#oropher would be proud

[thorns-and-starlight]

Transient - Thranduil

Fandom: The Hobbit

Character: Prince Thranduil, War of the Last Alliance

Words: 786 sorrynotsorry

・❥・ "And though he did not yet know it, this moment, this fleeting exchange beneath the dying light, would be the last he spent as a son before learning that he was now, and forevermore, a king."

Day 3: Transient

Dusk settled upon the battlefield. The banners, once proud and defiant, hung limp in the failing light, their tattered edges whispering against the wind. The ground, churned and scarred by countless footsteps, bore the weight of war’s brutal passage. Mud streaked with blood, broken blades half-buried in the mire, the lifeless and the dying left in its wake.

Through the fading echoes of steel upon steel, Thranduil moved with the tempered grace of one who had seen too much. The weight of battle pressed upon his shoulders, a dull ache settling into his limbs, though he kept it hidden behind a veneer of quiet command. Blood streaked his armor, its dull crimson catching in the last light of day – some of it his own, most of it not.

He should have pressed on. His father would be rallying those who still had the strength to stand, gathering what remained of their forces. Oropher would expect his son at his side, would look for him among the survivors. And yet, something caught his eye. A flicker of movement, swift but purposeful.

A healer, kneeling in the dirt, her hands steady despite the carnage around her.

Dark hair fell loose from hastily woven braids, a smudge of grime marking her brow. Blood marred her fingers, dried in stark contrast against her skin, yet she worked undeterred, pressing fresh linen against a wounded Elf’s side. There was no hesitation in her hands, no wavering in her expression. Only quiet determination, the kind that neither steel nor sorrow could shake.

Thranduil paused. He had seen many tend the wounded in the wake of battle, had watched Elven healers weave their practiced skill like delicate art. But this woman - mortal, young - moved with an unrelenting certainty, as if she alone could challenge the weight of despair and refuse to yield.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, she looked up.

Unlike most mortals, she did not avert her eyes in deference. She did not bow, did not stumble over words in the presence of a prince. Instead, she rose swiftly to her feet and closed the distance between them, her expression unreadable, save for the flicker of assessment in her gaze.

“Are you wounded?” she asked, the words direct and unembellished.

A part of him bristled at her boldness. He was a son of kings, heir to an ancient line. But another part, perhaps the part still raw from the day’s slaughter, was almost relieved by her lack of reverence. No empty courtesies, no fawning. Just a question, spoken with the clear-eyed resolve of one who had seen far worse than a wounded warrior.

She glanced pointedly at his arm, where his sleeve had been torn and darkened with blood. Only then did he feel the lingering throb in his shoulder. Before he could dismiss it, she was already reaching into her pouch, retrieving a small jar of ointment.

“This will sting,” she warned, and before he could object, she pressed the salve to the wound with practiced precision.

A sharp burn flared beneath her touch, but Thranduil did not flinch. He had endured far worse. Still, for a fleeting moment, the battlefield blurred into something distant, inconsequential. The weight of war, the cries of the dying, the looming dread of what came next. All of it receded as her deft fingers worked, swift and sure, binding the wound with clean linen.

And then, as quickly as she had come, she stepped back.

The bandage was tight, expertly tied. No wasted movement, no flourish. Just efficiency. Just honesty.

She offered him a brief nod, as if satisfied, and then turned away already moving to the next patient.

Thranduil watched her go. He could not recall the last time a mortal had met his gaze without fear or supplication. Even now, as she vanished into the growing dusk, her presence lingered like the whisper of something unspoken.

Rolling his shoulder, he tested the bandage. It held firm.

The weight of duty returned, settling upon him once more. Oropher. He needed to find his father.

Yet as he stepped forward, the healer’s steady hands and unwavering gaze lingered in his mind. There had been something in her manner. Firm kindness, perhaps, or the quiet resilience of one who did not flinch in the face of grief that commanded his respect.

And though he did not yet know it, this moment, this fleeting exchange beneath the dying light, would be the last he spent as a son before learning that he was now, and forevermore, a king.

For now, though, he walked on, carrying with him not only the shadow of what was to come, but the unexpected memory of a mortal woman’s healing touch.

[huorielsstuff]

~Until the Stars Grow Cold~

Long before the dragon fire scorched the Lonely Mountain, long before shadow crept into Greenwood the Great, there was a love so profound it stilled the world.Thranduil, son of Oropher, was proud and golden, a prince shaped by loss and exile. He had crossed Beleriand’s ruined bones, watched kingdoms fall, and borne the bitterness of the Sindar, who remembered the Light but could never return to it. But in all his long years, nothing had stirred his heart,not until her.

She was Serethiel of the Nandor, daughter of the river, wild and luminous. She wore the forest as a cloak, her laughter trailing like petals in the breeze. She danced with deer and whispered to the trees. And when she sang, even the stars above Greenwood bent closer to listen.He first saw her under a rain of golden leaves, barefoot among the roots of an ancient oak. She did not bow to him. She smiled.And Thranduil,for the first time in his long, weary life,forgot sorrow.

~The Joining of Stars and Earth~

They wed in a glade bathed in starlight. There was no crown, no throne,only the hush of trees, the blessing of the stars, and the quiet vow Thranduil made, whispered against her brow:“For you, I would forsake kingdoms and crowns. For you, I would walk without light, so long as you are beside me.”And she had replied, breath soft and warm, “Then I shall be your light, my love. Until the stars grow cold.”Their love was not a loud thing,it was a steady fire, warm and unwavering. They woke each morning wrapped in soft moss and sunlight, shared quiet laughter over wine sweet as memory, and walked hand in hand where no others dared tread. Even the heart of the forest opened to them.When Serethiel bore him a child, the forest bloomed out of season. Legolas was their miracle, born beneath a spring moon, eyes like starlight and a smile that melted even the deepest ice in Thranduil’s soul.He held his queen as she cradled their son, and he kissed the tears from her cheeks as she whispered lullabies older than memory.

“You’ve given me eternity,” he told her.But even love cannot shield against the tide of shadow.

~The Breaking of the Light~

When the forest darkened and whispers rose from Dol Guldur, Thranduil sent scouts, and then soldiers. The trees wept black sap, and creatures of nightmare stirred beneath the boughs. He pleaded with Serethiel to stay behind, to remain in the safety of their halls with their son. But she placed her hand on his chest and said, “I will not let you ride into darkness alone.”So they rode together,king and queen, hand in hand, silver and gold against the gloom. She fought not with sword but with song, a voice that could burn through shadow, heal the wounds of both flesh and spirit.But the shadow had learned her name. It feared her light.They were ambushed beneath the rotting trees, surrounded by Wargs and orcs and worse. Thranduil fought like fire. But when Serethiel saw a blade aimed for him, she stepped between. It pierced her chest like ice through silk.

She fell into his arms, and the world stopped.“No,” he whispered, cradling her face, blood warm against his hands. “No, meleth nîn, don’t—”She smiled, even through the pain, eyes fixed on his.“Do not weep, my love. I go where you cannot follow… yet.”

“Stay,” he begged. “Stay with me. Stay.”

She lifted trembling fingers to his lips. “Raise our son to know joy. Love him as you love me. And when the sea calls, come to me.”Her voice faded. Her light dimmed.

The forest screamed.

~A King Without His Queen~

Thranduil buried her beneath the Silver Tree, where her songs once filled the air. The flowers never died there. No snow fell. It was as though the world remembered her beauty and could not bear to forget.He did not speak for a year. He ruled, yes—coldly, fiercely—but his heart beat only for the child she left him. Every time Legolas smiled, he saw her. Every time he laughed, it was her voice echoing in the halls.He never spoke her name in court again,not out of shame, but reverence. Her memory was too sacred. Too raw. In private, though, he whispered it. He whispered it into his pillow, into the wind, into the stars above.

When Legolas asked, “What was she like?”, Thranduil placed a hand on his son’s brow and said, “She was starlight, born into flesh. And the best parts of me died with her.”

~A Love That Waits~

When Legolas at last sailed West, long after Sauron fell and peace was born again, he found her waiting,her spirit whole, her smile unchanged, her arms open.And when Thranduil’s time comes, as all Elves must one day heed the sea’s call, he will go not for Valinor, nor the light of the Two Trees.

He will go for her.

---

For love never fades. It merely waits,until the stars grow cold.

•Hello!This was my very first time writing a story about Thranduil and his lost queen. I poured as much love, sorrow, and beauty into it as I could,hoping to honor the spirit of Tolkien’s world while giving voice to a love that might have once bloomed in the Greenwood.

If it touched your heart, even just a little, then I’ve done what I set out to do.

Thank you for reading—I truly hope you liked it.🤍🫶🍀

[meadowlarkx]

elvenkings

Fic for @sindarweek day 2: Locations | AO3

Afterwards, they went back. No tale contains this part: no one set it down. Few set out: Oropher, his tall, gangly son, and a handful of others. A small cluster of green shoots. Spring was returning to the forest, and it smelled sweet, like unfurling leaves and old rot melting. They were very careful. They moved and slept in the trees, wishing their foliage fuller and missing Melian’s temperate cradle. But at the rushing Esgalduin, before Menegroth’s bashed-in mouth, there were no boughs to make the going safer.

“Finrod’s brother,” one said, weeping, “wished his mortal’s beauty to live on unmarred in his memory.”

