He doesn’t understand what he feels these days.

The wine Sauron pours to the raven-haired elf in his dreams is thick.

Too thick to be wine— but just as deceptively sweet.

On other nights, he pours and it keeps going, and going, and going. It gushes down his palms and down the nameless peak he’s standing in, and cascades down the cliff- like a thundering waterfall— no, an open wound. Sometimes the elf pushes him forward from the back, and it stings like a stabbing betrayal. (Other times, Mairon simply chooses to fall.)

When he plummets, it’s into red seas. It feels like wading through molasses; exhausting a pain into his limbs more than the dull ache at his nape and the throb of his suffocating lungs. Then there’s the twinkle of starlight throwing him off every time he swims. He always mistakes them for the night sky, and he blindly reaches towards the surface— until they turn out to be the white-faces of barnacles instead, attached to the maws of a sea-wyrm deep in the ocean.

Tonight, however, he swims in the right direction. 

The raven-haired elf pulls him out with a trusting, helping hand wrapped in a gauntlet; and when Sauron breaches ashore, he’s not kneeling at his feet on sands or bones, but instead on the all-too familiar cracked, black stones of his old fortress up in the bleak frigidness of Forodwaith.

Mairon is garbed in soaking red robes.

This time, Adar coronates Sauron not with Morgoth’s crown, but with a rotting horse skull named Abârz—

“You have a strange shadow, ‘Maril,” Eärien tells you, not long after you’d come down to Nísimaldar to assist in the clean-up effort. “It’s shaped like… a funny-looking man who always seems to look as if he’s rolled around in the dirt for ten hours.”

You blink, puzzled, then turn to where she’s peering over your shoulder.

Halbrand’s eyes dart away just as you meet his gaze. 

“Friend,” you correct, levelling an unimpressed glare back at your table of teasing looks. “Halbrand is a friend.”

Isildur raises his brows once you begin gathering another fresh bowl of seafood. “Don’t forget the oysters. I hear they’re great for men’s libid—”

“Shut your mouth when you eat,” comes your sharp flick at his ear, going to leave as the rest of the cadets break into laughter. “Even Berek has better manners than you, airhead.”

Halbrand, shaded under a temporary forge set up by the treeline near the half-constructed stables, senses you long before he hears your voice. You’re appraising him again. He can feel it. It reminds him of the barnacles staring, and he has to actively remember not to be instinctively beset.

You’ve been kind, after all.

Frustratingly so. 

And Sauron, as uncertain as he has been of everything (and by everything, he means his entire simulacrum of an existence— or, reincarnation? Re-embodiment?) of late, is smart enough to know not to bite the hand that feeds him. You’d made it clear that night in the forge, after all, that you’re a friend. And if not that, then at the very least— an ally.

So it’s no surprise he sets the horseshoes he’s working on aside, and relents to your plate of food. It is a surprise, however, when a few minutes later you go:

“Thank you, by the way.”

He shuts your train of thought down before it can take off.

“Don’t start,” Sauron says, voice a low rasp. He knows where you’re going with this: You’ll thank Halbrand for going out of his way to help, for lending a hand with the rebuilding, for putting down a boy’s dying horse. He wants nothing to do with it. 

“Then I want to—”

“Don’t apologise either,” he interjects, failing to hold back the mild bite. (So much for biting the hand, huh?) 

Sauron had chosen, anyway, to take it upon himself to toil away in the forge, from sunrise to sundown; Dedicating himself to aiding the reconstruction by crafting everything from bridles, stirrups and bits, to metal brackets, hinges, and nails. He’d toiled because it focused him; because he’s utilitarian at heart and so despises uselessness; because it helps blur the waking haunts of horses and the seas under the hissing and clanging of working metal. 

(Besides, there’s plenty to improve in this part of the island, and Sauron is the type to not count flaws and cracks but to instead step up and fix them.)

So there’s no place for you to apologise. 

“You work quickly,” you redirect instead, avoiding the urge to bicker with him. “Some might say almost tirelessly. Seems you’re getting into our good graces, from what I hear.”

“Well, you ought to listen closer.” Local gossip is difficult to not earwig, especially if the topic is about a low-man from the South; even more so that they don’t expect said low-man to have a passable fluency in Adûnaic. 

You don’t bother to hide the amused look on your face. “Right. Well. They do say eavesdroppers never hear but ill of themselves. What have you gathered, jailbird?”

“That I would be their downfall,” he says, then after a mouthful, goes: “That I would squander their resources and drain their waters and steal their women,” which makes you laugh.

“Númenórean women are not so easily taken.”

He hums at that. “And are you?” 

“…Am I what?”

“Númenorean.”

You blink. Halbrand levels a gaze you suddenly can’t meet. It’s a game he plays, you guess right then, between the crawl of heat up your cheeks. Of sharpening ulterior meanings into both sides of his words like one would a sword’s edge. 

(“The low-man said that?” Isildur titters, much later. “What a smooth advance! I ought to give him a—”

“Beheading,” Eärien overrides, “You do know he also effectively implied your sister may be easy?”

Isildur cheers. “And he’s honest? Outstanding!”)

“I believe I am one, and that’s enough for me,” you lie. The thought has crossed your mind before— that you may very well be an orphan descendant of those who had sided with the Enemy, once upon a time. That it’s likely you’ll die long before your own foster family does. 

“And if you’re wrong?” asks Halbrand. He enjoys making you squirm. “Shall that be enough?”

“Then so be it,” you wrinkle your nose, displeased yet matter-of-fact. “It doesn’t matter what type of life we’ve been chanced to be given, jailbird, so long as we live it doing the right thing.”

Until it becomes part of your nature, Sauron abruptly remembers Diarmid; of his words; the necklace he’d cruelly taken from the old man that stormy night. The advice had been unwelcome then, and now it seems to haunt him still.

“Is that your heraldry?”

Halbrand loosens his grip. His hand has been flying to the pouch out of habit, lately. “No.” Then, after you scrutinise him, cocks his head and says, “Is it so hard to believe we might quite be the same— Lost and found at sea?”

“You have a past,” you point out, the same way Elendil had chivvied you then. (If you had noticed him blink away in a flinch, he’s grateful you don’t mention it.) “But no, not so hard to believe, considering that’s precisely how my father found you too. It’s just hard for me to believe someone would be so willing to sever ties with their history.”

“I found this on a dead man.”

“Then why keep it?”

“Thought it looked fancy,” he dodges.

“A pearl is fancy,” you reflect, unconsciously flexing your fingers. The ring he’d caught the first day you two met lustres now at certain angles of the setting sun, beyond the horses grazing lazily in half-barren pastures.

Your answer is hardly a surprise to him. A bereft orphan would likely covet something as insignificant as a worn-out emblem if it meant a potential link to their true heritage, no matter how thin or nonsensical. Yours just happens to be a pearl.

“Beauty is subjective, seabird,” he comments sagely, before letting curiosity get the better of him to ask, “Is that from the tidepool, too?”

No, you want to say. I like to think my mother gave it to me. “Yes. It was in my grasp when my father found me; so came my name.”

Halbrand finishes his bowl, and doesn’t say a word more.

You’re glad.

“You know, I meant to say earlier, before you interrupted me,” you begin out of the blue, voice possessing that Nienna-esque lilt that makes him unconsciously want to shrink into himself. “…You shouldn’t have had to be the one.” 

