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yellow-faerie · 3 years

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Ivárë Filegol

I felt that a bit of a longer post on Ivárë and the general chaos of her family was in order, so here we are! I bring you this!

Ivárë Filegol is born to Avari parents Ilonweg and Monais in the seventh age - which is around 1980 - in the south of England. She is named by them Melilot in their language. (This mean Flower of Love in Gnomish, which is the language I use for the Avari a lot of the time).

Her mother, Monais, is afflicted very unwillingly with sea-longing that has got worse and worse over the many years she has tried to fight it. She and her husband thought that maybe having a child - something they were putting off for they didn’t want to bring a child to the undying lands - would help quell the feelings but it in fact magnifies it tenfold due to the stress it has on her and her soul.

Despite her best attempts, Monais eventually caves to it when Melilot is two years old. Ilonweg then has to decide whether to stay in Middle Earth without his one constant companion through the last millennia to raise their daughter or to go with her and to bring their very young daughter.

They have both heard stories of the undying lands and what they did to the Ñoldor who went there and while they - very old Avari - are fairly sure they can fight whatever it is that changed the other elves, they do not know what it would do to their young daughter.

This decision is solved for them by the introduction of a third party.

This third party is Maglor and Daeron. They are, at this point, on fairly good terms due to the decision that it is too difficult to stay angry at each other and that they are each other’s only company from the old world. They have taken to travelling the world together, committing identity fraud and playing music.

When Monais and Ilonweg see them, they are having a rather unhappy beer before they board their boat for Valinor (with Melilot, although they are unhappy about this) in a pub in Wales and it just so happens that Daeron and Maglor are playing music at the same pub.

Now Daeron and Maglor are being very careful at keeping their elvishness secret to humans but to another elf, it is perfectly obvious.

This, Monais argues, is the perfect opportunity. If they leave Melilot in their close vicinity, they’ll find her and see she’s elvish and so won’t give her to the authorities and would raise her, far away from Valinor.

Ilonweg is a rather bit less happy with this plan but his wife is very persuasive when she gets an idea and soon he is agreeing to go along with it.

They take a sleeping Melilot and, when no-one is watching, lie her in Daeron’s guitar case. Monais leaves almost at once due to the guilt of abandoning her child but the absolute surety that this is the right thing for Melilot in the long run.

Ilonweg stays until the pair of them stop playing for a break and Daeron finds the child in the guitar case. They are naturally rather concerned at first but, true to Monais’ thoughts, they do see she is elvish and talks about taking her to the police stop at once.

They do search around the pub a bit but they do not see Ilonweg who, after hearing them decide to look after his daughter if their search proved fruitless, had followed his wife to the shore.

Ilonweg and Monais leave Middle Earth that night and do not see their daughter again for fifty years.

After a few weeks with no sign of her parents, Maglor and Daeron make the decision to be her official parents. For the modern world they live in, they forge some paperwork, making her Ivy Felicity Smith, daughter of Martin and David Smith.

For Maglor’s Ñoldorin tradition, they do the traditional Ñoldorin naming ceremony (the ceremony which announces a new child in the family, of blood or not) thing of giving her a name each and something they had each made.

Maglor calls her Ivárifinwë (Finwë Who Protects in Quenya) which shortens to Ivárë (She Who Protects) and Daeron calls her Filegol (Small, Nimble Bird Running Free in Sindarin), which was a nickname he used to have for his sister. Maglor manages to wheedle his way into a forge to make her a thin chain to collect charms on when they travel and a silver charm of a tree and Daeron embroiders a head scarf in the traditional Doriathrin way.

For Daeron’s Sindarin tradition, they do the Sindarin thing of gifting something very dear of theirs that they would give up for her and creating her a braid for her hair that’s unique to her. Daeron gives her one of his flutes - the first flute he got from his mother when he told her he wanted to be a minstrel (this becomes one of her favourite instruments when she learns to play) and Maglor gives her a hairpiece that his father made him for his Naming Ceremony, which is a rather simple bird pin that sparkles when the light hits it just right and she wears it almost all the time despite Maglor being worried she’ll lose it.

When Ivárë is young, she grows up with Maglor and Daeron on a rather rundown farm in Wales, far enough away from people to avoid them noticing her strange growth patterns but close enough that should her birth parents reappear, they would be able to find her. There is a brief stint where they send her to school but she hates it so much, she gets herself expelled after a term by burning down a climbing frame.

When she is around 20 (about eight and a half in human years), Daeron and Maglor begin travelling again, this time with child in tow. She is subsequently well versed in many languages and writing systems and musical instruments and notations, among other things.

She is a naturally curious child who has a tendency to wander off after things that catch her eye, much to her fathers’ chagrin. She gets into trouble because of this a lot and is subsequently very good at getting out of trouble. And then getting back into trouble because she doesn’t stop.

She is around fifty when their life of flitting from place to place, getting money from busking and the occasional bit of fraud, gets turned upside down by the introduction of Cantasië Timpinen.

Cantasië is a Teleri woman, the daughter of a fisherman and one of Alqualondë’s greatest sailors due to the power of her voice, enough to tame the sea. She is also married to Maglor, their marriage bond having never broken down after Maglor’s departure due to lingering feelings. It is this and her skills at boating that mean that when the Valar want her husband to return to Valinor to join his recently reborn family, they choose her to go.

Cantasië, after the flight of the Ñoldor, had also adopted a young Vanya who’s parents seemed to have disappeared during the darkening. No-one will acknowledge them as theirs and so Elemmírë is adopted by Cantasië, who is the one who found them.

(It should be noted that this family does, in fact, have a monopoly on The Greatest Minstrels of the Quendi, and this is a running joke with everyone who knows them).