Oropher looked searchingly at his son. Should we not have come back? the look asked. Should I not have brought you back?

Thranduil shook his head. He was serious-faced, with an edge of temper and a merry wit that darted free at times like a bird startled from a branch. No humor glinted in his gaze now. He was named for the spring, but perhaps it had been this kind of spring. “We had to,” he said simply. “Pass me a lantern:” and he crossed the stone bridge and went inside.

Ringing silence, orchestral silence, the tremor of the air from breath and speech shimmering up the vaulted halls roofed by gleaming roots, through the wide proud galleries with their pillars fashioned like beech-trees. No robbers or kinslayers had made lair of this place. Still they trod softly, reverently, until in the garden with its fountain gone quiet—not the throne room—Medlithor sang out clarion a love-song of Daeron’s, and briefly illuminated the dark like lightning.

Three of Nimloth’s gowns for the little princess. Torn tapestries—gleaming silver. A great book of heraldry, and another of sketches, plans for uncarved statuary. Daeron’s prized notes nowhere to be found. A chest of Oropher’s things, still fastened shut, guiltily perfect. A zither broken and unsinging. The dark space where the bodies had been heaped and burnt atop the frozen ground by their enemies. White bones of a few they had missed. The tree-roots embracing them, the new moss blanketing them. Circles ever widening outward, months late seeking children who would never be found.

Somber return, days in the making. Thranduil sat on a pier and watched the silt swirl and mingle with the clear salt of the ocean. Something tugged in his young breast: he could not name it. It was not sea-longing.

“It was very fine. The floor was fashioned like a vast ocean, sweeping out—oh!—with bright fishes, and strange sea-weeds like purple flowers, and amongst them, stars.” Evranin’s hands fluttered like birds, even when she was not at her stitching. “You used to hop from one spotted ray to the next.”

Elwing nodded dubiously.

“You remember it, don’t you, my girl? I know you do.”

“I think so,” Elwing said.

“Your great-grandfather planned it. He was the first to make the journey across the Sea, and he returned with a beautiful light in his eyes: they glowed in the endless dusk under the starlight.”

Elwing flinched.

“Not thus, sweet,” Evranin said, “like auntie Idril’s. ‘Twas a shine like the dawn, though of course, we knew no dawn then.”

Elwing looked confused, then squinted her eyes like two clenched fists, as though trying to work out a time before sunlight. Evranin thought this very Bëorian of her. At last, satisfied, she gave a little nod of approval.

“He loved the Sea: your great-grandfather. He and his brother meant to cross and live by the shore on the other side—where the fish leapt in the colorful shallows, and the stars’ reflection could yet be seen.”

“But he did not,” Elwing interrupted, frowning. She knew this part, and meant not to be appeased.

“He loved your great-grandmother more, and the woods’ green smell underfoot in the summer. But his brother—your great-great-uncle—did cross over, and he built a fair city for our people by the water. When you look west, my dear, think of all your family waiting to meet you. We live on the shore now, just as they do.”

“I don’t remember the floor of that gallery,” Elwing said quietly. “But I remember the music of the fountains through the room, and Naneth dancing with Ada. There were nightingales in his hair.”

If you looked carefully, as Bilbo was wont to do, you could see the places where the tapestry in Elrond’s library had been repaired. It nearly covered one complete wall of the hexagonal room, confidently draping languid and liquid across space where more books and scrolls could have been squirreled away. Its colors seemed to shift, unearthly, and the weave was finer than any Bilbo had seen—which made the repairs, neat as they were, quite obvious. The image was one of a shadow-crowded forest of brambles and feathery boughs, and in the foreground dark, shimmering water. Shapes were awakening beneath the stars in the twilight by the water’s edge, stretching up glistening bodies and dancing and drawing one another in to embrace. At one corner the winding border had been singed and the damage had not been mended. Still, it was very beautiful. Nearby, upon a varnished wooden stand, a book sat partly open, with thin, cracked pages of birch-paper. It was full of sigils, but Bilbo, despite making a study of Elf-lore, recognized none of them.

“Nor do I know most of them,” Elrond said, when asked. “It is far older than I, and a gift from Oropher from long ago, ere he left eastwards. See, though. Here is Beleg’s seal, and Mablung’s: the marchwardens from Túrin’s unhappy tale.” Bilbo exclaimed over these a while, and then asked: “What about the tapestry?”

“Melian the Maia wove it in the Elder Days.” He did not need to add: I thought it should be admired.

They had argued bitterly on the day the gift was made. It was vanishingly rare to see Elrond angry, but Oropher had managed it.

“Name me not king. I have chosen my king, and I am his herald. Leave it, I have begged of you. I won't ask again."

“And in what world am I to be named lord, while Elwing’s son bears no title? While our prince—”

“You might stay!” Elrond said rather wildly.

“And you might come with us—to oak and elm, the deep forest, people of our own ways—”

“I have made my choice.”

Silence fell between them, a silence of set jaws and brittle gazes. It was from an excess of care that they crossed wills.

“You are so like Lúthien,” Oropher said at last. Pride was soft in his voice. “Nay, your mother in her lordship. You are so like all of them.”

Elrond did not know what he meant.

“Accept these at least. They are your own inheritance. How I wish we had been able to offer you more.” Oropher said nothing else, but Elrond heard in his inmost heart all he meant, and opening his own heart he offered him forgiveness for the harsh words freshly spoken and for the old aches, the beaded necklace of orphans upon orphans, the bruise-tender childhood, the sunken continent, the houseless shades of the dead that crowded like moths: all the wounds still bleeding, and in which Oropher was faultless.

When Amon Lanc grew too dangerous, Thranduil knew what had to be done. Harried and unmerry was the Wood-elves’ journey northwards through the forest’s tree-paths. They took from the hill only what they could carry. Those of Thranduil’s people whom he met on the way—for many lived simply in the trees throughout Greenwood with their companions and children, and had joined themselves to no great settlement—spoke with him in troubled voices, though on the nights his following gathered around their small talans wine flowed and songs were sung.

“We need to make fast a stronghold,” he said. “Underground: a place of stone.”

“Better to go through the trees quickly! to travel lightly!”

“And if there is nowhere left that the Shadow has not touched?”

These Elves shook their heads and he read their thinking: we have always dwelt in this forest. But Thranduil’s heart misgave him, insisting the direst hour was still to come, and that he ready all his scattered people a sanctuary in advance of that hour.

Kingship did not rest easily on this son of Oropher. He had not been born to it, and he had meant never to find it. He preferred swimming the forest’s rivers and downing the sweet nectar of more summery lands to difficult counsels and deference, however warmly they were offered him. Very often since his father’s death, the way did not seem clear.

It was clear in this moment. He felt Elu Thingol’s hand cool upon his shoulder, as surely as if the king sojourned with him in the dappled wood and spoke as he had at the height of his wisdom. He saw in his mind’s eye the bridge that would cross the running water, the enchanted door, the roots that would be sung into high ceilings, the beech-carved pillars, the golden lamplight.

__________

From The Silmarillion: "But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea."

[i-did-not-mean-to]

S&D Drabbles

Let's start with the actual drabbles.

(Yes, there will be 4 posts...I am endlessly sorry...)

For @sortumavaara

🐙 Fire Touch - Smith - G

🐙 Beloved companion - Seasponge - T

🐙 Tag, you're it - Anairë & Nerdanel - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @maglor-my-beloved

🐙 Hush now, don't say a word... - Fëanor/Nerdanel/Rúmil - T

🐙 Her feet never touch the ground... - Celegorm/Lúthien - T

🐙 A good time - Gil-Galad - M

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For Lferion

🐙 Stubborn light, immortal hope - Nerdanel & sons - G

🐙 A new star on the horizon - Finarfin & Indis - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @goschatewabn

🐙The best boy - Celegorm & Huan - G

🐙 A stable relationship - Rochallor & Asfaloth - G

🐙 Spill the tea... - Fëanor & Indis - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @kayleearafinwiel

🐙Uin's Delivery Service - Uin - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @scyllas-revenge

🐙 Fly you fools - Éomer & winged horses - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @welcomingdisaster

🐙 Motherhood - Indis/Míriel -G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @thedaughterofshadows

🐙 B-Art - Aulë & Mahtan - G

🐙 I know you... - Irmo & Námo - G

🐙 Would you be proud? - Maeglin & Rog - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @mulasawala

🐙 Very small heroes - Bagginshield - G

🐙 Shared Warmth - Bagginshield - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @maglorslostsilmaril

🐙 The things we do for love... - Erestor & Children of Elrond - G

🐙 Sanctuary - Tar-Ancalimê - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @mirkwood-hr-department

🐙 A brief glimpse - Fox - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For Anne Wolfe

🐙 Sunset - Gildor - G

🐙 I've got your nose - Amrod & Amras - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @searchingforserendipity25

🐙 Regrets - Daeron/Lúthien - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @elanna-elrondiel

🐙 In vino veritas? - Huan & Celegorm & Aredhel - G

🐙 Let me go - Aredhel/Eöl - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @ridiculoussquid

🐙 Leap of faith - Ori - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @cclumsyart

🐙 Forget me not - Melkor & Nienna - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @ruiniel

🐙 Forget... - Glaurung & Niennor - M

🐙 Freedames - Míriel/Indis - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @solmarillion

🐙 If I could hold you one more time - Daeron/Maglor - T

🐙 Wet - Silvergifting - M

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @niasfanspace

🐙 The world wide web - Ungoliant - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @the-red-butterfly

🐙 My last breath is for you - Oropher & Thranduil - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book

🐙The Fallen Maia - Balrog - M

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For Ibissal

🐙 Harvest Moon - Celebrimbor/Narvi- M

Please keep in mind that I might have tagged the rating completely incorrectly. Heed the tags on every fic

@fall-for-tolkien

[anatomy-of-a-they-them]

I Love That Girl, As Though She Was My Own Blood.