He follows your gaze to one of the Bay horses being herded away. Its body gleams; a vibrant, rich red-brown in the dusk that needles a strange grief into him. The colour reminds Mairon of his old form. 

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he agrees distastefully. Needless suffering also falls under the realm of uselessness, however. Perhaps, in a twisted, roundabout way, Sauron had chosen to put down Abârzî. “…But I’ve done far worse things.” 

You watch him tuck the necklace away beneath his collar, and he wonders, briefly, if you’d caught his shudder; his waver. 

“To survive,” you emphasise. Surely.

He laughs under his breath. It’s neither sad nor sordid, just empty. 

“Not all of it.”

Sauron opens his eyes to a crowned shadow and a blade.

Do not fear, it says. And when its hand had come away with a fistful of his long, braided hair, cut from his blazing red head— it repeats itself to him again, though this time in the commanding tongue of Black Speech.

Do not fret.

(He frets, and begs. He disobeys because he’s terrified— but it’s all happening under his skin. Black Speech cannot completely overpower the mind, you see, but it can command and seed an intent in it; a sliver of power over the flesh, if willed so. He can fret and beg all he likes; it will never translate to his body. 

Now he’s just a vessel, still as a Bay horse caught neath a great tree, watching and waiting; helpless and paralysed.)

He catches the glint of the dagger but he cannot scream.

Do not fret, Morgoth commands, in that divinely, beautiful way only a Valar can make all guttural words sound. Do not fret, Abârzî.

Mairon startles awake.

When the candlelight flickers with the moon, he mistakes them for blood on his hands and a stable floo—

“Y’alright, brother?” Someone claps him on the back.

It’s noon, now. It feels like he’s woken up for the third time today. 

The stables are coming up nicely (Quickly, because Halbrand works when everyone else is asleep). The clouds are thick, so the day isn’t beating down on the horses as they feed on bran and alfalfa, and there aren’t any damning signs of coming rain to hinder what little is left of the reconstruction today.

“Never better,” Halbrand says, after steadying his heavy breathing. The perfectly delivered lie is somehow miraculously seen through, however, and promptly called out, via: an insistent pint of ale into his calloused hands that’s supposedly the ‘cure to all ailments’. 

He learns the old drunkard’s name is Seamus.

He learns a bit of everything to nothing, really; until the sun had sunken too far beneath the canopies of the Mellyrn, and the dappled light faded into drifting spots, and all that was left of their drinks was a final sip. Sauron had found himself both inexplicably refreshed and exhausted between the overload that managed to distract him from the cavernous feeling in his chest.

“It’s a swallow bird. We sailors tattoo it as belief it’ll lead us back home when we get out at sea,” says the old man, between a tangent on island customs and traditions beyond the primly ‘Nobody kneels in Númenor’ ones. “Why? Lookin’ to get inked yourself?”

Halbrand blinks.

He had composed as Mairon among the other Ainur in the Timeless Halls for the Ainulindalë, once upon a time; and then served, much, much later, as Sauron alongside Morgoth in the Iron mountains of Thangorodrim. Neither exactly had been something anybody would call a home— One was simply a state of Being far beyond Eä, and the other had been both a fortress and a prison. 

“Don’t have a home to return to,” is all he decides.

It sounds a lot like a realisation.

“Aye, well…” The drunkard flails his hand to the chilly winds. “Swallows mate for life.”

Halbrand frowns in confusion. Seamus just laughs, mad.

He doesn’t understand what the crazy old shrimp had meant, until two days later (of which Sauron still had only understood half of what was told to him, if he’s being honest) when the stables had at last been completed and the locals put together a small feast for everyone who had come together to help.

Crab legs had been the catalyst, oddly enough. 

Or, rather, how you seemed to move amongst the people-who-may-not-be-your-people, and spoke to your family-who-isn’t-actually-your-family.

“Here,” you say, and idly lay skillfully de-shelled crab legs and a lobster tail on your bright-eyed sister’s plate. Then onto your even-more-bright-eyed brother’s plate, before doing the same to those within your reach at the table, including Halbrand— sitting adjacent and at a length, because nobody quite fancied sitting next to a brooding stranger.

“I can de-shell my crabs on my own,” he had wanted to huff, put out by the way he suddenly felt impeccably small by your limitless grace and social-butterfly-ness, but one of the cadets had beaten him to it.

Your answer is a smile that’d made Mairon think of Nienna again, followed by a winsome, “I know you can.”

He lingers on what you’d told him ere a week ago, at the forge when you’d come to him saying he looked most at home with a hammer and tongs in hand, and drafts in his head something he tells you much later, which is:

“You looked different around your not-people.”

You’re wrapped in a pelerine cloak that seems to do little with the cold Mallorn-fragrant winds, here at the Bay of Eldanna, where you’ve somehow convinced him to follow you down to at the crack of dawn. (It’s not like he could sleep through the night, anyway, now that the stables are complete and there’s nothing left to busy himself with for the time being.)

It’s early enough that the carpet of stars in the sky shines the rocky shoreline a blinding silver, and only the lantern-lit trawlers far out at sea are awake to fish for teeming shoals of shrimps in season beyond the reef. 

“My not-people?” you yawn, gathering up your cloak and shift dress to toe between the rocks. “Ah. I get it. Because I’m an outsider.”

He raises a tolerant eyebrow. “I’m the outsider, seabird.” To which you answer, breezily, as if it’s a simple equation: 

“Not to me. If it helps though, we can both be outsiders together.”

He barely has time to wrap his head around together when you begin skipping across the tidepools.

“I meant,” he trails after you, ungainly and tender-footed to the shallows compared to your well-versed steps. He had not been raised by the sea like you. “That you looked at home; with your people. And tha— Eärmaril, why did you bring me out here with a bucket?”

You peer at the crevices of the outcrops, turning over black slabs with a trained eye. “Have you ever had soft-shell crabs? They’re active around this time of night, so watch your step. If you’re not getting pinched by their claws, you’ll get stabbed by an urchin.”

“You loon!” he exclaims. “You brought me here for a hunting trip?”

“Hush, now! Or you’ll scare the fur seals further down the coast,” you hiss over your shoulder. “And no. I brought you here because I know you won’t be sleeping, anyway.”

The blatant accusation has him slipping from a jutting rock face.

You catch his hand to steady him.

(He’s warm. Some part of you wants to pull him close.)

“I overheard the farriers. They say the only reason the stables got put up that quickly is because you worked through the night.” You inform him as delicately as you can, because there’s a recognisable, vestigial haunt in his eyes you’ve seen in your father’s, under the shimmer of Eärendil’s starlight. “Is it nightmares, Halbrand?”

“See, Amm— Mother saved Isildur when he was a child.” Nobody in the family prefers to say drowned except your father, because the word is bitter to the taste. “I was there when it happened. Couldn’t sleep for weeks after. Do you dream of the waters too?”

The defensive frown he’d put up melts away, but you can see Halbrand steel himself, still, in order to answer.

“I dream of barnacles,” Sauron allows, brusque so as to cut the conversation short as he regains his footing.

You let go and narrow your eyes at him. 

After a long moment, you conclude, resolutely: “Valar, you’re a terrible liar, jailbird.”

And Mairon couldn’t help it— 

He laughed.

(It sends your heart stumbling.)

“Believe me when I say, seabird, that if I were to deceive you, you would never know.”