So Elemmírë and Elrond - who is also fairly determined to get his father back - join Cantasië on her journey, equipped with a fairly nondescript boat; absolutely no leads other than ‘he was singing on the coast, last I heard’; and a lot of misplaced faith in the fact they will find them.

There is absolutely no planning involved and it is complete chance that they meet each other in a port in Spain. It is night and Maglor plays his harp on the dock wall and Elrond hears and is reminded of dark nights when Maglor would comfort him and his brother with a soft lullaby and knows that it is him.

They appear at the same time as Daeron and Ivárë return from shopping and there is an argument as Cantasië is furious because Maglor got remarried without their bond breaking and without telling her; Daeron’s furious because Maglor hadn’t told him that he was already married; and Maglor is trying to explain that he actually thought the bond he has with Cantasië was broken because it was so dull and how he couldn’t imagine how she would still want him etc, etc.

Elrond, Elemmírë and Ivárë are standing on the side of this awkwardly because those are their parents and it’s always weird when your parents are arguing.

They sort of sidle away awkwardly when it’s been about ten minutes and it doesn’t look like it’s ending any time soon. Ivárë suggests that they go adventuring round the streets of the port town at night for sibling bonding reasons.

They have a remarkably chilled out first bonding experience despite Ivárë’s tendency to invoke the wrath of literally anyone she comes into contact with (probably Elrond’s influence) and they arrive back at the small house Ivárë, Daeron and Maglor are staying at exhausted but kind of happy to find their parents curled up on one of the beds, having apparently made up.

They stay in that place for another three months before Maglor finally agrees to go back so long as Daeron and Ivárë come too, which they do.

In Valinor, she lives at first with Daeron and Maglor and Cantasië in their house by the sea although she quite often goes off to stay with relatives who she loves to meet. It is actually when she goes hunting with her uncle Celegorm and aunt Aredhel that she meets her mother again, completely by accident.

She is hunting too and they end up sleeping near each other and talking about themselves and their lives and they both sort of put the pieces together.

Ivárë is not actually that angry (although she is a bit because she does have a few abandonment issues) because if she hadn’t been left, she wouldn’t have got her fathers or the family she has now. And she does understand where Monais is coming from.

It is with an open mind that she remeets her father and meets her younger brother and joins that side of her family too.

She also meets, in Tirion, a young elf by the name of Tecoluin who is a history nerd and hangs out with other young history nerds and they all collectively Do Not Trust the official sources like Pengolodh because they are constantly finding factual inaccuracies in them all the time but that’s something else entirely.

Ivárë and Tecoluin initially hang out because Tecoluin wants to ask questions about her family and Ivárë loves talking particularly about her family so it’s a win-win situation. Except after the first one or two meet-ups they have, they end up talking about things unrelated to Tecoluin’s work and are just hanging out.

Ivárë invites her to one of her concerts and then Tecoluin invites her to dinner and then they’re courting and then betrothed and then married in autumn.

It is like the wedding from Up where Carl’s family are few and politely clap and then Ellie’s family is just full on crazy except instead of Carl, it’s Tecoluin, and instead of Ellie, it’s Ivárë.

They get themselves a house in the country between Tirion and Alqualondë and they stay there, Ivárë quite happy in her composing and Tecoluin in her constant search for what actually happened (which is rather difficult when you are looking at the house of Finwë because all of them have wildly diverging tales that barely ever match up in any way).

A bit of a long post but I wanted to go a bit more into detail about Ivárë and her general chaos family and I love going off about my OCs.

#Ivárë #Monais #Ilonweg #Daeron #Maglor #OC: Cantasië #Maglor’s Spouse #Elemmírë #Elrond #Tecoluin #Tolkien #Silmarillion #Headcanon #OCs #tolkienocweek #Fae's Stuff

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hacash · 4 years

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Too Much Information

"I always imagined Big Folk’d be rather prudish about sex,” Pippin said. “After all, I imagined none of you do it very often, taking into account your obvious shortcomings.”

The Fellowship share. Rather too much. In which Gandalf is cagey, Merry and Pippin are shameless, and Boromir finds out more about the Fellowship's personal lives than he wanted to know.

[also available on Archive of our Own]

(based on this post; probably not to be taken too seriously)

“Posey Greenfields does not count.”

“Does so.”

“Does not.”

“How, may I ask, does she not count?”

“I saw you at that party, Pip, and you were soused off your face. Utterly crocked. I should say she took advantage of you, more than anything.”

“Took advantage? I was giving her the advantage, and very willingly too!”

Boromir eyed the bickering cousins with more trepidation than he might an orc’s nest. Trust me, Elrond had advised the day he’d arrived in Imlradris, you might hear them talking and think you wish to know the conversation. In these moments it is best to turn around and walk the other way.

Delicately he coughed, meeting Legolas’ eye. “Do I want to know?”

The elf grimaced. Owing to his renowned elvish hearing it seemed he had caught every word: but going by Legolas’ disturbed expression Boromir suspected this wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “No. No you don’t.”

Recklessly Boromir plunged on, approaching where Merry and Pippin were setting up their bedding for the night. “Gentlemen?”

Two twin beady gazes turned on him.

“Context, please?”

Ignoring Legolas’ muffled groan and face-palm Merry turned about cheerfully, eager for a new participant – or, as Boromir was beginning to suspect, victim. “Ah, yes! You see, to kill time Pippin and I were discussing some of our more pleasant encounters back home when life was simpler and remembering some of our most enjoyable companions – ”

“Sex stories,” Boromir repeated with dawning understanding, unable to keep the horror from his voice. “You were swapping sex stories.”