Ellyadhe Morindekano, the son of Loren of Tirion and Princess Findis of the Noldor, had lived in mostly irrelevance post First Age, living in a self imposed exile deep in the Misty Mountains. He had established a small stronghold Southwest of the Iron Hills with the blessings of the dwarf lords of the Hills so long as he wasn’t much trouble. And he never was.

“Forced to love, and to be forever heartbroken. In standing with your Feanorian cousins, watched them swear their oath, and stood by in their madness, shall be the last in your line. To watch your kin rise and burn in their own righteousness, you alone will watch,” the harsh words of Mandos seared in Ellya’s mind. Words he never forgot once in his suffering, as the once mighty House of Finwe fell, Ellya mourned with it, now they were broken beyond recognition.

The Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin lived on through Galadriel and Elrond. Maglor, the second son of Feanor’s, whereabouts remain uncertain. Loren remarried during the First Age a few centuries after the death of Findis to Oropher’s elder sister, Lady Anura. Ellya never minded his step mother and welcomed his siblings with open arms, his response to Vantalle’s conception was surprising to many considering how close he was to Feanor and his sons. Of Loren’s nine children with Findis only five made it to the Second Age and only two made it to the Third. Ellaydhe and his younger brother, Findan.

Findan remained with their father, living in what is now called Mirkwood, he was too young during the wars to have much of a memory of them, much less be a soldier like Ellya was. Even during the War of Wrath, Findan was a field medic, and Ellya’s questionable hide on many occasions throughout the 42 year war. “I had to save that elf from himself!” Findan would proclaim during celebrations, and how Ellya wished to have that same bubbly brother back. The Battle of Unnumbered Tears haunted him now, that battle changed them all, he could still hear Aeryn’s plea for mercy as he was ripped apart by orcs, the twins, Idrissa and Tierdas suffered similar fates. Loras fought alongside their cousin Fingon against a Balrog, whose name had always missed Ellya. His brother and cousin deserved remembrance as opposed to the servant of Morgoth that killed them.

Despite all he’s gone through, here he was, holding a six year old grieving elfling to his chest, singing the very same Quendi song he sang to his siblings during his childhood in Valinor. His cousin by marriage, Thranduil, had just lost his wife and was struggling as it was when a village in Mirkwood was attacked by orcs. The sole survivor, the copper haired girl asleep in his arms, named Tauriel. Ellya kissed the top of her sweet head, “you are much, much stronger than you know, and you’ve already done me proud,” he whispered in Quendi. A language he will teach her in hopes of her being proud to speak it as he was.

Despite his rough past, he made a good father.

[sansaorgana]

— FADING LIGHT (II)

PART ONE ONCE UPON A DREAM (SAURON X MORETH)

PAIRING — Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — After your daughter's choice to go down the dark path and to stay with her father, you leave to Mirkwood where you spend your days on grieving and rethinking the choice that you made. One day, King Oropher's guards catch an Orc who is believed to be a spy and you accompany the King during the interrogation. You find yourself befriending a creature you have never expected to have anything in common with and your own light begins to fade when you decide to go back to your family and join the darkness.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I have been asked quite a few times – incuding some anons – if I would write a part two to this fic and even though I was happy with the open ending of the first chapter, I also had an idea for this second part, so here we go! 😌 But considering the fact I am writing two multichapters at the moment (one is with Adar as well) and I am starting a job in a week, I doubt I'm going to write more parts to this story. 🥺

WORD COUNT — 7,970

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FADING LIGHT (II)

You had tears in your eyes when you reached Mirkwood. You had just lost your daughter to the darkness and found out the most dreadful truth about your own husband whom you had been loving, admiring and missing for centuries. Of course you were crying.

You considered going back home to Mithlond but King Oropher in Mirkwood was expecting you after all the letters he had received from you and Gil-galad about the sickly state of your daughter. So, you decided to go to him instead, hoping that the seclusion of Mirkwood would serve you well in this difficult time.

The gates were opened in front of you and you rode your horse inside the well-hidden palace. You had not been there before but you had been given clear instructions on how to find the passing. Despite being King Oropher’s guest for the first time, it was not the first meeting of yours. You had met him on multiple occasions when there were meetings of the Elven elders. And even though you were not a part of any council, your age and wisdom often made you an advisor of the High King.

King Oropher was a proud man – he always had a problem with Gil-galad being the High King and above him. Actually, you were convinced that according to Oropher, he had no one above him in the Elven hierarchy. Still, he was your kin and a friend who would help in need just like every other Elf would do.

He greeted you himself when you dismounted your horse. His long, blond hair was waving in the air and a beautiful, wood crown was placed upon his head. You looked around and if you weren’t grieving, you would have to admit that this place was different from the other Elven realms in a wonderful way. It was… wilder and more raw.

“My King,” you bowed your head in front of him and he nodded, looking you up and down.

“My dear Lady (Y/N)... and where is your beloved daughter?” Was the very first question he asked.

“She…” You stuttered. You knew what to say, you had been preparing an excuse but now it did not make any sense. However, there was no time to come up with any new ones. “She passed away on the way, my King,” your lower lip trembled and eyes filled with fresh tears.

Oropher’s cold eyes filled with compassion and grief immediately. He was an Elf, after all, and no amount of pride could hide it away.

“I am so terribly sorry…” He gasped and put his hands on your arms to give you a little comfort. “What about her body? Have you buried her yourself?”

That was the question you dreaded. You had no idea what to say when asked about your daughter’s body.

“The illness… It did unspeakable things to my sweet Moreth,” your voice trembled as you confessed. This sentence was not truly a lie, after all. “I have given her a small funeral of my own. That was all I could do with… With what was left of her,” you added and Oropher nodded. So far, you could not spot any suspiciousness in him.

“I cannot imagine the pain you are going through,” he sighed. “We have been awaiting your arrival, I have prepared all the books that could help you to find the cure…”

“You are so thoughtful, my King,” you sniffled your tears back and looked down. “Can I perhaps… Stay here for a while? I do not think I can face Mithlond once again, so full of life and all my friends asking endless questions,” you explained. That part was also not a lie.

“You can stay here as long as you wish, dear friend,” Oropher nodded. “Perhaps the books will help you to find out the reason for your daughter’s illness. It might give you the peace of mind to know what happened,” he explained.

“Yes, thank you,” you bowed your head.

“I shall inform Gil-galad about your daughter’s passing and that you are about to stay here. Or would you rather do it?” Oropher furrowed his brows.

“No, please, my King, you do it,” you shook your head. 

“Alright then. Follow me inside and my maids will show you to your chambers,” Oropher put his arm around you and then he squinted his eyes at your horse, which was being escorted to the stables now by one of his Elves.

“What is it, my King?”

“That horse has a mark of the father of the Orcs,” he pointed out and your heart skipped a beat at the mention of your husband. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh? I did not know that mark,” you explained. “I lost my horse after Moreth’s death. I did not chase him because I wanted to give her a burial. After that, I found this one in the forest. I thought it was a gift from the Valars so I could continue my journey,” you came up with a quick and swift lie.

Oropher seemed to believe you and you were scared of your own ability to deceive.

Weeks had passed. Months. You were nothing but a shadow around Mirkwood, wandering through its halls and spending most of your days in the library, pretending to read the books that had been prepared by Oropher.

You didn’t need to find out the reason for your daughter’s illness anymore. Everything was as clear to you as a day. So, most of the time, you were staring at the walls and ceilings, looking out through the window, wondering… Wondering where Moreth and Adar were at the moment, what were they doing. Had she changed even further? What did she look like now? What was she like? And the light of Valinor inside of her… Was it completely gone now?

You grieved the loss of your daughter but your foolish, naive heart, was still holding onto hope because, after all, she was not dead. You had been her mother for centuries and being a parent to her was one of your personality traits now. Losing it all of a sudden simply felt wrong. 

When Moreth had been born, everyone had been saying to you that you would have a big family. That Adar and you had been born to become parents. Indeed, you had been devoted and loving – both of you. And when you and Moreth had been left alone, you had been trying to love her for the both of you. You had felt as if you had owed it to your husband, who had been defeated by Morgoth – so you had been thinking. Foolishly.

Adar had been in Moreth’s life for a few years only – which is nothing to an Elf. And yet, she had never forgotten him. She had always talked about him fondly and had been trying to do everything to cherish his memory. His influence on her had been short but very strong and you always loved that bond. You were convinced that the reason behind it was Adar’s love – perhaps Moreth had been raised by him only for a few years but she would never forget a love so strong.

Now, you cursed that love and you cursed that bond.

But you could not stop thinking of Adar as well – after all, you had a bond with him, too. For the past few centuries of missing and grieving him, he had been in the back of your mind while you had been making decisions or raising Moreth. 

“Why can’t you stay, mother? We could be a family again.” You remembered Moreth’s plea. You remembered it over and over until it stopped being outrageous and became… tempting.