“…Right,” you scoff, quick to turn away to hide the budding smile on your face as you carve his laugh and awfully handsome grin into memory. “Now, come and be useful, will you? Before the tide runs in with daybreak.”

He can do that. He likes to be useful.

So he does.

Sauron, however, gathers alarmingly quickly that he’s as helpful as an infant grappling the ways of the water for the first time. Some distant part of him enjoys it, though— learning. It reminds him of his long gone time with Aulë.

Learning to follow your effortless sea-nymph dance across the jagged shallows, memorising how to identify which rocks to flip and the right ways to harvest mollusks or crabs without risking a fingertip, all while unconsciously committing to mind the shanties you hum under your breath.

You tell Halbrand stories and Mairon listens despite the general inanity of it; because he’s a quiet sort, and because he likes the diluting distraction of it all. 

Little things, like how your mother had bequeathed the craft of pottery to you, or that your father had preferred to teach you to fight instead of fish (“I can hardly imagine that,” Sauron muses, which earns him a sharp look and a: “Well, you don’t seem the imaginative type, anyway.”); that Eärien’s artistic strength is adapted from her uncanny skill of observation, and that Isildur is often wayward because he’s as free-spirited as the sun.

The conversation whiles and goes until the sky slowly pales awake, and the fur seals begin to bark and bay at the shorebirds and skimmers diving close to the rolling surfs. When the stretch of Eldanna’s shoreline finally raises, peaks and tidepools drowning back below the cresting of blue seas, the both of you make headway back inland.

“I was telling the truth,” he says, abruptly, which made you stop in your tracks at the beach. Your cloak is billowing from the salt gusts, edges sticking to the wet of your ankles.

“You don’t have to tell me,” comes your honest answer. 

But he wants to. It feels right to. Here Mairon stands bearing witness to the intimacies of your life, while he had nothing to offer you in return beneath the veneer of Halbrand. It’s only fair to do the same. An exchange, if you will. It’s all he’s ever known.

He sets the bucket of skittering crabs on to the wet sand, and dips his feet at the lap of the tide. “I dream of the Dark,” Sauron admits. “Of a light I cannot reach. The ocean is always red— red as my hands— and the rock-faces are always white and blinking.”

Barnacles. You understand now.

“When I wake up, I feel like I’m bracing for something, but I don’t know what,” he says, which he’s quick to realise had been an instinctive lie, and so he amends it with an explanation. “Like I’m charging headfirst into the abyss, and I’m bracing myself for the impact. For a fight or a— punishment.”

Halbrand kicks at a bubbling bump in the water and out pops a shell. (It’s a whelk. Lightning whelk, if Sauron is being precise. He’d listened to you listing the different kinds an hour ago.) 

“Anybody home?” you peer.

“Mh.” Sauron assents and tosses the hermit back to the waves.

He looks at where the open sky meets the sea, thinks of the knee-high swathes of sea oats growing at the coastlines of Valinor if he’d set sail Westwards from Eldanna and choose not to look back. He entertains idly on the idea of home for a beast such as himself— if it’s even possible to tame savagery into such domestications. 

Then he resists on asking you if there’s a difference between making a home and inventing one (those are questions for another sleepless night, he supposes), and instead glances down to where you’ve stepped into one of the remaining tidepools and back out.

A smooth pebble with a perfectly circular hole in its centre, still damp from its discovery, sits in your palm.

“What in Eru’s name is that?” he furrows, watching you wink at him through the gap.

“A hagstone,” you say, unoffended. “My other brother Anárion has one, though he prefers calling it an adder stone. Ammê told us they were naturally-occurring talismans. They ward off anything evil and protects its keeper. Catch.”

He does so with attractive ease.

(…You commit that to memory, too.)

“You don’t actually believe this little thing, do you, seabird?” he asks, tossing the piece up in his hands.

His snort makes you roll your eyes. “See! You are the unimaginative type. Halbrand, it’s the nature of a thing that matters, not its form.”

Right. He’d forgotten you are You; who built a home in the people; whose wound is your geography and history— or lack thereof— and who’s chosen to anchor to Númenor, because your foster family is where you found your true port of call. 

“You Númenóreans are an odd lot,” he settles candidly, and curls his fingers around the hagstone.

“Odd?”

“Superstitious,” he clarifies.

“I prefer traditional,” you volley.

“Try paranoid.”

Your warm laugh breaks with the surf of the shore, makes him tarry on the sight and sound of you.

“Red sky in the morning; sailor’s warning…”

“Red sky at night; sailor’s delight,” Halbrand recites Seamus, scoffing humorously. “I mean… Boarding a ship right foot first? Nailing a horseshoe under the mast, laying a silver coin for Uinen or tattooing swallows to lead the way home? And no whistling on board, lest it’ll challenge the winds; Or so Isildur claims of Manwë.”

“Ah, but don’t forget—”

“—Never rename a ship,” he says in unison.

Halbrand shakes his head, but the fond look on his face is undeniable as you break out into another merry smile. Your plan to chase away his night-terrors seem to have worked perfectly. If you’d thought him handsome before, then he looks utterly divine now. 

“Well, I suppose you’re right. There’s another one, though,” you hum, eyes fixated at the gulls taking wing to and fro their nests, the trawlers sailing home with their morning catch. “Never ever bring harm to a seabird.”

He cocks his head. “If I didn't know any better, seabird, I’d say you were making a threat.”

“And?” you smile. “Do you, jailbird?”

“Do I what?”

“Know better.”

Halbrand laughs again. A charming peal of a sound, canine-wide and punched out. It makes your heart sing— makes you wonder when was the last time he laughed this freely.

“You!” he exclaims once more, but there’s a thunderdrum in his ribs to reckon with all of a sudden, from the way the first break of light begins to dawn on your face and the charming, affectionate grin flowering across it, and so he couldn’t finish his insult after all.

You offer him wine in his dreams. 

Soot blackens your fingers as he takes it, but the stains don’t seem to bother you.

Weighty is a hagstone in his palm.

The sea is blue and quiet—

And barnacles are just barnacles, now.

Footnotes in AO3!

[starspray]

And Leaves of Gold There Grew

three Galadriel drabbles for @arafinwean-week

.

“Aldarion gave me these,” Gil-galad said, opening the small wooden box in his hands. On soft cloth inside nestled a handful of silvery nuts. Galadriel picked one up, turning it over in her fingers, feeling the life thrumming gently within, just waiting for the right planting. “Mellyrn, he called them. They thrive on Númenor, the first of them a gift from the Elves of Eressëa, long ago. We have tried to plant some, but they do not grow here in Lindon.” Gil-galad held out the box with a smile. “Perhaps you will have better luck in the east.”

.

Long ago and far away, in her childhood, Galadriel had raced her brothers through a wood of mallorn trees in spring. They had laughed and delighted, all of them, in the golden roof above and golden floor of leaves below, and all the smooth silver pillars of trunks in between. Finrod had made many fair songs of it.

Perhaps it was from that grove that seeds had been taken to plant on Eressëa, and thence to Númenor, and thence to Middle-earth. Galadriel kept the seeds close as she passed into the east, seeking a place where they might grow.

.

Atop the hill that would one day be called Cerin Amroth, Galadriel knelt amid the elanor, and placed a single nut into the earth, covering it with soft warm soil. She poured water over it, and began to sing, of golden leaves and golden flowers, and silver trunks tall and strong. Gil-galad was gone, and Númenor too—but this last gift from Eressëa to reach the shores of Middle-earth would survive, and what was more, it would thrive.