“Exactly! Only Pippin insisted on counting one time with Posey Greenfields when he’d gotten into his father’s best sherry – Michel Delving’s finest, it’ll turn you cross-eyed – and I was telling him that didn’t count because he was in no fit state to make a decent showing.”

Pippin was looking so proud of himself, it was almost indecent.

“But…I thought you were a child?” Boromir demanded.

“Excuse me? I’m a tweenager.”

“You’re a deviant is what you are, Pippin,” Merry said.

“I’m an unfettered adventurous soul, lacking in fear.”

“Lacking something is certainly the way Mrs Goodchild described you when she caught you and her Iris at it in the barn that time. Your breeches, for a start.”

“You’re not of age, is what I meant,” Boromir interrupted, before his brain started producing images his stomach couldn’t handle.

“Hobbits often start courting far before they’re of age, sir.” Taking pity on the unfortunate Man, Sam approached with cups of stewed nettle tea. “It’s common enough to start when you’re about sixteen, seventeen years old. Of course, it’s less common to wed before we’re of age – ”

“Thirty-three!” Boromir exclaimed proudly.

“Yes, sir, very well done,” Sam said in a soothing tone. “Which gives any courting couple a nice long while to get to know one another proper. Of course, there’s those as might not wish to wait that long – ” Merry did the universal sign for a swollen belly behind Sam’s back, “but to have your son or daughter wed afore they’ve passed twenty five – well, it’s considered a bit tacky, if you get my drift? Not allowing them a proper chance at life afore they settle down.”

“And by ‘proper chance of life’ we mean…”

“Studying a trade, spending time with friends, practicing how to keep house – ”

“Or in Merry’s case: learning how to do it in a rowboat without capsizing,” Pippin interjected.

“Ah, discussing Salvia Chubb, I believe? As I recall you told your mother you’d caught a fish so large it had pulled you clean from the boat, and that was why you were soaked through and Salvia’s shimmy all tangled up in duckweed.”

Boromir nearly inhaled a mouthful of his wine at Frodo’s sudden appearance. He might have imagined that the last thing the two younger hobbits would want when discussing their depravity was the audience of their elder cousin, but Frodo just regarded the conversation with exasperated amusement.

“You shouldn’t listen to these two, Boromir,” the Ringbearer advised. “They’ll blister your ears off and then some with their sordid tales. My uncle Saradoc would have been at his wits’ end with Merry, save that half his tricks Merry likely learned from him.”

“Hey now!” cried Merry. “I won’t have such slander repeated before friends. There was a time when Frodo Baggins was considered quite the rascal of Buckland, Boromir, and don’t you forget it. If I have ever engaged in pranks, scandal, inebriation or debauchery, chances are I learned it from him!”

“Debauchery!”

“Downright,” Merry repeated, “debauchery.”

Frodo drew himself up to his full height and glared at his unrepentant cousin through narrowed eyes. “I admit to overindulging on Uncle Sara’s port or filching a basket of mushrooms on occasion, Meriadoc, but I object to the implication that I have ever debauched in my life.”

Sam and Pippin’s gazes flickered back and forth between the other two as if watching a game of chequers; Boromir’s cooling nettle tea was abandoned at his feet. Even Legolas was listening intently. Merry merely snorted, leaning back on his haunches as if to prepare for the master stroke. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Cousin, you remember when you left for Bag End I got your old room?”

“I do,” Frodo said stiffly, “and I fail to see the relevance.”

“Well, what you may not recall is you left plenty of odds and ends behind – mathoms mostly, old clothing and books and whathaveyou, and I found some rather interesting articles under your bed from your last years in Buckland. Some rather interesting journals, as it turns out.”

Seated beside Frodo, Legolas was lucky enough to get a good look at the Ringbearer’s face as the significance of this news dawned upon him. It was quite a spectacle, he had to admit. He’d never actually seen someone turn white before.

“You didn’t.”

Merry smirked. “It ended up proving quite an education when I was a tween, I must say.”

“…journals?” Boromir asked weakly.

“I forgot to mention: Melilot Brandybuck asked me to pass on her fondest and immense well wishes,” Merry continued wickedly, “for a couple of descriptive passages found in a particular entry – Wedmath, 1388, I believe? She was most appreciative, and I told her that the credit truly lay with you.”

Frodo’s face had bypassed white and was rapidly approaching green. “You didn’t.”

“Journals?” Pippin demanded. “What journals? Why haven’t I heard of any journals? You were courting Melilot at least ten years ago, why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Brandybuck?” Boromir asked. “But I thought Merry was – ”

“Third cousins,” Sam said wearily. “And if you let yourself get distracted by such matters, sir, you’ll never catch up.”

“And what descriptive passages could have Melilot Brandybuck still expressing her gratitude after ten years?”

“Oh, and Rory Goldworthy. Though I had to adapt some of the passages for Rory.”

“So what you’re saying is, half of Buckland knows Master Merry’s more – uh – adventurous activities can be put down to my master’s influence?” Sam said with a growing grin.

“And when were you planning on showing me these journals?”

“Meriadoc,” Frodo said slowly, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you.”

“You should all know, our cousin Frodo is a most meticulous and,” Merry smirked, “inventive writer in all respects. I only hope he provides the additions to Bilbo’s book with the same attention to detail!”

Frodo’s reaction was not a happy one. With an uncharacteristically warlike yell he hurled himself at his cousin, fists flying. Although Merry was by far the sturdier of the two, Frodo’s height and indignation found the two evenly matched, and the pair were soon scuffling haplessly in Merry’s bedding. Sam rolled his eyes, and Pippin cheered.