Not the darkness around your husband and daughter, not the life they wished to live but you craved to be in their presence. To be in your husband’s arms, which you had been missing for centuries. To keep your daughter close and be able to spend time with her every day. Who were you without your family? You felt as if without them your life had no purpose. 

Giving advice to the High King, expanding your knowledge, serving in the Elven realms… None of that would make sense anymore. None of that would be worth it without your family by your side.

Still, the fact that you even considered going back to Moreth and Adar was enough to make you feel sick out of guilt. And so you looked and acted sick – so sick that Oropher began to be worried that your daughter’s illness was contagious. So worried that he was sending letters to Gil-galad that your grieving state was concerning. And you were receiving letters from the High King who was trying to make you see the meaning of this suffering and to cheer you up. It was not enough. It could never be without your daughter by your side.

“Being a carrier of the light is an honourable task but the light is often a burden, too. I want to be free of the shackles – no matter how virtuous they are,” Moreth had explained to you her decision. And now you understood her words. The light could be a burden – if you were not an Elf, the natural bearer of it, you would leave Mirkwood and look for your family.

“Stay with us,” Adar had pleaded right after confessing that you – alongside Moreth – were still everything to him. And you knew that it was Sauron’s illusion about your deaths that had pushed Adar into such a deep darkness. Your heart mourned for him and after seeing all the scars on his body, you could only imagine what pain he had suffered. You had nightmares at night about the tortures Morgoth and Sauron had put him through. You wanted to ease his pain.

He was still everything to you, too. He had always been. From the very first shy smile he had given to you in the courtyard after spotting you, with your hair waving in the wind and a flower crown in your hair, laughing at your friend's joke. 

“You know very well that Moreth’s darkness does not come only from me,” he had told you and despite your denial – you knew that he had been right.

You had named your daughter Moreth – gloom. And a few people back in the day had mentioned to you how similar it sounded to the name Morgoth, which you had not even thought of while naming her. But perhaps it had been your intuition.

You had never discouraged Adar’s thirst for knowledge even if you had known the knowledge he had been seeking was forbidden. You had been pretending to not know but in fact, you had been jealous of his courage. You had always been curious about it yourself.

The Elves had spent centuries fighting the shadows. Of course the shadows fascinated you, too. You had to know your enemy and you wanted to understand it. But the longer you looked at the beast, the longer it was looking back.

Perhaps you could had prevented Moreth’s transformation. If you truly had been as pure as you posed to be – as you wished to be – you would had seen her sickness earlier. Or perhaps you had been too forgiving towards her thirst for forbidden knowledge – just like with her father.

Every day was a drag now and to know that even after death you would be separated for your husband and daughter were no longer welcome in Valinor… It was only making it worse.

On that day, your usual and boring routine was interrupted by the alarmed guards. You walked out of the library and curiously watched them whispering between each other and running to the gate. You could see that they were pretty concerned with the situation, so you walked closer to Prince Thranduil who was standing nearby, observing like you.

He was as handsome and stoic as his father – his back straightened, his hands clasped behind and his chin held high proudly. It was nearly funny but you were in no mood to laugh.

“What is happening, my Prince?” You asked with a small bow of your head.

One thing you did not like about Mirkwood was the atmosphere around Oropher and his family. Gil-galad was your High King and yet, you felt more comfortable around him. Like a friend. Being around Oropher and dealing with his family was forcing you to bow your head more often these days than you ever had before.

Prince Thranduil should be the one bowing to you and your wisdom, your knowledge and experience. But no, of course not. You were no Queen.

There was only one place where you would be a Queen. But of that you did not wish to think because it was nothing but the poison spreading throughout your already slightly corrupted heart.

When the heart got broken, the light could get inside through the cracks – that was what the Elves said often. But they never mentioned how easy it was for the darkness to slip in as well. Perhaps much easier, in fact.

“They caught an intruder, my Lady. An Orc,” Prince Thranduil informed you. “My father suspects he might be a spy because he was dangerously close to the gate.”

“I am on my way to interrogate him,” King Oropher walked past you in the corridor and you both bowed your heads in his direction. “Lady (Y/N),” Oropher looked at you, “do you wish to join me?”

You did not know what to answer. You were curious about the Orc. You were curious if it had anything in common with your husband. On the other hand, for the very same reason you wished to avoid this situation. However, you knew that you were already prolonging your stay in Mirkwood and saying no to anything simply felt wrong.

“Yes, my King, of course,” you nodded and followed him. “Why would you request my presence, though?” You asked.

“I know that Gil-galad often seeks counsel from you and he must have his reasons to,” he explained and you nodded.

You followed Oropher to his throne room and stood beside him. There were many guard Elves around as well for protection, holding their bows and arrows. It felt excessive since it was only one Orc they were talking about. They dragged him inside and you nearly pitied this creature because he looked a little scared and intimidated and he was alone and unarmed but treated like a sack of potatoes, thrown to the ground in front of Oropher.

“You are in front of King Oropher of Mirkwood. You will show him respect,” one of the guard Elves spat out while looking down with contempt at the Orc.

His small eyes looked up at the King but then they moved and they landed on you. For some reason, you felt as if you had seen that particular Orc before and now you could feel cold sweat running down your back. What if he reveals something about you?

The Orc bowed down in your direction and you moved uncomfortably as Oropher gave you an unpleasant look. His pride was hurt and everyone in the room could sense it.

“My Lady, all respect to my Lady,” the Orc added and you pursed your lips, hoping he would not say anything more because it was awkward enough. If he called you like that one from the camp – Lady Mother – you would have a lot of explaining to do.

“This is the King, you filthy Orc!” The guard pulled him by the ear and forced him to look upon Oropher.

“Uruk,” you fixed him and everyone laid their eyes on you once more. You bit your own tongue. Why had you said that? Well, you could not help feeling bad for this poor thing. He had not hurt anyone here, he had only been wandering around the gates.

“What are you saying, my Lady?” The guard barked at you.

“Uruk is the name they use for their kind. He is not even found guilty but only accused of being a spy, he deserves respect like every other prisoner,” you informed him.

“Is that the advice you give to Gil-galad? To respect the Orcs?” Oropher hissed at you quietly.

“How you treat the kin of your enemy – no matter how low their life form is – reflects who you are. You shall respect his rights not because of his nature but because of yours, my King,” you explained calmly.

“Very well then,” Oropher moved slightly on his throne. “Orc or Uruk, it does not matter to me. What matters to me is what were you doing here, creature? Are you a spy?”

“If I was, why would I say?” The Orc asked.

Well, the Uruk. Now, when you were the one preaching about such things, you should think of them as the Uruks as well, so you wouldn’t be a hypocrite.

“This is not a game,” the Elven guard kicked him and you looked away for a moment to avoid staring at such a violent scene.

“I am simply lost in the woods,” the Uruk explained. “My cousin lives nearby, I was visiting and I couldn’t find the path leading out of the woods,” he added and the Elves laughed.

“Are there any Uruks living nearby?” You asked King Oropher.

“Unfortunately,” he nodded.

“Why would he lie then? He does not look like a threat,” you pointed out.

“He does not,” Oropher agreed. “Either way, kill him,” he ordered so carelessly as if the order was not about someone’s life.

“Wait! He was not found guilty!” You protested as your eyes widened and everyone looked at you as if you were crazy. “Do you order to kill humans who are being found by your gates, too, my King?”

“Usually, after interrogating them, I send them back home,” he answered calmly but he was visibly outraged with your question. “He is not a human, though, is he?”

“No, he is not but he is a living being with blood in his veins and a heart pumping it throughout his body,” you said. 

“The Orcs would kill you if it was you being captured by them, my Lady,” Oropher pointed out.

“We do not have to lower ourselves to their standards and if you wish to know, I have been captured by them with Moreth but they set us free when I told them about searching for the cure to help my daughter,” you lied. Of course that was not what had happened and you actually doubted it would but for some reason you really hoped to save this Uruk’s life.

Oropher was surprised to hear your story and so were the other Elves. He hesitated for a moment before waving his hand to dismiss the Uruk.

“Let him go then but make sure to escort him out of the lands belonging to my realm. Show him the path to take to get out of the woods,” he ordered and you sighed with relief. “Allow me to make this one exception in return for the exception your kin has shown to my friend – Lady (Y/N),” he looked at the Uruk and stood up from his throne.

Oropher approached you and grabbed you by your elbow gently to walk you out of the room. Once you were in the corridor, he gave you a stern look.

“Why did he bow for you?” He asked and you bit on the insides of your cheeks, thinking of an answer.

“Just because I defended his right to live does not mean I think highly of his kind. You do know what the Uruks are like, my King. I have no idea why he acted this way but I do think it was to spite you or to cause this very situation we are having at the moment – to plant the seed of mistrust between us,” you explained nonchalantly but this time Oropher did not seem to believe your lies so easily. “He was trying to deceive you,” you added.

“Perhaps you are the deceived one, my friend. You became their defender,” Oropher raises his eyebrow and let go of your elbow. “They served the Dark Lord.”

“It was long time ago and the Dark Lord is gone now. I simply felt sorry for him, he didn't look dangerous. I would not feel sorry for every single one of them,” you explained and Oropher kept staring at you in a way you were not approving of. You did not feel the need to explain yourself to him. “I think it is time for me to go back to Mithlond, my King,” you said. “This interrogation made me realise how dearly I miss our High King. He is my friend and he worries about me,” you added.