That first mallorn sprouted and grew swiftly, as did the others after. The Galadhrim delighted in them, and Galadriel smiled.

[searchingforserendipity25]

charmed by the idea that celeborn does fade into a tree, a tall and gracious mallorn with silver leaves, deep of root and branches raised to live every season fully - up until the end of all ages, past dagor dagorath.

ony for galadriel to wake alone in arda unmarred, and go searching across the new seas and continents for her own tall tree.

it makes no difference. galadriel's hungry for knowledge, little pacified by the perfection of her surroundings when something from the past someone very like her once lived. it plucks at her, the lack, like a note in a harp repeated, a longing sound.

she will recognize it when she finds it, she knows - will know it in every shape, in the twist of bark and the glittering of sap; never mind this world is stranger and more alive than even valinor during the noontide, and little raw around the edges.

it is a fairy-tale search, with vague memories to guide her, and her burning will. white hounds guide her, and songbirds tempt her with the distraction of knowledge - and to twitter, chidingly, when she tries to surpass every quest and test with skill but a little too much hubris.

galadriel knows there is something of hers lost, something she has to find. she walks all the woods, and speaks to all the tree-shepherds. sometimes she thinks the leaves of tall tree shiver a little at her voice, turning to her; but none wake to greet her, and none are her tree.

[remusjohnslupin]

But Arwen went forth from the House, and the light of her eyes was quenched, and it seemed to her people that she had become cold and grey as nightfall in winter that comes without a star. Then she said farewell to Eldarion, and to her daughters, and to all whom she had loved; and she went out from the city of Minas Tirith and passed away to the land of Lórien, and dwelt there alone under the fading trees until winter came. Galadriel had passed away and Celeborn had also gone, and the land was silent. There at last when the mallorn-leaves were falling, but spring had not yet come, she laid herself to rest upon Cerin Amroth; and there is her green grave, until the world is changed, and all the days of her life are utterly forgotten by the men that come after, and elanor and nimphredil bloom no more east of the sea.

[rangers-arecool]

For: Arwen :: @amarthfaeg Muses: Hal & Aragorn Prompt: Tattoo - when they reach a certain age, a tattoo shows up on their bodies that they have in common

  Hidden from all but the former Ranger who owned the house and his visiting kin, a small child sized ledge could be found tucked away in the corner. It had first been noted when Maechedir brought the property but he had never bothered to sort it out. A fact he had been grateful for, at varying times in the recent years

The Northern Barrow-downs.

  Well. The Barrow-downs in general wasn’t a place that many of the living, both travellers and permanent Bree residents, liked to visit. Some of the more braver folk went there only to get items not found anywhere else but most of the time, they asked the Rangers of the North to help. With barghests, wandering spirits and barrow-weights among other creatures now calling the place home, it wasn’t a surprise that most folk tried to avoid the Barrow-downs if possible.

  For most children who lived in Bree, their curiosity were quickly drowned out by fear and dread as they reached the main entrance to the Northern Barrow-downs. Many returned to the safety of the town, terrified of the unnatural chill in the air, glowing red eyes of the roaming hounds and the ever present low lying mist. Yet for the youngsters who did venture into the terrifying land of danger, barrows and darkness, many were never seen again.

“Maechedir, have you seen Hal? She never appeared in the Prancing Pony today.”

   It was one thing to be asked that question by some of the children as his seven year old granddaughter tended to hide away and be alone. But when one of his kin and more importantly, the Heir to the Northern Dúnedain asked it, the former Ranger gave his full attention. He thought for a few minutes, thinking back to when he had last seen her then frowned. ”Last time I saw her, she was curled up reading in the alcove by the wall. That was about 7 this morning. I haven’t seen her since, which is odd for Hal. Although…” The old Ranger trailed off uncharacteristically, recalling a fact that he had been worried about.

  When Maechedir didn’t finish his sentence, slate grey eyes narrowed with concern- and worry. For that wasn’t a good sign, especially with the storm coming over. “Mae?” A couple of other visiting Rangers, who had also been looking for the young girl, came to stop near them.

  ”There was something wrong, Arathorn. She’s been acting off for the last few days but I thought it was because another child had disappeared. And she hasn’t said anything but I’ve noticed that she’s been rubbing her upper arms a lot, like they were hurting. I think her tattoos have started to appear.”

  All the Rangers present at that precise moment stilled. They knew that the Tinnudir born man wasn’t prone to exaggeration and triads weren’t unknown to their kin. In fact one such triad of soulmates was standing just a few feet away, waiting for Arathorn’s instructions. It was easy to work out where the search would be starting but the difficulty came in actually finding the kid. As the Barrow-downs weren’t the easiest of places to track in and Hal was far too good at hiding, especially when she didn’t want to be found.