“Well then, lads.” Gimli’s voice was gruff as he approached. He had been discussing their route south along the Misty Mountains with Gandalf and Aragorn, and now the three of them eyed the ensuing chaos with amusement. “What are we discussing?”

“Sex,” Pippin piped up cheerfully.

Legolas was pinching the bridge of his nose: the mumbled comments of ‘raspberry jam and the garden swing’ made Sam fairly certain he had picked up most of Merry and Pippin’s early conversation, and also fairly certain that he didn’t want to know more. Gimli gave a low chuckle, Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and Gandalf shook his head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘smut-minded hole-dwellers’.

“You started this?” Gimli asked Boromir.

“I asked for context.”

“Well, it’s your own damn fault then.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” Boromir said. “I may never be able to look Merry and Pippin in the eye ever again.”

“He’s embarrassed,” Sam supplied helpfully.

Boromir raised an eyebrow. He was not embarrassed by sex – he was forty years old, thank you very much, and a soldier to boot: quite accustomed to bawdy humour. He knew all the words to ‘The Istari and the Ninety-Nine Virgins’ and had laughed himself sick over every variation of the one about the widow’s lodging house on many occasions. But the thought of these hobbits, small as children, and the Ringbearer by all accounts…

“That’s rather rude,” Merry grumbled when he told them this. “You don’t see us saying ‘urgh, imagine those Men going at it when they’re so freakishly big and ancient looking’, do you?”

“Thank you very much,” Aragorn remarked dryly.

Legolas rolled his eyes. “After spending many days in the company of soldiers from Dale I rather thought all Men to be rather fixated on the subject.”

“Really? I always imagined Big Folk’d be rather prudish about sex,” Pippin said. “After all, I imagined none of you do it very often, taking into account your obvious shortcomings.”

There came from Aragorn the sounds of spluttering and rapid smoke inhalation; it appeared he’d lit his pipe at an inopportune moment. “I…I beg your pardon?!”

“Well, look at the size of you. I can imagine you might not be – well, no offence, but not wholly up to scratch.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Frodo steepled his fingers thoughtfully and fixed both Aragorn and Boromir with a calculating gaze that seemed to them a bit too intrigued to be decent. “Well, be fair Pippin. I can imagine size might be beneficial.”

“Maybe a bit.”

“A bit?” chorused the two Men. Gimli snorted.

“But, well, you’re all so big and clumsy,” Pippin, oblivious in the face of rapidly approaching death, continued blithely. “No dexterity. No lightness of touch. No imagination. And just like in everything else, if you think only size matters you’re not going to put too much thought into it, are you?”

Aragorn had gone a distinctly red shade. From across the fire Sam was could see Gandalf’s shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Is Aragorn alright?” Merry asked.

“Ignore him,” Gimli said, “he’s just reconsidering certain aspects of his romantic life for the past seventy years.”

“Bugger off.”

“Well, we’re not prudish,” Boromir said hastily – Gondor might have needed no king, but abandoning Aragorn to this particular line of questioning seemed like a step too far. “We just don’t feel the need to talk about it all the time.”

“We don’t all the time,” Pippin said. “Just in general conversation.”

“Do the women in your homeland not consider such conversation uncouth?” Legolas asked in bewilderment.

Sam snorted. “You want uncouth, sir, you should see young Myrtle Twofoot when she’s got into the summer punch. Three glasses and she’s inviting any lad in sight to untie her bloomer lacings with her teeth, and that’s a fact.”

“Good heavens,” said Boromir, looking rather pale.

“Oh, she always has the lad clean their teeth first, so as to keep everything hygienic sir. Very conscientious is young Myrtle.”

“So, unlike the rest of civilised society,” Legolas concluded, “hobbits would think nothing of taking their afternoon tea, or whatever you strange creatures call it, while listening to Merry regale them all with tales of – ”

“Being snowed in at Bag End with the Goodbody twins, a sturdy settee and the last of Mister Bilbo’s Old Winyards,” Sam supplied helpfully. “I remember your mother raising hell for that one when word got out, Mister Merry.”

Merry somehow managed to smirk and blush at the same time.

“Oh, honestly.” Aragorn looked particularly unsettled. “We don’t all need to hear about Merry’s…proclivities.”

“Well, you’re just a prude,” Merry sniffed.

“No, I’m just not interested in hearing about it.”

“Merry, leave him alone,” Frodo said. “I was in the room next to yours on that particular night, you may remember, and I took as little joy from hearing it then as Aragorn is now.”

Merry pulled a face.

“And to answer your question, Legolas: Merry is, as usual, grossly misrepresenting the Shire in his smut and yes you may well blush, Meriadoc – it’s hardly the sort of thing we discuss over tea and cakes on every occasion. However, I wouldn’t exactly call the subject taboo.”

“Hobbits,” Gandalf chuckled, “as in all respects, enjoy the comforts of life most openly. Why, I could tell tales of Bullroarer Took that might make your hair turn on end!”

“Any tips to pass on?” Pippin asked.

“None for your ears, young hobbit.”

“I’m surprised you’re so bashful, Aragorn,” Merry said. “I’d have thought you very experienced in that regard.”

“What? Why would I be?” Aragorn asked, genuinely baffled.

“Have you seen you?”

“I suppose I had offers – a few – ” Behind his back Legolas snorted and then hastily turned it into a cough, “but there was only ever Arwen.”

“So you’re only interested in girls,” Pippin said.

“No, I’m only interested in Arwen.”

“But what if a really beautiful woman offered – ”

“She did. Her name was Arwen.”

“I think it’s romantic,” said Sam.