“Perhaps it is time for you indeed, my friend,” Oropher nodded and you smiled sadly. You knew that he was more than happy to hear the news after today’s situation. He just wanted to get rid of you.

“I shall go and pack myself,” you said.

“You wish to leave today already?” Oropher furrowed his eyebrows at the rush you seemed to be in.

“Why wait, my King?” You bowed your head and hurried to your chambers.

You were waiting in the courtyard for your horse to be brought to you and Oropher joined you to bid you farewell. He was calmer now than before and he even gave you a smile that seemed to be genuine and full of affection.

“Forgive my anger and confusion. You are a grieving woman who has lost her daughter recently and you perceive life in a different way now. I should have known better,” he explained.

“There is nothing to forgive, my King. I do not part our ways with any resentment towards you,” you assured him.

“It is such a shame we could not save your daughter,” Oropher changed the subject suddenly and you raised an eyebrow at him. “She was a great beauty, I remember her from Mithlond. Her long, black hair like her father's; waving in the air as her laughter filled the halls. And she had your eyes and your wisdom. Your melancholy, too,” he looked into your eyes and you smiled sadly. “I was thinking she would make an excellent bride for my son,” he added then and you were visibly surprised to hear such a revelation.

“Prince Thranduil?”

“Yes,” Oropher nodded with a smile. “I was thinking we could heal her and I would ask you to let her marry Thranduil in return for that favour,” he explained.

“So, you did not want to help me out of pure heart?” You asked.

“Oh, no, do not think so. If you said no, I would not do anything,” he assured you and you nodded. And even though you believed him, you did not like the fact that he had been planning to take your daughter away from you either way. You would never live in Mirkwood and he knew it. Yet, he wanted your daughter to spend her forever in this place.

“My time here is over for now,” you said when your horse was finally led to the courtyard from the stables and stood in front of you. You caressed his neck and hopped on him gracefully. “My King,” you looked down at him and bowed your head.

“Lady (Y/N),” Oropher nodded. “Please, let me remind you before you go that you will see your daughter and your husband again in Valinor,” he tried to make you feel better, not knowing how false his words were. “But do not hurry to go there yourself,” he added and you shook your head at him.

“Believe me, my King, I do not hurry,” you promised him and nodded one last time before ordering your horse to go.

You rode out of the Elven realm and hit the road leading out of Mirkwood. Just as you suspected – the Uruk was waiting for you at the crossroads. At the sight of you, he bowed his head again.

“My Lady,” he greeted you and you furrowed your brows at him.

“Are you following me, Uruk?” You asked him coldly while looking down at him from your horse. “Were you sent by my husband to follow me?”

“No, my Lady,” the Uruk shook his head. “By Lady Moreth,” he explained and your heart clenched in your chest at the mention of your daughter. Your sweet, beloved Moreth. She could not stop thinking of you just like you could not stop thinking of her.

“For how long have you been searching for me?” You inquired.

“I am not sure, my Lady. A few weeks, surely, but then I got lost in the woods,” he admitted with a hint of embarrassment. “It was an accident that I got caught, but you… You saved my life,” he bowed his head down again and you could hear that he was moved by your act.

“What is your name, Uruk?” You asked him. “Do you have names?” You wondered out loud.

“We do,” he nodded as he looked up at you again. “They call me Glûg, my Lady,” he introduced himself. 

“Alright then, Glûg,” you nodded your head at him and moved slightly on your horse to make more space in the saddle. “You will take me back to your kin and to your Lord Father,” you told him because you didn’t expect him to deny you.

His small eyes sparkled at your words and he seemed to be genuinely excited about the idea, although when he approached the horse, you could already see he would struggle with hopping onto it. After a short while of hesitation, he took a step back.

“You ride, my Lady. I will walk,” he decided.

“Do not be daft, Glûg. We have a long road ahead of us,” you sighed and extended your hand to help him to mount your horse although you waited for him to actually dare to take it.

You could see he was shocked but so were you. You had never expected to touch any Uruk willingly, especially to help them to get on the same horse as you. And perhaps you could find Adar and Moreth yourself without his help but it felt wrong to just leave him behind.

Glûg was not only surprised but also a little intimidated and you could sense that he was not trusting you fully. After all, you were an Elf and there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t take him to Mithlond for example; where he would get tortured and killed. But despite feeling guilty towards Gil-galad and your other companions, your mind was made up. You chose your family over your friends – even if it meant going down a very dark and treacherous path.

“I do not have a whole day,” you teased and Glûg finally took your hand. It didn’t feel very pleasant to touch him but it was also better than you had imagined what it would be like to touch an Uruk. You waited for him to adjust himself behind you on the saddle before you ordered the horse to go. “Be careful back there. Us, Elves, do not ride carefully because we do not have to,” you told him and you could feel him grabbing the edges of the saddle. “You can hold onto my cloak if you must,” you allowed him.

“Yes, my Lady,” he nodded.

“Let us get out of Mirkwood first and then you will tell me where to go. South, I assume, but I want to know exactly where to go because I want to get there quickly,” you explained.

“Me too, my Lady. I miss my son,” Glûg admitted and you smiled to yourself although you were surprised.

“You have a son, Glûg?” You asked. “A wife?”

“Yes, I have a wife, too,” he nodded.

“I had no idea that Uruks had families,” you hummed to yourself.

“There are many mis… Mis…,” he struggled with the word.

“Misconceptions,” you gently reminded him. For some reason, you didn’t feel the need to be patronising with this one.

“Yes, that’s the word Lord Father uses sometimes,” Glûg’s voice sounded excited. “Why are you going to him, my Lady?”

“I am his wife,” you revealed. You didn’t want to tell him too much because it was your private matter.

“I know, I was there,” Glûg reminded you and you suddenly realised why his face looked so familiar. “I was the one who unchained you and Lady Moreth, my Lady,” he added and you nodded at his words, remembering very clearly now.

“You were the one who stopped your friend from hurting us. You told him that your Lord Father wouldn’t be happy about it because we were Elves,” you suddenly had a flashback of yet another memory. “Thank you, Glûg.”

“I want to serve Lord Father well,” he said to that.

“I am sure he is very pleased with you,” you assured him with a head nod and he didn’t say anything but he adjusted himself slightly in the saddle and dared to hold onto the hem of your cloak.

According to Glûg, it would take you about two or three days to get to Adar’s camp. Most of the Uruks were staying in a village with the humans who had decided to obey your husband. You only hoped that they hadn’t changed their location ever since Glûg had left it to look for you.

You were an Elf and you were sure your body could handle the lack of sleep for two or three days but Glûg obviously needed it, therefore you decided to stop for the night. Your horse needed its rest, too, since it was not any Elven breed that could handle longer distances with less rest.

You caressed the horse’s mane as you watched Glûg start the fire to warm himself up. He looked up at you and offered for you to come over and get warm, too, but you shook your head.

“I do not need it,” you assured him. Even though your body was not radiating so much warmth anymore, it was not like you actually felt any coldness.

He didn’t need much to sleep. He just laid down on the grass and began snoring not long after. You sighed and sat by the tree. Even though he seemed to be deep asleep, you still did not trust him enough to fall asleep yourself. You only allowed him to ride behind you on the horse because you knew that his dagger had been taken away from him back in Mirkwood.

You kept watching the stars and praying quietly to the Valars, hoping they would understand your decision. And when you spotted the fire dying out, you put more wood into it, so Glûg wouldn’t get too cold on that night. You were not scared of the light attracting the enemies because in these lands, you were mostly scared of… well, the Uruks.

And you actually met a few on the next day. They jumped out on the road, threatening you in Black Speech and shouting obscenities. Then, they saw Glûg emerging from behind you on the horse and they looked at each other, confused.

“What are you doing up there, Glûg?” One of them asked. “Have you found yourself a new lady? Where did you get an Elf stupid enough to want you?” He laughed and others followed.

“You idiot!” Glûg shouted at him. “This is Lord Father’s wife!” He scolded his friends and they all closed their mouths before bowing their heads so much they nearly touched the ground.

“Forgive us, my Lady!” They begged, visibly scared.

“Forgive them, my Lady, they are our scouts from the most distant lands and no one bothered to tell them about you,” Glûg stood up for his friends.

“Get up, Uruks,” you laughed at the ones below you. “I understand why you found this funny,” you assured them. “Glûg here is escorting me,” you explained because you didn’t want him to look stupid in his friends’ eyes – after all, he was unarmed and on the back of the horse, sitting behind you like a child.

“He always gets the best jobs,” one of the Uruks muttered and you chuckled.

“Such jobs come with a price. Glûg has nearly lost his life,” you bragged on his behalf and they hummed to each other.

“Has Lord Father moved from the village in the last few weeks?” Glûg asked them and they shrugged their arms, answering in Black Speech.

“What did they say?” You asked Glûg, turning your head around.

“I’d rather not say, my Lady…”

“What is it?” Your heart skipped a beat. Had something bad happened?

“They said: the fuck we know?” Glûg swallowed thickly but you laughed at that, sighing with relief.

“You do not have the best communication with your scouts,” you pointed out.

“I’ve been trying to make Lord Father realise that for years now!” Glûg complained and you nodded at that. Perhaps you would tell your husband about it later.

“We shall go now,” you nodded at the Uruk scouts and they nodded back. You ordered the horse to go and that was when Glûg tugged onto your cape. “Hm?”