  A wordless look was all the group of Wandering Men needed and they quickly vanished to track down the silent seven year old. It was rare for them to have to search for Hal as normally they ended up asking her for help. As the skies overhead darkened with the fast approaching thunderstorm, Arathorn hoped that he and his kin would be successful in finding her in time.

~~~~~

Present Day

"Lady Arwen and Estel are getting worried that you will leave."

  Hal didn't startle at Haldir's voice, having been aware of his presence before he actually appeared. They were sitting on one of the outermost flets in Lothlorien, knees tucked against their chest and arms around their legs. "I was going to but Lord Celeborn asked me to wait until the storm had passed over the Misty Mountains." Their voice was quiet, remaining focused on the water surface.

  It had only been due to help from his fellow Marchwardens that he knew where to look, since a couple of elves were keeping an eye on them. He followed the quiet Ranger's gaze out across the River Anduin for a few minutes, taking a moment to just watch the wildlife on it's banks. However with dusk fast approaching, Haldir knew they both needed to return to the city as the dangers worsened at night.

  A quiet conversation picked up as Elf and Dúnadan entered through the entrance of Caras Galadhon, taking the longer path to reach the guest Talan where they were staying. Avoiding the newly betrothed couple wasn't something Hal wanted to do but after their soulmarks had been accidentally revealed the previous night, it was easier to retreat to the safety of Talan Brethil. Although no one was waiting at the flet, it didn't surprise them that people had been there.

  Once inside, Hal curled up on the bed under a blanket and fell into a semi peaceful sleep. When dark grey eyes flickered open a few hours later, she felt more tethered to the world and less like leaving Lothlorien without warning. The gender-fluid Ranger had planned to take a shower and go patrol with Rumil but that plan was momentarily paused. It was virtually impossible to free herself from Aragorn's hold, especially when he didn't want to let go and was asleep.

"Lady Arwen."

She was still exhausted from the long mission she was on, before getting Aragorn's request to visit Lothlorien. But it hadn't shown through the neutral mask she wore in public, nor through the flicker of pain and wariness across her features at seeing the Evenstar and Tree of Gondor marks uncovered on her own arms.

[earthlybeam]

🎄🎁Merry Christmas everyone🎉✨

✨🌿🎻 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻 🎻🌿✨

how would the elves react to this?

↓

↓

↓

Lindir Version below. (reader/you are his lover). Featuring what I wrote below is: Building a Snowman (With a Twist), Snowball Fight, Sledging Adventure, Snow Angel.

🎶𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Building a Snowman(With a Twist):

♫ Lindir stood a little apart from you, his gaze soft yet calculating as you worked on shaping the snow into large, rounded balls, one by one. He rarely indulged in such light-hearted activities, often found lost in thought or immersed in the music that echoed in the heart of Rivendell. But today, something about the crisp, snow-laden landscape seemed to beckon him into this unexpected moment of whimsy. He tilted his head, his dark brown hair catching the pale light of the winter sun, and raised an elegant brow at the sight of your determination. “A snowman?” he asked, his voice light with amusement, but with a hint of skepticism. “I did not think you were one for such frivolities, my love.” There was a twinkle in your eyes as you glanced up from your work, a playful smile curling on your lips. “Why not?” you said, voice teasing yet warm. “Even the most serious of elves should know how to enjoy the simpler joys of life. Besides, what’s wrong with a little fun in Rivendell?”

♫ Lindir watched you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He seemed to weigh your words carefully, the serene composure of his nature mingling with an unspoken curiosity. He had always been one to appreciate beauty in all things—whether through music, art, or the grace of the world around him—but something as silly as a snowman? That was an uncharted territory for him, but there was something about the way you smiled, something about your infectious energy, that coaxed him into a rare moment of playfulness. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that was both warm and melodious, like the gentle breeze stirring the branches of the mallorn trees above. “Perhaps… but only if we do it correctly,” he said, his tone carrying that subtle hint of challenge. It was as if he had decided that, if he were to indulge in this whimsical endeavor, he would approach it with the same precision and artistry that he applied to everything else.

♫ Without waiting for a response, Lindir began to roll the snow with care. His movements were deliberate, and each gesture seemed as if it were part of a grand composition. He seemed less concerned with the size of the snowballs and more with their shape, his hands shaping the snow with the gentleness and skill of a craftsman. His features softened as he worked, but there was an undeniable focus in his gaze, as if he were composing a masterpiece rather than building a snowman. You continued your own work, sneaking a glance at Lindir as he sculpted. His usually immaculate appearance—his long hair and tunic—were now speckled with bits of snow, but he paid no mind. His usual poise and quiet elegance had not diminished, even as he worked on a seemingly frivolous task. You admired the way his movements were graceful, like a dancer moving through the air, yet purposeful, each one adding to the growing form of the snowman. It was as if he could never completely leave behind his love of beauty and precision, even in something as simple as a snowman.

♫ As you rolled another ball of snow, a mischievous thought crossed your mind. Why not add a little twist to this already unusual moment? You could not resist the impulse to play a harmless prank. With a mischievous grin, you grabbed a carrot from your pack, but instead of placing it in the usual spot for the nose, you carefully placed it in a far more surprising position, one that would surely make Lindir raise an eyebrow. When you turned to look, Lindir had paused, his hands stilling as his sharp eyes flickered over your creation. His gaze first went to the snowman’s face, and then, almost imperceptibly, down to the carrot, now positioned in an unexpected and rather risqué location. His lips parted slightly, his expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement. For a brief moment, his typically composed demeanor cracked, and he looked at you with wide, stunned eyes. “You…” Lindir’s voice faltered, and he shook his head as if trying to process what he was seeing. “You are truly a mischievous one.” The words were out before he could stop them, his tone a blend of exasperation and laughter. His fingers hovered near the snowman’s head, as if contemplating whether to adjust the nose back to its original place, but the gleam of your playful smile stopped him. His lips twitched, the first sign of a smile breaking through his usually composed facade. Lindir turned to you, his eyes twinkling with a new kind of warmth, and though his lips were still pressed tightly together to suppress a laugh, the hint of amusement was unmistakable. “This is not the most dignified of positions for a snowman’s nose,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor, “but I suppose it is memorable.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his reaction, the sound light and full of delight. “Oh, I knew you’d appreciate the creativity,” you teased, stepping toward him, still grinning from ear to ear.

♫ Lindir’s gaze softened as you moved closer, his hands slipping from the snowman’s form to settle gently on your waist. He looked down at you with a fond expression, his eyes a mix of affection and exasperation. His smile was now full, and he shook his head in mock disapproval. “Well, my love, we’ll have to ensure no one else sees this creation,” he said with a half-smile, though there was no real reprimand in his tone. “Though, I suppose it would be hard to forget.” With that, he leaned down, his lips brushing lightly against your forehead in a tender gesture. The warmth of his touch lingered even after he pulled back, and the two of you stood for a moment, savoring the simplicity of the moment. The snowman, however unconventional, was a testament to the joy of the present—a memory made amidst the ancient beauty of Rivendell. And as the two of you laughed together, you knew this moment, with all its absurdity, would remain with you forever.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Snowball Fight:

♫ The snowball fight had escalated into a flurry of movement, the sound of laughter mixing with the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet. You and Lindir had both found yourselves darting between the trees of Rivendell, the delicate snowflakes drifting from the branches above adding to the magic of the moment. It was hard to focus on anything other than the playful tension between you two, your heart light, filled with the thrill of the game and the joy of his company. Lindir was fast—faster than you expected, and yet he moved with a grace that belied the competition. His lithe frame darted between the trees with effortless precision, snowballs flying from his hands with an elegance that only he could possess. His dark brown hair shone beneath the soft glow of the winter sun, and there was an intensity in his eyes that you didn’t often see. His brow furrowed slightly, his concentration etched into his features, and you found yourself momentarily distracted by how endearing it all was.