“I think it’s idiotic,” Merry argued. “All of that,” he gestured to the ranger, who began blushing from the appraising stares coming from the rest of the Fellowship, “going to waste on just one lass. It’s not natural.”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Frodo barked suddenly. “Apologise, young hobbit. You’re being very disrespectful of other folks’ habits. We can’t all manage to be such tramps as you.”

“Maybe we should change the subject,” Gandalf said dryly. “This has all been gone into quite enough.”

“Like Melilot Brandybuck, apparently,” Pippin remarked.

“Peregrin!”

“And,” Boromir continued, suicidally avoiding the glare being levelled at him by Gandalf, “lads going with lads: that is not uncommon, in your home?”

“Why not?” Pippin asked, genuinely surprised. “I wouldn’t have known how to so much as kiss if it weren’t for good old Folco Boffin.”

“What of Gondor, Boromir?” Legolas asked.

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “It is not considered shameful. But neither is it wholly approved of, in the higher houses of Gondor, for one man to make a life pledge with another. The noble families consider their heritage to be of great worth, and to forgo the chance of heirs and carrying on the line simply for the sake of affection is not always smiled upon.”

“Giving up your chance of love with some nice lad just to carry on some family name?” Sam said sadly. “Well, that’s right sad, that is.”

“I suppose,” said Boromir. Having understood that he was expected to carry on the line of Stewards since he was a child, he had never thought about it until now. “Of course, in a family with many sons or male cousins, it is less of a scandal. And out in the country or in the garrisons, of course, no-one pays it much mind.”

“Much the same as in the North,” Aragorn, who had now recovered, added. “Though within the Rangers, of course, men with men is more common. Less women, you see.”

“Well, it’s common enough in the Shire,” Merry said carelessly. “Pippin had quite the crush on Aragorn when we first met him in Bree.”

“Hoy!”

“Seeing you and Arwen together must have been like hitting puberty all over again,” Merry said with a snort.

This time it was Pippin who launched himself at Merry; while Aragorn mutely examined himself with the very real concern that he was giving off some sort of wrong signal.

“Don’t worry, Aragorn,” Frodo said soothingly. “After you made us march ten miles in the pouring rain, I suspect Pippin’s ardour wore off some.”

Pippin resurfaced long enough to flash Aragorn a cheeky grin that did not particularly set his mind at ease. “Indeed. And unlike Merry, I don’t feel the need to be bossed around by any of my romantic partners – oof!”

“Well, there’s a revelation I did not particularly need to hear,” Gimli muttered as the two cousins began wrestling again.

“Goes all red whenever Estella Bolger shoots him a sharp word, he does – argh!”

“I still can’t believe how open hobbits are,” Boromir muttered.

“Some of us’ve got a bit more class than the young masters,” Sam said, “begging their pardons.”

“Some of us’re just too shy for their own good.” Pippin, panting, had resurfaced. “When we return to the Shire I’m going to lock you and the lovely Rosie into the cellars of Crickhollow and not let you out until the windows shatter.”

“Master Pippin!”

“Sam, please tell me you don’t go around debauching with all and sundry like the rest of these rakes,” Legolas said.

“Oh, Sam plays his cards close to the chest,” said Merry with an admiring smirk. “He might still be a virgin or might have serviced every lass in the greater Westfarthing area; we’d never know.”

“I have not serviced every lass in the Westfarthing, Mister Merry.”

“Every lad then.”

“Now why would I be doing that, Mr Merry? I don’t know every lad in the Westfarthing!”

“That’s something you take into consideration?”

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed. Merry just looked bemused.

“If Sam is more selective than you, Merry, that’s hardly something to mock,” Frodo said disapprovingly.

“Who said I was mocking? I admire you, Sam, but honestly you were too bloody blind by half to realise what it was like back home. Scores of tweenagers hanging around Bag End garden just waiting for the weather to warm so you’d so much as roll up your sleeves.”

While Pippin fell about laughing and the rest of the Fellowship chuckled, Sam turned a horrified shade of red. “That…that never happened!”

“Why do you think Frodo had so many cousins from Buckland and Tookborough come to stay? Not for his sparkling conversation, surely; there’s only so long you can feign an interest in elvish poetry.”

“Sam,” Frodo said patiently, “one summer we had half the Shire stopping in at Bag End asking you for gardening tips. Did you honestly think Milo Chubb was that interested in keeping the greenfly off his begonias?”

“You knew about this, sir?”

“Knew? I was considering selling tickets.”

Sam’s head fell into his hands.

“Your courtship rituals are certainly…unlike anything I have experienced,” Gimli chuckled drolly. “Whatever happened to a finely-wrought ring or a poem in honour of your loved one?”

“I’ve had good luck with a bottle of sherry and a broom cupboard,” Merry said.

“Typically affection is expressed in our culture with flowers, dancing, and fine manners,” Frodo smirked, “though Merry and Pippin have always seen fit to buck with tradition. Naughty limericks and drunk come-ons are not acceptable.”

“They’re not?” This was news to Merry.

“They were considered terrible flirts back home.”

“Ah yes,” Pippin reminisced dreamily, “I remember the day Diamond North-Took called me a depraved, unconscionable back-alley scoundrel without the morals of a tom-cat.”

“I know, because you do have the morals of a tom-cat.”

“And I told her that, but do you think she’d listen?”

“Folk are expected to calm down as they leave their tweens behind, but as long as no lass gets into trouble or no-one’s tumbling with someone thought to be courting someone else…” Frodo gave a nimble shrug, lips twitching with the fond memories of days long since past. The rest of the Fellowship almost felt like they were intruding. “I myself used to…but then, I don’t know, my interest rather waned over the years…”

“Lost your puff, more like,” Merry scoffed. Without looking up Frodo kicked him in the kneecaps.