“I had no idea Elves could understand humour,” he admitted and you smirked.

“There are many misconceptions,” you answered smugly.

You arrived at the village in the evening on the second day and, thankfully, Adar was still there. At least that was what the Uruks by the gate had told you when they were opening it for you and Glûg.

“Do you want to jump off of the horse and make it seem as if you are leading me?” You asked him when you crossed the gates.

“Good idea, my Lady,” he nodded and you heard him clumsily jump down onto the muddy ground. Then, he grabbed the horse by the reins and led you to the centre of the village.

You looked around and it was a different village than the one you had bid your farewell to your daughter at. Adar’s army was slowly going up North.

When you arrived at the market square, you spotted Moreth immediately and your heart clenched inside your chest. She couldn’t see you yet – she had her back turned and she was crouching down, surrounded by a bunch of the Uruk babies. Some of them looked rather gruesome but they were only little and innocent babies. And you found it absolutely endearing that your daughter still – even on her path towards the darkness – remained the gentle one, who would spend her free time with the most delicate ones; entertaining them with nursery rhymes in Black Speech that she had to learn recently.

She had some sort of a crown upon her head but it was made of old branches without any leaves on them. Instead of flowers, it was decorated with small grey stones of various shapes and small skulls of the small forest animals. But knowing Moreth, you just knew she had not harmed any of them and had to find these in the local woods. Or perhaps they were leftovers from the Uruks’ soups.

“That one is my son,” Glûg pointed at one of the babies. The little one was sitting on the ground and clapping his hands at your daughter’s nursery rhyme. You winced slightly at the sight of that baby.

“He is… adorable,” you lied and Glûg seemed to be very happy with your comment. That was the moment when his son spotted him and squealed, extending his hands towards his father.

Glûg ran up to him to pick him up and Moreth turned around. Her face lit up at the sight of you and she immediately stood up to approach you. Her long, black hair was bouncing in the air and she had a new, black dress on. She looked happy but you couldn’t ignore the fact her skin looked even paler than the last time you had seen her and even though her eyes were filled with joy now – they seemed to be more hollow than you remembered as well.

“Mother!” She hugged you when you dismounted the horse. “I’ve sent Glûg to find out your whereabouts but I was not sure if you would actually visit me!” She smiled widely and you caressed her cheeks before leaning in to place a kiss upon her forehead.

“Oh, my sweet Moreth… You smell like an Uruk,” you chuckled and she rolled her eyes. “What is this beautiful dress? Where did you get it?” You asked her, trying to focus on something cheerful.

“I have no idea. It is a gift from father,” she answered and you smiled to yourself. It was no surprise for you that Adar would get everything for his daughter but you wondered where he had found such a gown. Had he requested someone to make it? You found it quite adorable in a way.

“Are you happy here with him?” You asked.

“Oh, mother, you have no idea,” Moreth chuckled. “I can be myself here and I no longer have to bear the shackles of guilt,” she admitted and you nodded sadly, grabbing her wrists. They were colder than they should be.

“The light of Valinor is nearly gone, my child,” you hummed.

“Your hands feel a bit colder as well, mother,” Moreth teased and you furrowed your brows. She was right, you didn’t want to deny it. “Either way, I would be happier here if I had you by my side,” she sighed. “But father was right. He told me you would be back.”

You opened your mouth to answer her but you were interrupted by the door of one of the houses being opened. Both you and Moreth turned your heads around to glance in its direction and you saw Adar walking out slowly out of the house and walking towards you.

“Father!” Moreth ran up to him, excitedly. “You were right! Mother came to visit us!” She informed him.

“No, she did not come to visit us,” Adar pointed out calmly, standing right in front of you and staring at you intensely. Moreth’s smile dropped in an instant.

“What do you mean, father? Mother?” She looked at you and her eyes filled with tears.

Sometimes, she still acted like a very young Elf even though she was centuries old. She had been born in the First Age but you had been spoiling her ever since Adar’s disappearance and now it simply felt wrong to abandon her when she was still so dependent on you. You wondered now how could you have bid farewell to her all those months ago.

“She came to stay,” Adar explained calmly and you straightened your back at his words as you took a deep breath in. He was right, so you nodded. 

Moreth smiled again although you could see she was finding it hard to believe. She kissed both of your cheeks and ran away to dance around with the Uruk children out of happiness. You chuckled at that as your eyes followed her movements and then you looked back at your husband.

“How did you know?” You asked, quietly.

“Because I know my wife,” Adar took a step ahead to be even closer to you and he extended his rough hand towards you. “I know she will always choose her family in the end. You have always been the most devoted mother. And wife,” he explained and you took his hand gently. It felt so odd to be able to touch him and to be with him again.

“I have spoiled her,” you sighed and looked back at Moreth again, dancing around with the children.

“I would have done the exact same,” Adar cracked a smile and you dared to smile back at him shyly. In a way, it felt as if you were a young Elven maiden again, all those centuries ago, being courted by him.

“I know,” you answered. “That is the reason why I have done it,” you added.

“Your hands do seem to be colder than the last time indeed,” Adar hummed to himself and lifted your wrist up to place a small kiss upon your knuckles. “But they still remain soft.”

You had a feeling this comment was supposed to contrast your hands with his rough and scarred ones and it made you sad. You squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

“I must admit, it feels… odd to be here. Odd to have you back by my side. I have grieved you for an Age,” you confessed. “I might need some time to adapt,” you explained.

“You may have all the time in this world that you need,” your husband assured you and you smiled at him. “Come, let me show you inside. We are staying here for a while,” he pointed at the door leading inside the house and you nodded before gathering your skirts and following him through the mud towards your new home.

It had no luxuries but it was enough. Elves did not require much to survive and being here with your husband and daughter felt better than being surrounded by all the riches of Mirkwood but far away from them.

You looked around with a small smile and followed Adar upstairs.

“The room on the right is Moreth’s,” he opened the door slightly so you could look inside. You grinned at the sight of how she had decorated the place with all sorts of books, dried out leaves and flowers, pretty stones and her drawings.

“Living inside her own world as always,” you pointed out and Adar closed the door with a smile.

“It is one of her best qualities,” he admitted and you agreed with a head nod. “The room on the left can be yours,” he opened the door for you to walk in but when you looked around, you saw some of his belongings scattered around.

“Is that not your room?” You asked.

“I do not need one,” Adar shrugged his arms and walked inside as well. He began gathering his belongings but you stopped his hand gently as he looked up at you, questioningly.

“I do not mind sharing a chamber with you, husband,” you assured him. “We were wed, we are one,” you told him, “for eternity. It might feel odd in the beginning after such a long time but the more time we spend together, the sooner I shall adapt,” you added.

“I have spent an Age missing you and grieving you,” Adar whispered, taking your hand into his. “I might find it difficult to keep myself away from you now.”

“Oh, Adar,” you cupped his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. “I have been suffering without you enough and I have been with Moreth and all of my friends, surrounded by the beauty of the Elven realms. And you… You have been so lonely. I cannot imagine what you have been going through,” you admitted quietly and felt a single tear streaming down your cheek.

“It does not matter anymore,” your husband assured you and wiped the tear away from your cheek. Then, he placed the tip of his thumb on his tongue to taste it. “You truly are growing colder, my dear,” he pointed out.

“I can feel it, too,” you nodded. “The rot is making its home inside of me,” you admitted. “But I would rather be damned with you than to carry the light alone.”

Adar seemed to be moved by your confession and you kept caressing his cheeks gently to soothe him. You saw a tear escaping his eyes, too, but you only shushed him gently, making no comment about it.

“There is only one thing I shall never forgive you,” you confessed.

“Taking Moreth down with me?” His voice broke.

“No,” you shook your head. “She is an Age old. That is quite enough to be able to make your own decisions, don’t you think?” You chuckled through your own tears. “But you have forsaken me. You have gone away from me – from us – to Morgoth…”

“I wanted to come back for you, I have told you already. It was Sauron who made me believe that you and Moreth had been dead,” Adar reminded you. “You have always been a part of my plans. Everything I have done, I have done for my family. Morgoth knew about my devotion. He often used you or Moreth to torture me or to tempt me to stay and learn more,” your husband confessed and you furrowed your brows as your eyes filled with fresh tears. “Sauron knew. He observed him at work. He knew how much you meant to me. That was the reason for his lie. For his illusion that has been haunting me for centuries,” Adar winced a little as if he had just remembered the vision of you and Moreth dying that Sauron had shown him once.

You caressed your husband’s cheeks again and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips, feeling the tears of the both of you mixing on your skin.

“If what they say is true… That the Dark Lord is back… We shall defeat him together, my love,” you promised in a quiet whisper.

“I would never ask you or Moreth to fight for me,” Adar shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours. “But your presence gives me strength to face my battles.”

“As it should be,” your fingertips reached his temples and you pressed them softly, giving them a little massage. 

Your little moment of intimacy was interrupted by Moreth who stood in the doorway and cleared her throat. When you both turned around to face her with widened eyes, she chuckled.

“Do not fret. I am an Age old,” she pointed out with a smile. “And it does make my heart content to see you two like this. I was only wanting to ask how do you find your chambers, mother?” She grinned at you.

“I do find them good enough, thank you,” you answered her.