♫ You, on the other hand, were no slouch. Your aim was sharp, your reflexes quick, and every snowball you hurled was expertly targeted. The playful edge of competition made your heart race, but it was Lindir’s determination that kept you on your toes, pushing you to be better. As you ducked behind a tree, peeking out just long enough to launch another snowball his way, you couldn’t help but admire how utterly focused he was. And that was when it struck you—how charming, how utterly adorable Lindir was in his earnestness. His brow was knit in determination, his movements fluid, but there was something disarmingly sincere about how he threw each snowball with such seriousness, as if the fate of Middle-earth rested in his aim. You felt a swell of affection in your chest, a mixture of admiration and fondness that made your heart skip a beat. Suddenly, you had an idea. A plan, a small victory for Lindir that you would grant him, just for the fun of it. You knew you had the upper hand—you were faster, your aim sharper—but there was no harm in letting him win this round. After all, there was something irresistible about his enthusiasm.

♫ As you darted out from behind a tree, feigning a stumble, you purposely let your footing slip, just enough to make it seem as if you were off balance. Lindir, with his ever-watchful eyes, saw the opportunity immediately. Without a second thought, he hurled his snowball toward you. It struck you square in the chest with a soft thud, and you staggered back, a dramatic gasp escaping your lips as you fell backward into the snow. Lindir’s face lit up, his eyes flashing with triumph as he took in the sight of your feigned defeat. His chest puffed out slightly, and the victorious grin on his face made your heart flutter. It was a mixture of pride and playfulness, something so pure and delightful that it almost made you forget the snow beneath you was cold. “I got you!” Lindir exclaimed, his voice filled with triumph. The joy in his expression was contagious, his smile wide and radiant as he stood a little taller, savoring the moment. His eyes were alight with the thrill of his success, and his laughter rang through the air, rich and musical.

♫ You blinked up at him, still lying in the snow, and feigned a look of exaggerated defeat. Brushing snow off your cloak, you gave him a teasing wink, unable to resist playing along. “I suppose you have,” you said, your voice light with mock seriousness. “But don’t get too cocky, my dear. I’m not finished just yet.” Before he could respond, you moved quickly, pushing yourself up from the snow with a burst of energy. In one swift motion, you tackled him to the ground, sending him sprawling into the soft, powdery snow. His surprised laugh was muffled by the snow beneath him as you landed on top of him, straddling him with a playful gleam in your eyes. For a moment, Lindir was caught off guard, his hands flailing for a moment before he settled, his chest heaving with laughter. “You—” Lindir began, his voice filled with a mix of shock and amusement. He looked up at you with wide eyes, the surprised expression on his face only adding to the charm of the moment. “You tricked me!” His words were filled with mock disbelief, though the smile on his lips betrayed him.

♫ You leaned down, your lips curling into a wicked grin as you hovered just above him. “I did,” you admitted, your voice soft with playful mischief. Before he could say anything else, you leaned in and kissed him quickly on the cheek, your lips light against his skin. Then, as if unable to resist, you peppered his face with a series of gentle, quick kisses. Each one was followed by a soft giggle or the hum of his laughter, which vibrated through you, making you smile even more. Lindir’s hands came up to cradle your face, his touch tender and warm as he gazed up at you with adoration in his eyes. The playful astonishment that had lit his features faded into something softer, more affectionate. “You are impossible,” he teased, his voice still warm, but now filled with fondness and affection. He pulled you closer, his smile widening with the sheer joy of the moment. “But you make life so much more entertaining.” You leaned down once more, planting a lingering kiss on his lips, a gentle, lingering connection that seemed to make the world around you fade away. “You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing as you rested your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

♫ Lindir sighed in contentment, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer into the comfort of his embrace. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the quiet peace that had settled between you, the snow still falling softly around you both. “I suppose I’ll have to let you win… this time,” he murmured with a chuckle, a teasing glint in his eyes as he gazed up at you. “But mark my words, next time you will not get away so easily.” You smiled, your heart still racing from the thrill of it all, and rested your forehead against his once more. “I’ll look forward to it,” you replied, your voice full of promise, knowing that the next time, the game would be just as playful, just as filled with laughter, and just as impossible to resist.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Sledging Adventure:

♫ The crisp winter air bit at your cheeks as you and Lindir climbed the steep hill, sledges in tow. The world around you was blanketed in pristine white snow, the quiet beauty of Rivendell’s wintry landscape stretching out before you. A faint mist clung to the trees, their branches heavy with snow, but the landscape was still, save for the sound of your boots crunching in the snow and the occasional laugh shared between you and Lindir. There was something magical about the season, about being here, together. Lindir was beside you, walking with purpose yet with a kind of unhurried elegance. His dark brown hair was swept back from his face by the brisk wind, though it still had a tendency to fall forward as he moved. He wore a slight smile as he glanced at you, the mischief in his eyes almost as bright as the snow around you. As you neared the top of the hill, he slowed, his pace matching yours as he gave you a glance full of playful challenge. “Ready?” he asked, his voice smooth, laced with the kind of teasing confidence that always made your heart flutter.

♫ You met his gaze, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. “Oh, I’m ready. The question is, are you?” Lindir’s smile deepened, and he gave an exaggerated sigh as he glanced down at his sledge. “I should warn you,” he said, tightening the grip on the rope of his sledge as he turned his attention back to you. “I have a natural talent for speed. Don’t be too disappointed when I leave you behind.” You raised an eyebrow, amusement lighting your features. “We’ll see about that,” you said with a teasing glint in your eyes, giving him a challenging smile as you settled onto your sledge. Lindir chuckled under his breath, taking a step back to position himself on his own sledge. The wind picked up around you, the air icy but refreshing. There was an unmistakable spark in Lindir’s eyes as he adjusted his gloves, ready for the descent. He gave you a mock-serious glance, his expression both determined and playful. You knew him well enough to know that beneath that smooth exterior, there was a competitiveness that, while lighthearted, could rival even the most skilled of racers.

♫ “Shall we?” he asked, a soft, melodic laugh in his voice. You gave him a nod, your heart racing in anticipation of the race. With a quick push, the two of you were off. The sledges shot forward, and you instantly felt the rush of the wind against your face as the world blurred in a wash of white. Lindir was ahead, his sledge carving through the snow with smooth, practiced ease. You watched his figure for a moment—his movements were fluid, his posture upright as he leaned into the ride, clearly enjoying the thrill. He was so effortlessly graceful that it almost seemed as if he were gliding rather than sledging. But you weren’t one to back down from a challenge. You dug your heels into the snow, pushing yourself to catch up. The sledge beneath you picked up speed quickly, the snow crunching beneath you as you leaned forward, intent on closing the gap. You could feel the thrill of the race electrifying your every movement, the adrenaline and excitement merging with the playful energy of the moment. Lindir glanced over his shoulder, his grin widening when he noticed you gaining on him. The speed at which you were closing in seemed to excite him, his competitive spirit now fully awakened. His dark brown hair whipped around his face as he shifted his weight, pushing his sledge to gain even more speed. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he called over his shoulder, “Not bad! But you’ll need more than that to catch me!” You gritted your teeth, your hands gripping the edge of the sledge tighter as you fought to keep up. The thrill of the chase pushed you further, your determination only increasing. With a burst of energy, you leaned into the turn, picking up even more speed, your heart pounding with the exhilaration of the race. And then, in that split second of focus, you misjudged the angle. You had pushed just a little too hard, a little too fast, and before you could course-correct, the collision came. The impact was sudden and unexpected—the two sledges smashed together with a force that sent you both tumbling head over heels through the snow.

♫ For a moment, all there was was snow, the sharp bite of the winter air, and a sudden, disorienting flurry of limbs. You found yourself on top of Lindir, both of you lying in a tangled heap, covered in a blanket of soft, cold snow. His hair was dotted with flakes, and his dark amber eyes blinked in surprise, staring up at the sky in shock. His face, flushed from the cold and the impact, softened into an expression that was equal parts amused and disbelieving. For a moment, neither of you moved, as the absurdity of the situation settled in. You were still half on top of him, stifling your laughter as you tried to untangle yourself, but the ridiculousness of it all was simply too much to bear. Lindir chuckled, his breath coming out in soft clouds. His voice was playful, though his tone carried the unmistakable hint of amusement. “I suppose I should have seen that coming,” he said with a dramatic sigh, brushing snow from his cloak. His lips quirked into a grin, the warm humor in his voice making your heart skip a beat. “You’ve managed to defeat me in every way possible, haven’t you?”