“The desire faded,” he said firmly. “Lovely memories and a fine time in my life – but I don’t see anything lacking now it’s over, either.”

Boromir was fascinated. He’d never imagined that one could talk so frankly about desire – or, for that matter, shrug off the lack of it as nothing more than the disappearance of a well-loved but outgrown coat. “I never saw the appeal,” he remarked, “on any account. Good luck to you all if you so choose to take your pleasures in such a fashion, but – honestly, it seems quite the overblown fuss to me. I can think of half a dozen things I’d prefer doing to sex, just off the top of my head.”

“No tales of debauchery from you then?” Merry asked sadly.

“Unlike our esteemed Ringbearer,” Boromir bowed to the blushing Frodo, “I have never debauched. I’m not sure I’d know where to begin.”

The hobbits shrugged carelessly. “Oh, there’s plenty in our homeland who are much the same,” Pippin said. “Cousin Bilbo’s a hundred and twenty-nine if he’s a day, and I don’t think he’s thought on sex once in all that time.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Oh, come off it. I’d have heard if Bilbo had some lost lady-love in the Shire, mark my words.”

“I said nothing about romance. I just said your assumptions that Bilbo was never interested in sex are inaccurate,” Frodo said, a rather haunted look on his face.

“What, and he told you that, did he?”

“I didn’t need to be told, Peregrin; the arrangements he had with the Widow Moley rather spoke for themselves.”

For a moment there was a distinct choking sound. Sam was very carefully examining the ground beneath his feet while Merry had stuffed his fist into his mouth, shaking with barely contained glee. The rest of the Fellowship exchanged glances. Pippin’s mouth had slowly fallen open: as Frodo continued to look pointedly at him he began to feel much the same way as one might when one bites into an apple and sees half a grub wriggling merrily away at him.

“Bilbo had companionship in his golden years?” Aragorn said in a somewhat strained voice. “That’s…that’s nice.”

“Every Sunday after tea,” Frodo said with the hollow tones more suited to an old soldier recounting the horrors of battles long since past, “and every Trewsday before luncheon; round to Bag End she’d come, regular as clockwork for nearly ten years. Why do you think I asked your mother for earmuffs every Yule?”

“But,” Boromir said, “I thought you told me you were only adopted by Bilbo when he was in his eighties?”

“That I did.”

Pippin finally made a sound, and that sound was: “Eeuargh…..”

“Well now, here we see again the difference in the races. For an elf to be in such a steady relationship at a mere eighty years of age would be considered rash indeed,” Legolas snickered, with the air of one stirring the pot with gleeful abandon.

“Cousin Bilbo is not an elf.”

“Quite,” Frodo said tartly. “Elves are beauteous creatures to behold, and walking in on him and the Widow Moley was not, repeat not, beauteous.”

Pippin made another strangled sound.

“Gimli,” Aragorn said hastily: the thought of old Bilbo, who he had long regarded as akin to a kindly old uncle, getting up to things was not sitting well, “care to add to the conversation?”

Gimli chuckled. “Alas, we are not quite as rambunctious as hobbits.” He leant back and puffed on his pipe. “In truth, romance is rare in my culture – admired well enough, but not prized highly, and many of my people never marry at all. Many do not desire it, being so engrossed in their crafts. There are dwarven songs of great loves and terrible loss that could put even an elvish lay to shame,” Legolas twitched, “but it is beauteous rare. What is romance compared to the joy of your work, the stonecraft and metalwork that outlasts the ages, the artistry of one’s hands?”

Pippin opened his mouth to say something about drilling, tunnelling and chisels, but was stopped when Sam, without any apparent change in his expression, took hold of his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Though Bilbo told me you were considered quite the catch in Erebor?” Frodo prompted.

Gimli shrugged off the complement modestly. “Dwarves who are so inclined towards affairs of the heart – and body – are rare, and so seen as something of a prize. And I flatter myself that I am no poor craftsman; no dwarf or dwarrowdam would scorn one who knows how to wield a hammer.”

“Pippin, shut up,” Boromir said hastily.

“So, you mean – women with women and men with – ”

“Dwarves with dwarves,” Gimli said firmly. He shrugged, and then gave a great booming laugh, smacking his hands down upon his knees. “Though we are a people of great enthusiasms in all respects. Those dwarves who do wed tend to have very successful – and very enjoyable – marriages. Dwarves may not have much interest in affairs of the bed, but when we do it we do it right.”

“Remind me to take a trip to the Blue Mountains when all this is over,” Merry muttered to Pippin with a lecherous grin.

“I don’t think you could handle it.”

“I could.”

“The size difference could be a problem.”

“I could cope with that.”

“The beards would itch.”

Merry paused, then nodded. “Fair point.”

Meanwhile Gimli was eyeing Legolas with wry amusement. “And I suppose your lot have their minds on higher things?”

Legolas scoffed. “Where do you think our children came from?”

“Be fair, sir,” said Sam. “After hearing all those great tales, you start to think elves are a little too dignified for matters such as that.”

“Thingol and Melian,” Frodo chipped in, “Beren and Luthien, Earendil and Elwing. Sam’s right, it’s difficult to imagine them all shagging.”

“Do you mind?” Aragorn asked, turning queasy. Most of these were his potential in-laws.

“Elves are always attracted to beauty,” Legolas’ brow raised, “of any and all kinds. But I can’t deny, compared to us mortals are more – ”

“Randy?” Pippin said.

“Horny?” Merry added.

“Lecherous goats?” Sam asked with a grin.

“Those weren’t quite the synonyms I was grasping for, but essentially yes.”