“I have a gift for you. When father assured me you would come back, I worked on something to give you. I thought you would only visit, so I wanted to give you something to remind you of me. You do not need a reminder, I guess, but you might still want to wear it,” she smiled mysteriously and extended her hand towards you.

You took her hand and she led you to her bedroom. Adar followed you, too, with a gentle smile as he leaned on the wall and watched you two interact. Moreth opened one of the boxes under her bed and she handed you something. It was a necklace made of black metal and a ruby stone. It was of great beauty but you wondered how she had managed to make it.

“I asked the human smith for help,” she revealed as if she knew what your questions were. “And the ruby was a gift for me from father,” she smiled at Adar.

“Where did you get it from?” You asked him, turning around.

“You do not want to know,” he shook his head and approached you. He took the necklace to clasp it behind your neck. “Perhaps I shall tell you one day, when your heart rots enough to handle it.”

And when you felt the ruby stone brushing your skin, you could feel the rot growing stronger and overtaking the cold light within you, but the rot was warm and rooted in love, therefore it could not be wrong. Could it?

MASTERLIST

[elronds-pointy-ears]

At your Mercy Chapter 7

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Pairing: Gil-Galad x human! fem! Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1973

Summary: Dramatic elf makes his entrance and cute moment with Gil-Galad. Let the festivities commence.

Thank you for reading 💜

It was a hectic day. You ran from one place to the next. Being the High Kings sort of manager you had a lot to do. Especially the days when his herold was absent. You carried a lot on your shoulders at court. It turned out you were handling it well and the High King appeared to be pleased with the work you managed to get done. Downside was that he had high expectations. He saw your negotiating with other elves, high ranked ones at that and he saw you had a hand for these political matters. You should be proud how far you‘ve come in such a short time but at times like these you would rather just have a simple life with a simple job. Your excellent work had you now running around like a wild chicken because the elven Lord Oropher was yours to take care of.

The elf was a menace. He had much to complain and very little praise for anything. If you had to decide who the most unlikeable elf was you would not have to think long. He stood only 5 feet away from you with his long blonde hair, blowing in the wind. He stood tall next to his kin, head held high and a piercing gaze. „Y/N is it? I want to retreat to my quarters now. Go ahead and tell them to arrange everything!“ You were not sure what exactly he meant so you stood for a moment contemplating what exactly he was talking about. „What are you waiting for? Off you go!“ he commanded. With that you decided to just listen to him and walk straight to the closest maiden. „Excuse me. Lord Oropher sends me to let you know he wants everything  ‚arranged‘ in his quarters?“ you told her with a questioning undertone hinting at your confusion. „Lord Oropher oh my? He is here already? I will take care of it right now. Thank you for letting me know.“ With that she was off leaving you still clueless what he meant by „arranged“. 

Deciding not to dwell on this arrogant elf and his stupid desires for one more minute you went to the first place that came to mind when you thought about a peaceful moment, the big tree you admired so much. After spending the whole day as Orophers personal slave you had had enough. You needed a break, fresh air and just really some peace. 

You made your way up the hill. The sun was about to set and it‘s rays set the land in a golden light. Standing in front of the tree you saw far over the city. The pinkish and orange sky took your breath away. You closed your eyes and you felt your tense shoulders relax. This is more than you initially thought you would get by coming up here but this view was absolutely everything to get your spirits back up. You stood there for a long time just breathing, basking in the warmth of the last rays of light the sun was casting over the lands when you felt a presence next to you. You kept your eyes closed and prepared for someone to interrupt your peaceful moment. A few moments passed and you could not hear anything. Whoever stood next to you granted you a few more seconds of peace. Out of curiosity you decided to open your eyes and see who came to stand next to you.

„Oh. High King“ you blurted. „I uh excuse me your grace I was not aware someone was here.“ you lied trying to smooth out your clothes to make you more presentable. You figured it would be the easiest way out of this situation. „Do not worry Y/N I am just here to do the same as you.“ he said turning his head from looking at you to the far lands ahead. „What I am doing?“ you questioned. Honestly you had no idea what exactly you were doing here. You were just standing around. „You are running away from Oropher.“ he smirked. „I understand how dramatic he can be. I am stressed out as well.“ Another pause. None of you spoke and it was a comfortable silence until Gil-Galad decided to let you in on a tiny piece of information about him no one really knew. „In fact when I am stressed out I come here. It is a peaceful place and usually the only place in the city that can be found free of anyone.“ You turned to face him trying to apologize „Oh I am so sorry I did not know I will not come here if you wish this place to be..“ you babbled but his deep baritone interrupted you „No I am not saying you are unwelcome Y/N.“ he stared back into your eyes. The sun kissed your skin and made it glow in beautiful golden hues. His favorite colour.

„What I am trying to say is that I am grateful you are here. Having to listen to Oropher all day and doing his biddings is exhausting and by handling him you are taking away a lot of that weight from my shoulders.“ You held his gaze. Something about his dark orbs in the light did wonders and you felt drawn to him. „I uh thank you.“ you stammered. His eyes bored into yours and he towered over you, but not in a threatening way. No in a friendly, warm way.

This was the first time you felt relaxed in his presence. Maybe it was the time you spent together, working for him, that you finally got used to it. Maybe it was just the utterly exhausting Oropher who in comparison was way worse than the High King could ever be. Or his soft deep words of gratitude that made your heart swell in your chest. His eyes dipped down to your lips for a moment and your eyes did the same. His lips look so soft and kissable right now. You wondered what they would feel like... STOP!!

You shook your head, feeling your ears heat up from embarrassment. You must have hit your head or something since you‘ve been training with Glorfindel. These inappropriate thoughts had been plaguing your mind recently and it only seemed to happen more often the more time you spent with the High-King. 

Little did you know the High King stared at you for a moment longer than he should have. He saw your expression change quickly and it brought a smile to his lips. He saw your ears turning a slight shade of pink like the sky above and he enjoyed seeing you so flustered.

Before he could think of anything to say to make you blush more you straightened up beside him. „Very well I am going to retire to my quarters now. I am sure Lord Oropher will have demands tomorrow morning so I better not get to bed too late. Have a good evening, your grace.“ With that you turned on your heels and headed back down to your room, leaving the High King pondering.

In the morning you woke up tired and sleepy. You had trouble sleeping. The events from yesterday still clouded your mind and you could hardly get Gil-Galad out of your mind. Even though you were alone in your room, he was present in the back of your head. Everything about him seemed to be so perfect. He was not just nice to look at no. What actually surprised you was, that he was actually a good person in just an attractive body. At first you thought he was as arrogant as any elven King would be. But after a while he showed you more facettes of his true character. He was a King and a ruler to most. But there were many other parts of him hidden behind the facade of the High-King. He proved to be kind and warmhearted. You spent most of the night wondering about the many other sides the great elven King might have hidden behind the mask he wore at all times. 

Oropher was not helping, as he had requested you to accompany him on his morning ride through the woods. After preparing everything for him you had a few minutes of peace riding alongside the blonde elf. All you had to do now was listen to his endless bickering about humans. He disagreed on many things humans did. Especially the way they treated nature and the very place they call home. Destroying more than creating or nurturing their homeland. After a few minutes he paused and just admired the view.

„I have always preferred the woods. They are so calm and eternal. This is where I feel most peaceful. Don‘t you agree Y/N?“ Oropher said, waiting for your response. „I do like the woods as well, yes. They are full of life and mysterious. You never know what to expect behind the next tree.“ you agreed. As much as you wanted to rebel against Orophers opinions you could not disagree because he was simply stating the truth. Humans were awful beings. Sometimes worse than the dwarves could ever be. It was terrifying to think about all the bad things happening at the very moment, somewhere in the world at the hands of humans. And the woods you did not even have to act like you liked them. How could anyone not like the trees that stood in the very place for thousands of years. The rest of the ride was relatively relaxed and not too exhausting. Oropher seemed to be a better company in the presence of trees you thought. 

When you came back to the city you heard Oropher asking for a servant to bring him tea to his quarters and prepare a bath. He talked about not going to the festivities without a proper bath and you nearly facepalmed. You had forgotten about the day. It was the High-Kings birthday. They would hold a ceremony this evening in the High Kings name with music, food and dances. You quickly made your way over to Oropher to ask if he needed anything else. He waved you off, already heading to his quarters. 

Nearly tripping over your own feet you speed-walked to your own to get everything sorted before heading to Elrond and the other elves to make sure everything has been prepared and is ready for the celebration held in about four hours from now on. You found Elrond after a while walking around the many elves running around carrying boxes of wine or fireworks, tables and seats had already been arranged and a dancefloor had formed in between them. „Y/N there you are.“ Elrond came strutting over to you and stood beside you. „How has your day been? I hope Oropher behaved?“ he raised one eyebrow at you. You laughed „Ha, you mean to ask if he ever behaved, right?“. The ellon beside you laughed out loud at that. „Just what I‘ve been thinking,“ he mused. Elrond and you helped wherever a set of hands was needed and slowly the gardens turned into a mesmerizing scenery.

Everyone kept working on decorations and preparations for the evening and after about two hours the splace had changed completely. The party was set to be in the already pretty gardens and beautiful lanterns lit every corner in a warm and welcoming light. Pretty flowers adorned the wooden tables  creating a magical ambience. Soft tunes could be heard from the musicians that had started to play and you headed back to your quarters to get dressed for the occasion. In about 30 minutes the celebration was supposed to start and you needed to clean up a bit, before jumping in a wonderful dark green dress.