♫ You let out a breathless laugh, offering him a hand to help him up. “I warned you. I’m full of surprises.” Lindir accepted your hand, and as he pulled himself up, there was a sparkle in his eyes—one of admiration mixed with playful challenge. His gaze flickered to you, and with a sidelong glance, he grinned. “This may be true,” he said, dusting snow off his coat with a mock-serious look, “but don’t think I’ll let you off so easily. Next time, I’ll be the one crashing into you.” You put on an exaggerated pout, though your lips betrayed you with the smile that crept onto your face. “I look forward to that,” you teased, feeling your heart flutter at his proximity. Before you could say anything else, he reached out and brushed some snow from your face with a tender motion, his fingers warm against your cold skin. “Let’s make sure we’re on the same sledge next time,” he murmured softly, his voice low and teasing. His eyes held a glint of affection as he leaned in, brushing his lips gently against your forehead. “That way, I won’t have to crash into you again.” You smiled, leaning into him as the snow continued to fall softly around you both, your breath mingling in the cold air. “Next time,” you agreed, “but only if you promise not to leave me behind.” Lindir’s laughter rang out as he pulled you closer, the world around you fading into the background, and the warmth between you was all that remained.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Snow Angel:

♫ The snow crunched beneath your boots as you and Lindir made your way through the frosty landscape of Rivendell. The world around you was blanketed in soft, pristine snow, a perfect winter wonderland. The air was crisp, the cold biting at your cheeks, but the peace of the scene was undeniable. You had always loved the quiet that came with a snowy day—everything seemed so still, so beautiful, and the snowflakes floating gently from the sky only added to the enchantment. Lindir, always the picture of elegance, walked beside you with a casual grace. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled by the wind, and his dark amber eyes held a glimmer of warmth and amusement as he glanced over at you. His cloak swirled around his legs, the deep indigo fabric contrasting beautifully with the white landscape. You had spent the day wandering through Rivendell, enjoying each other’s company in the silence that only nature could offer, but now you had an idea—a playful impulse that had overtaken you.

♫ Without warning, you dropped to the ground, flopping backward into the fresh snow. The cold seeped through your clothing, but you didn’t mind. You spread your arms and legs out wide, beginning to move them back and forth in the snow, creating the outline of a snow angel. Your laughter bubbled up, a joyful sound that seemed to echo in the stillness around you. Lindir stopped walking and watched you, one eyebrow arched in that familiar way that always made you smile. There was a quiet amusement in his gaze, but also something tender, something affectionate. You could tell he didn’t fully understand the appeal of such childlike antics, but he was always kind enough to indulge you. “You truly enjoy these childish things, don’t you?” he asked, his voice light but laced with fondness.

♫ You smiled up at him from the snow, your arms still spread wide as you moved them back and forth, a carefree smile on your face. “It’s not childish. It’s peaceful.” He sighed, rolling his eyes with a mock exasperation. You could see the playful twinkle in his eyes as he shook his head. “If you insist, my love.” There was a soft warmth in his voice, the affection clear even through his teasing words. Lindir’s movements were always graceful, even when he was reluctant. He slowly lowered himself to kneel beside you, his movements fluid despite the snow. There was an elegance to him that seemed to make everything he did look effortless, even lying in the snow. He took a moment to glance at your work, a wobbly but whimsical snow angel that was far less polished than the sharp, symmetrical designs most people might attempt. But that was the beauty of it. It was yours, unique and unrefined, and it made you smile even more. “You should join me, you know,” you teased, glancing up at him. “It’s not too bad once you’re down here.”

♫ Lindir’s lips twitched at the corner, his expression softening as he met your eyes. “You make it sound so tempting,” he replied dryly, but the affection in his tone was undeniable. Slowly, he stretched out beside you, his body creating a perfect impression in the snow as he mimicked your movements. His arms spread wide, fingers lightly tracing the snow as he moved with the same careful precision that he always exhibited, even when it came to something as simple as lying in the snow. When he was settled, you both sat up and looked at the results of your efforts. Lindir’s angel, as expected, was flawless. The wings were sharp and precise, each line of the body and wings perfect, like it had been sculpted by the finest artisan. It was beautiful, of course—but it was so meticulously perfect that it almost seemed out of place beside yours, which was a little more carefree, with a few lopsided lines and imperfect edges. But it was yours, and it was perfect in its own way. You turned your head and looked at him, your eyes filled with affection. “See? Mine’s unique,” you said with a playful grin, your voice full of light teasing. Lindir’s smile softened, and a small chuckle escaped his lips. “Of course,” he agreed softly, his gaze lingering on you with a quiet tenderness. “But perhaps I could help you with the wings.”

♫ With that, he lay back down in the snow, his arms moving in slow, careful arcs as he shaped the wings of the angel. He was meticulous in his motions, though there was an underlying softness to his touch as he tried to align the wings more symmetrically with your own design. “We should make them like we’re holding hands,” he suggested, his voice thoughtful, almost as if the idea itself was an extension of the care he always put into everything he did for you. You laughed softly, your heart swelling with affection for him. Without hesitation, you joined him in the snow, laying down beside him and shifting your arms into the position he had suggested. You carefully placed your hands in the snow, aligning them with his so that it looked as if two figures were holding hands—your angel and his angel, joined in the peace of this moment. The sight of your joined angels brought an unexpected warmth to your chest. You smiled, feeling more connected to Lindir than ever before, the simple gesture carrying so much meaning. “Perfect,” you murmured, your heart full of affection.

♫ Lindir turned his head to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with warmth. The playfulness in his gaze had faded, replaced by something deeper, something more intimate. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazed at you, the wind lifting strands of his dark hair from his forehead. “I’m glad you’re here, my love,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere. His words carried away on the wind, but the warmth between you remained, undeniable. The world felt vast and beautiful, the snow and silence around you forming a cocoon where only the two of you existed. You didn’t need anything more than this moment, than his presence beside you, and the peace that settled over both of you. You met his gaze, smiling softly as your heart swelled with affection. “I’m glad I’m here too,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible over the soft wind, but full of all the love you felt for him. In the silence, you both lay back down, side by side, watching as the snow continued to fall gently around you. The world seemed a little smaller, a little softer, as long as you were together in this simple moment.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[warriorofthought]

Ice Bear

Summary: You always were close to Lindir but he suddenly finds your present disturbing and that hurts you. Can you both come to good terms back again?

Word Count: 2023

Warnings: a bit hurt and sad feelings

Linder X Reader

In the serene woods of Riverdale, amidst the whispering leaves and the soft glow of moonlight, Lindir, the gentle minstrel of the Elves, found himself entangled in an unexpected situation. He had always been known for his kindness and compassion, but lately, he found himself feeling overwhelmed by the attentions of an ardent admirer.

As Lindir strummed his lute beneath the ancient mallorn trees, he sensed the presence of You approaching. With a courteous smile, Lindir welcomed you but his heart sank as You began to speak.

"Lindir," You began earnestly, "I must confess, I find myself drawn to your presence more than ever. Your melodies enchant me, your wisdom inspires me. I... I feel as though I cannot bear to be apart from you, as I was a child I was often by you, I miss that."

Lindir's heart fluttered with discomfort, for while he cherished You as a friend, he did not share the same romantic feelings. With a heavy heart, Lindir gathered his courage to speak his truth.

"Y/n" Lindir began gently, "I am deeply honored by your affection, but I must confess that I feel you have become... too clingy."

Your expression faltered, a flicker of hurt crossing your features. "Clingy? I... I only wish to be close to you, Lindir. Is that not what friends do?"

Lindir sighed, his fingers tracing the delicate patterns of his lute. "Indeed, friends do share a bond of closeness, but there must also be space for individual pursuits and interests. I fear that your constant presence leaves me feeling suffocated, unable to breathe freely."