“Though to be fair,” Aragorn chipped in, “when you say beauty of any and all kinds, be careful not to misrepresent, Legolas. I recall you told me that your father had much to say when as a fauntling your admiration of the Lord Elrond grew a little too obvious to be overlooked.”

“Because he was a fellow?” Merry asked sympathetically.

“Because he is half-elven!” Legolas exclaimed. “Sweet Elbereth, I thought my father would never let it go.”

“Nice to know even elves have their hang-ups,” Sam said.

“But we remain more higher-minded about such things than mortals,” Legolas said.

“Not judging by some of those books of elven art in Lord Elrond’s library.”

“Books?” Merry perked up noticeably.

“Oh,” Gimli snorted, “if it’s art it doesn’t count.”

“I don’t care how many plinths and urns they include, I still use the term art advisedly.”

“What books? Why weren’t they shared?”

“Maybe Frodo’s journals would find a place there,” Legolas said with a smirk. Frodo groaned again.

“Well, this has been most informative,” Aragorn said. “If we get attacked by a marauding band of orcs in the middle of the night it’s pleasant to think we’ll at least have Frodo and Boromir to defend us, for it seems half this Fellowship will be too randy to even think of our defence. I think that clears up every culture represented here, does it not?”

They paused, mulling it over. Then Frodo said, in a particularly thoughtful tone: “Well, not quite every culture…”

As one – warily, and as if drawn by unspeakable horror – the Fellowship turned to look at Gandalf, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout this debate. He puffed contentedly on his pipe and simply looked back at them with eyebrow raised, daring them to ask.

Pippin opened his mouth eagerly, and then without preamble was punched right in the stomach by Merry.

Later, when they were all asleep and Legolas had taken the first watch, Pippin rolled onto his back and sighed thoughtfully. “I wish we hadn’t gone into all that now, you know? I feel hellishly homesick.”

His cousin patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll be home soon, Pip.”

“I hope so – I want to be back in the Shire. It’s a terrible thing to think of, never going back. Why, I might never have Diamond cast aspersions on my honour ever again!”

“I shouldn’t worry about it. I have no doubt she’ll be denying the very existence of your honour the minute we get back.”

Pippin perked up. “You think so?”

“I’m sure of it.” Merry tucked an arm behind his head. “Funny to think of, isn’t it, old Gandalf? Though I suppose he doesn’t go in much for romance - wizards probably have too much to think about, what with their great works and all.”

“And their staffs.”

“Yes Pip.”

“It must take a lot of maintaining, a mighty staff such as that.”

“Good night, Pippin.”

“And another thing – ”

“Pip?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t help but think you’re working your way up to a dirty joke about a wizard’s staff. I’d rather you didn’t, if it’s all the same to you.”

#lord of the rings #lotr #merry brandybuck #pippin took #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #boromir #legolas #gimli #aragorn #gandalf #my fanfiction #someone take these characters away from me #ace boromir #demi sam #bi merry and pippin #no-one in this fellowship is straight

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nenuials · 4 years

Note

This is perhaps a macabre question, but have you given any thought to how your mortal characters pass away? Illness or old age? Surrounded by loved ones? Who inherites Sidhen's brooch if she has no children? Is Lothrin present when Giznik eventually passes away?

For everyone else, I have a post about the fate of my immortal characters here.

I’ll make a bullet list:

As it may be, from all her friends Sidhen died last. First, Toram died on Pelennor, then Maradan died some years after Annúminas was rebuilt, happy and content in Bree, Melilot and Adamanta died of old age in the Shire and her wife Mara died 40 years after they were wedded, well into her 70s. Her brooch was inherited by her niece, as Sidhen had no children. Sidhen’s sister married a scholar and had 3 children: 2 daughters and a son. The son became a scholar too, like his father, the first daughter became a crafts-woman and the second was interested in the politics of the kingdom, so she worked towards getting a seat on the council of the north. She was the one to inherit her aunt’s brooch and wears it proudly. It is quite sad that Sidhen had to live more than 20 yeas alone on her farm east of the Shire, after the death of her wife. She passed peacefully and was found somedays later by one of her hobbit neighbors from Buckland. They informed the Mayor of the Shire, who informed the Council in Annúminas, who in turn informed Sidhen’s family in Esteldin, who finally travelled and buried her in a small ceremony.

Melilot didn’t have any children as she is ace and told her husband long before their marriage that she has no wish to raise one. Adamanta married her childhood sweetheart and decided to adopt, as I’m pretty sure after the Scouring of the Shire there must have been some orphans around. Everything that the sisters had, went to the child. Both of them died happy and content in Oatbarton.

Giznik died quite old, but sadly not by a natural cause. He was part of the dwarven expedition that was trying to salvage whatever possible from the ruins of Nogrod and Belegost. Both cities lay destroyed long into the Second and Third Age, the taint of the great enemy still present on them. While mining there, Giznik inhaled some poisonous spores from some ancient relic of the enemy, and died shortly. Neither his wife, nor his children had a chance to say their goodbyes. He was buried with all the reverence of a dwarven hero. Lothrin, who lived in Lindon at the time, was informed of this development, but sadly by the time she travelled to the northern parts of Ered Luin, Giznik had long been buried. She paid her respects to her friend and his family.

Balna was a famed jeweler and she had many a great apprentices throughout her life. Her dying wish was to be cremated and her ashes turned into a most beautiful jewel. Her apprentices turned her into a splendid diamond, that was the crowning beauty of a golden necklace. The necklace was long worn by the dwarven royalty of the Orocarni mountains.