Silence enveloped them like a shroud as You processed Lindir's words, his gaze cast downwards in contemplation. After a moment, he looked up, his eyes filled with remorse.

"I had not realized," You murmured, your voice tinged with regret. "Forgive me, Lindir, if I have caused you discomfort. I only wished to express my admiration for you."

Lindir's heart clenched with regret at the pain in your voice, but he knew that honesty was the only path forward. 

A flicker of hurt crossed your features, like a shadow passing over the moonlit glade. You stood silent for a moment, your gaze fixed upon the ground, before finally lifting his eyes to meet Lindir's.

"I have understood your words, I'm sorry for disturbing you" you murmured, voice tinged with sorrow. 

Lindir's heart ached at the pain in your voice, but he knew that he could not retract his words. And so, with a heavy heart, he watched as you quickly turned and walked away, disappearing into the depths of the forest like a fleeting shadow.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of You searching for him. Lindir wandered the woods of Riverdale, his heart heavy with regret, longing for the familiar presence of his dear friend. But try as he might, he could find no trace of you, as if you had vanished into the mists of his memory.

And so, beneath the canopy of stars, Lindir played his lute, the echoes of his melodies mingling with the sighing of the trees. For even as the silence between them grew, he held onto the hope that one day, their friendship would bloom anew, like a flower blossoming in the wake of winter's chill.

_______________________________________

A few weeks later 

Lindir manage to spot you as you do your usual duty and steps up to you. Your attention is immediately drawn to him as you hear him. You quickly look away and tried to leave but he steps into your way.

"don't you dare to step closer, i don't want you near me" you utter a bit too rough, the Sight of him brings pain.

Lindir stops moving and his heart sinks for a moment. You truly don't want to let him come any closer and it hurts Lindir more than he wants to show. He finally understands that his words had hurted you more than he thought.

"So..." He replies with a mixture of hurt and sadness in his eyes trying to come up with a conversation. "You would have wanted to keep spending time with me and see me and hear my stories like we used to?"

"Have I ever said I don't want that?"

Lindir is quiet for a moment as he lets these words sink in. He realizes how stupid he has been. Maybe things could go back to how they had been. Maybe you are not truly gone from him after all.

"Can I ask you something?" Lindir says as he slowly walks closer to you. "Will you please let me tell you one last story? I still know so many and I was saving at least one for you. You never got to hear it. Will you please let me do that?"

You slowly nod " is it about the ice bear?"

Lindir notices how much you are opening up to him at the mention of a story he wishes to tell you and it warms his heart.

"Indeed it is." He says and looks at you. A moment of silence passes and he then looks at the floor, as if preparing himself. "Shall I begin?"

"yes" you nod and sit down on a nearby bench.

Lindir is quiet for a long moment. He is really glad you want to hear his story, even after he messed up so much. And he wants to make it up to you for it.

"Once, very long ago, there was a group of elves who lived in a far remote area within the forests. And they loved to explore these woods. One day, they stumbled on a cave that was very deep within the depths of the woods. They explored the cave and soon began to be surrounded by a lot of ice."

Your eyes slowly move over to him.

"As they went deeper, they soon noticed that they were becoming surrounded by more and more ice. It was as if the cave was a large freezer. The deeper they went, the tighter the ice became.

But they were brave and went all the way down until they reached a huge chamber that was filled entirely with ice. In the middle of the room, they saw something that startled them immediately."

"the little ice bear?"

Lindir is silent for a second, surprised that you already know most of the story. However, that does not bother him.

"Yes, indeed. It was a tiny little thing, so small that it fit in the palm of your hand. It was lying on its side and barely moving. All the elves were worried that it was going to die because it was freezing.

Then, something unexpected happened. The little ice bear moved its head and suddenly it looked directly at them."

Your eyes slowly show a little bit of your excitement.

Lindir notices a hint of excitement in your eyes. He continues with the story.

"Everybody was shocked at first. But the elf who had been exploring this cave the most got closer with a gentle and cautious approach. He had always loved animals of all kinds and he could not stop himself from trying to save the ice bear. He moved closer and carefully picked up the little bear.

His touch seemed to have an immediate and magical effect, as the very ice that surrounded the bear began to melt. And the little bear regained its breath."

"Wow" you mumble

Lindir smiles at you, realizing that you are enjoying his story more and more.

"Indeed. As the ice vanished, it became visible that the cave was more like a freezer and the ice was like magic frozen on this animal. All the elves were completely astonished at what they could see.

In the end, the elf that had held the small bear in his arms decided to take him with him back to the woods. Since that day, the little ice bear and the elf were inseparable."

"They are friends now?"

"They are not just friends now. They are bonded for the rest of their lives. The ice bear is actually very clingy towards the elf and likes to ride on his shoulders. The elf always loves to pet him and even has given him a name."

Lindir pauses for a moment and then leans a little bit closer to you and speaks softly. "Would you like to know the name he gave him?"

You nod.

Lindir leans even closer, his voice almost a whisper by now. He can tell that this story is hitting a spot in you.

"The elf called the little ice bear 'Icely'. They are so bonded and so close now that it is as if they cannot be separated. Icely is always with the elf and the elf can never be sad because Icely will always be there to cheer him up."

"that sounds nice"

"And what if I told you that that small ice bear reminds me of someone?" He asks you. With a glance, you understand who he is referencing.

"Of who?" You ask, trying to hide your curious feelings.

“It's the one I care so much about and the one that deserves all the kindness and love I have to give. The one I miss every day after you started to avoid me."

"You." He answers softly. "I feel as if we are like the elf and the bear. We cannot be separated. Maybe what happened between us before was so hurtful, but now I am not ready to let you go either. I will never leave you and I will always be here for you whether you wish to admit it or not." He sighs slightly, a bit sad.

"I cannot explain the feeling. Whenever I am with you, I do not feel sad because you are there. Even when I do not have the best day, you make it brighter and happier simply by being there.”

Lindir gets a bit closer to you and he talks softly. His tone is sincere and his eye contact is full of kindness.

“I have told you the story of my friends to tell you this: you are my little ice bear. You are not a burden for me, I promise, i will never tell you something like that so rough, i will be softer."

"Lindir" your voice finally soft again and it drifted through the air like a whisper carried on the wind, "I have missed you."

"Y/n" Lindir breathed, relief flooding through him like a river breaking free from its banks, "I feared I had lost you forever."

You look at him with a hesitant smile, your gaze soft and searching. "I needed time to... to process our conversation, your words were a bit hard for me" you admitted, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "But I realize now that I cannot bear to be apart from you, Lindir."

A surge of warmth flooded Lindir's heart at your words, and he reached out to clasp his hand, their fingers intertwining like the branches of two trees intertwined in a forest glade.

"Nor can I bear to be apart from you, y/n" Lindir confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper carried on the breeze. “ You have always held a special place in my heart, a place of light and warmth amidst the shadows."

Your eyes widened with surprise, your gaze locking with Lindir's in an unspoken exchange of understanding. And then, with a tender smile, he leaned forward, and hug you in a gentle big warm hug that spoke volumes of the love that had blossomed between you both.

Underneath the canopy of stars, amidst the whispering leaves and the soft glow of moonlight, Lindir and you found solace in each other's arms, their bond strengthened not by words alone, but by the depth of their shared affection. And as they danced beneath the silvered sky, their hearts entwined like the branches of two trees reaching for the heavens, they knew that their love would endure for all eternity, a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness.

[iminye]

"Alas for Lothlórien that I love! It would be a poor life in a land where no mallorn grew. But if there are mallorn-trees beyond the Great Sea, none have reported it."

- The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chpt. VI

Stumbled across this quote from Haldir on my reread of the Fellowship, and it got me thinking about a) the way knowledge about certain places and people is distributed in the Legendarium and b) plants native to Middle Earth and plants native to Valinor, and how much of a difference there is.

I would like to make a long meta post but I literally lack the energy to do so, so instead let me ask you:

If you have another more nuanced take let me know in the tags please!!