Calnedon suffered greatly towards his old age due to his aching joints. The fact that he was living in Dol Amorth didn’t help much either, as the sea salt present in the air only worsened his condition. He lived well into an old age, but one day slipped on some seaweed-covered rocks near the beachside and hurt himself greatly. He was rushed to the infirmary of Dol Amorth and managed to say his goodbyes to his children and wife before dying of internal cranial bleeding.

Lileyn fought her entire life for the betterment of the relations between the Rohirrim and the Dunlending, but sadly died into her 60s due to a stroke. The first stroke she had, she managed to survive but the second stroke proved to be fatal.

ENJOY MY CHARACTERS? READ THIS ANSWER ON MY TOLKIEN BLOG!

#galaloth #of sidhen #of balna #of giznik #of lileyn #of calnedon #of adamanta #of melilot #i am quite sad that not all of them die happy and of old age #but such as we die of many different causes natural or not #so must they

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serothivia · 4 years

Note

Hi, did you follow a pattern for your most recent blouse?

Hey @opalreflection! It’s been a bit since I posted this one, but are you referring to the autumn toned floral blouse with the off white peter pan collar? If so, I used a pattern from French pattern company Deer & Doe I picked up at a local indie shop, but can be purchased on their website at: https://shop.deer-and-doe.fr/en/sewing-patterns/29-melilot-shirt-pattern.html I added a lot of extras and graded up a few more sizes than what was provided, but this pattern was a great canvas to start from. If it was another blouse let me know and apologies for any mix-ups! <3 serothivia

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noscentsatall · 5 years

Text

La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente

Oops, reviewed this a few weeks ago but I wrote the review down in my notebook and forgot I hadn’t posted it. Here it is now!

First thought: my mom would hate this because it’s EXTREMELY floral. Maybe the most classically “grandmother” perfume I’ve tried in all these years of reviewing perfumes. It’s very sweet (maybe a little fruity...?) and gives me a kind of candy feel after the floral, not unlike the candy smell in Aglaea.

Here’s what BPAL says about it:

Soft, lush myrtle and dry, sweet melilot with wild rose, pomegranate juice and peach blossom against a background of deep aquatic notes and a twirl of melancholy autumn breezes.

I’m guessing the combination of myrtle and peach blossom is the candy vibe I got from both this and Agalea.

Uhhhhh.... well, that’s the end of this review. I didn’t write anything else, mainly because I think I am reaching a point in my perfume smelling days where I just don’t care to stick with a perfume I’m not crazy about for hours and hours, smelling my wrist all the time! This one didn’t really excite me so I just stopped paying attention to it and probably actually washed it off, I can’t remember. In 2019 we don’t have time for perfume that we know we don’t like!!!

#la bella donna della mia mente #black phoenix alchemy lab

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newtshirtcom · 4 years

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slimewitchmommy · 4 months

Text

Wait what the fuck is this radar thing

#melilot posting

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wallpapernifty · 4 years

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ailytellsyou · 7 years

Text

Holaaaaaaaaaaaaa. La semana pasada subí un post sobre el serum facial de marca vegana White Agafia Aquí y recibí muchas preguntas y visitas, es una marca poco conocida y bastante nueva en España. Por lo cual hoy os traigo más detalles sobre ella y las 3 líneas que la componen.

Cosmética Vegana White Agafia

En primer lugar un poco de historia sobre la marca. Está inspirada en las recetas secretas de la anciana Agafia Ermakova que desde niña ayudó a su abuela a recoger hierbas medicinales y usarlas como medicina para curar a las personas. Estaba fascinada con las historias contadas por su abuela: dónde buscar hierbas, cómo juntarlas, secarlas y qué enfermedades curan. Por lo tanto para no olvidar nada, comenzó a escribir todas las recetas y dibujar las hierbas en su cuaderno. Finalmente estas recetas llegaron a los laboriatorios EUROBIOLAB . Por tanto hoy conforman la marca White Agafia donde los poderosos extractos, aceites y frutos de los bosques siberianos tienen un total protagonismo. La cosmética White Agafia es:

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Proteínas de trigo

Proteínas de arroz

Aceites de Daurian Rose, Amaranto, Lino, Cedro, Pino Siberiano, Camelia, Rosa Canina.

Acido hialurónico

Mascarilla rejuvenecedora Active Rejuvenation

Esta mascarilla está formulada con Ginseng Siberiano y también 7 plantas tonificantes y energizantes.

Manchurian Aralia

Raíz de Oro

Extracto de Artemisia,

Extracto de Milfoil

Arctic Raspberry

Melilot

Schizandra

Crema de día rejuvenecedora Active Rejuvenation

Crema de día rejuvenecedora con Ginseng Siberiano además de 7 plantas nutritivas.

Milfoil

Mora

Café Verde

Extracto de Árnica

Aceite de Amaranto

Rosehip

Semilla de Albaricoque

Crema de noche rejuvenecedora Active Rejuvenation

Esta crema de noche está formulada con Ginseng Siberiano, Ácido Hialurónico además de 7 plantas rejuvenecedoras y 5 aceites orgánicos.

Milfoil

Mora

Café Verde

Extracto de Árnica

Aceite de Amaranto

Rosehip

Semilla de Albaricoque

Conclusiones

Como resultado la marca White Agafia se centra en el cuidado facial, sus ingredientes y principios activos están única y exclusivamente centrados en regenerar y proteger la piel del rostro. También tiene una línea para el cabello de champú y acondicionadore.

Espero te sea útil el post sobre la marca vegana White Agafia si estas interesada en comprar cosmética Vegana Low Cost. Finalmente un besazo para todas 🙂 😀, que tengas un lindo día.

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White Agafia. Una marca de cosmética Vegana Low Cost. Holaaaaaaaaaaaaa. La semana pasada subí un post sobre el serum facial de marca vegana White Agafia…

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