Tagging @lotrnonsense​ / @captainbutterflygirl2 @thesolarangel​ @lazymeriadoc​ @bananaphanta​ @betty-not-boop​ @fenharel-enaste @eowyn7023

[secondageweek]

Hello everyone!

For the second time we have decided to host this week to show our love and appreciation for the Second Age in all its facets. From proud Númenoreans to deep digging Dwarves, to the last High King of the Noldor, and the Dark Lord of Mordor - this week is dedicated to all of them and more!

A list of non-mandatory prompts below:

Day 1 Elves - Gil-galad, Oropher, Celebrían and many others - Lindon and Belfalas, Imladris and Eregion, Lórinand and Greenwood. What were the elves doing in the Second Age?

Day 2 Men - On this day of Second Age Week, we explore the race of Men - from proud Númenoreans, through those who would come to be known as Dunlendings, to the Haradrim in the South.

Day 3 Dwarves - From Ered Luin through Khazad Dûm to the Eastern Realms, dwarves played an important role during the Second Age. On this day you can explore their history and culture, events they participated in, prominent characters such as Durin IV. or Narvi and more!

Day 4 Sauron and his minions - With his lies and deceits, Sauron spent the Second Age weaving his way across Middle Earth and started a reign of terror from his fortress in Mordor. This day is dedicated to him and his many followers.

Day 5 Worldbuilding - Rings of Power and the White Tree, faraway lands, countless battles - Middle Earth has a rich history and stunning locations to explore.

Day 6 Original Characters - An unnamed wife of a king of Númenor, a guardsman from Lindon - who are they? What are they up to? On this day the spotlight is given to characters outside of the narrative focus.

Day 7 Freeform - Did we forget about something or is there a prompt you want to revisit? Feel free to use this day for any Second Age related content!

The week will run during January 2023 - 9th to 15th - and will be hosted by @tilions​ and @armenelols. ​ We will operate in a mixture of queued posts and direct reblogs.

To note:

Tag your work #secondageweek in the first five tags of your post and tag us @secondageweek so we can find your post

Should your post not be reblogged, feel free to send us an ask or a message

The same goes with all problems and questions; the ask box is open!

All kinds of content are allowed - fanfiction, fanart, headcanons, meta, edits, etc

For NSFW content and such, please tag your work accordingly.

We are looking forward to your creations!

[amethysttribble]

Nimloth was kicking her legs, swinging her arm as she laid upon one of the arching branches above the grand hall of Menegroth.

Here, enclosed by vines and flowers and moss, she would remain unseen, but she need only ask to plants to move a little to see everything. Mother said she was too young to be up so late and watching such proceedings, but that just went to show what she knew.

Queen Melian saw all in Doriath, and had not yet reproached Nimloth. That must mean her 'snooping' was righteous.

But even being resolved of her righteousness had not stopped Nimloth from growing... bored.

Her kin, who were not the kinslayers, but were kin of the kinslayers were proving to be shockingly dull. Her cousins, Lord Finrod and Lady Galadriel- named such by Uncle Celeborn, in what the whole court agreed was a very romantic display, but Nimloth thought was mostly funny- made merry the same as anyone else. There had thus far been none of the drink throwing and hair pulling that her friends whispered would happen, when their kin who were the kinslayers' kin were re-invited to Doriath.

Still, Galadriel and Finrod glowed, and that was just interesting enough to watch from above. They took up so much space. Only Luthien and Daeron could match them for gloriousness, and for some reason that annoyed Nimloth. She wasn't quite sure why.

Ah, that would probably fade once she met them. Mother and Father were agreed that she should be of age before consorting with their strange, proud, lying, kinslayer's kin kin. Nimloth thought that was foolish, but she picked her battles.

Mother and Father could be so over-protective, and what stung the most was that she knew they had not always been this way. Why-

"You always find the best spots," a voice said from her left, as a weight settle next to her head.

Nimloth gasped and sat up, a grin splitting her face.

"Oropher!" she whisper shouted, and her cousin smiled brightly at her. He held up an arm, allowing her to throw herself around his torso, squeezing as tightly as she could. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed right back.

"I missed you," she said into his shoulder, "you've been gone so long, why are you always gone these days?"

Oropher laughed softly and said, "Part of the job, kid. Marchwarden Mablung runs a tight outpost. I'm not about to go asking for time-off and make him hate me. Or worse- think I'm soft."

Nimloth rolled her eyes and did not hide it. She knew Oropher had this grand and horrible fear of people thinking he was 'soft', because he grew up in Menegorth with Mother, Father, and her, and not in some desolate outpost with Aunt Tanwendess, who Nimloth had only ever called Marchwarden Tanwendess. She was the toughest elleth Nimloth knew, and as different from Mother as could be, though they were twins.

Personally, she thought it was a grand thing that Oropher had been raised by Mother and Father and not that steely marchwarden. It made him as good as her brother, which could only be a good thing. But Nimloth knew that Oropher disagreed- about the raising part, not the brother part, he always assured her- so she did not say anything.

He was so sensitive.

"But you're here now," she said happily, pulling away from the hug.

"I am," he agreed, releasing his arm from around her shoulders and ruffling her hair. "A lucky break, I was assigned to escort your Noldor kin to the city, with a few others. I'm only here for two days, but we'll make it count, yeah?"

Nimloth ignored the stab in her heart at hearing he would be leaving so soon. He was gone so often... Nimloth bit the inside of her cheek, to halt the sorrow. If he could not stay long, she would have to be resolute. Resilient like an oak, as Oropher said. They'd make the most of it.

"Yeah," she agreed, trying to remain cheery. "Right. I can't believe you've met my cousins and I haven't! Did you tell them you were my kin?"

Oropher laughed, loud and deep and Nimloth knew at least someone below must have heard him and looked up. He could not be sneaky for the life of him. But even if Mother and Father caught wind of her being out of bed, now that Oropher was here, they would only sigh, rather than punish her.

They knew he would take care of her.

"Absolutely not," he said, only marginally less loud. "Your Lord Finrod is a trial even if he does not think you have anything to offer him. If he knew about Aunt Tathrenes? Insufferable, I would not have been able to breathe, Lothig."

"You do not like him then?" she asked, eyes widening, "Everyone seems to like Lord Finrod, even Uncle King Elu."

Oropher made a considering sound, looking down at the party below.

Yes, they had long since been spotted by everyone below, and Lord Finrod even noticed them looking at him. He waved.

"That one is good with egos," Oropher said carefully, voice much lower. "He likes it when people like him, and so tries to be as likable as possible, no matter who you might be. He changes like water, to fit the needs of anyone he speaks to. And once he has entranced them, then comes the favors, both to and from, until you are ensnared in his web. It's a very pretty trap, and I must respect it, but-" He sneered suddenly. "I have nothing to say towards the deceitful. He and his brothers lied to our people once for their gain, and I do not forgive so easily."

"You sound like your mother," Nimloth said.

Oropher smiled at her like this was a compliment.

"What about Lady Galadriel?" she quickly changed the subject. "What do you make of her?"

He lapsed into silence again, considering. At long last, he said, "Your uncle is going to marry her and I am going to be a menace at their wedding."

"Oropher!" Nimloth laughed, and his façade of seriousness cracked, and then they were laughing together.

They collapsed their heads and shoulders together, giggling, and she said, "Can I help cause trouble?"

Nimloth loved, loved, loved Uncle Celeborn, but he was very silly and took himself very seriously, and Oropher said that was never a combination to celebrate. He was very fun to tease and also eternally indulgent. And he never snitched, so even if it was his wedding day, she was sure to get away with mischief.

Oropher would not get away with it, but that was how things with him and Uncle Celeborn went.

"'Course," he said, "as long as you're able to get away from your parents. Do you think if they tie the knot before you're of age, you'll even be allowed to go to the wedding?"

"Oh no," Nimloth whined, "No, Lady Galadriel doesn't have any sisters, they must allow me to attend to her at the wedding, they must. Or, I guess... do you think she will even care to remember me?"

Oropher's eyebrows furrowed and then he rapped his knuckles on her head.

"Lady Galadriel," he said, "by my estimation is the opposite of her brother. She is as straight-forward as they come. She will remember you, if only for duty. If she will care too, I cannot say. What do you even care?"

"She is family," Nimloth grumbled, crossing her legs and leaning over them to look all the way down again. Her cousins, all of them except for Oropher next to her, were so bright. They took up so much space, and she faded into the shadows.

"I don't know," she sighed into her knees, "Princess Luthien is not interested in me, so I wondered if maybe..."

"Hey, hey, hey," Oropher said, tugging on the back of her nightgown until she was sitting up again. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, "Princess Luthien has her head stuck in Iluvatar's grand beyond. Her lack of notice is not an insult, it is just..."

Just Luthien.

Nimloth pressed her lips together tightly. When Oropher pulled back and noticed her expression, he frowned. He reached for her hair, pulled out several strands, and started to braid.

"Besides, you are young," he said, as his fingers soothingly threaded through her silver-white hair, for which she was named. "Not every adult is so gracious as me to take interest in such a little thing, with a spirit half-formed."

She half-heartedly slapped his bicep, pouting, but he just laughed and said, "Give it time, Lothig."

"It feels like all I do is give 'it' and everyone else time," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Time to be allowed to do anything, time for my relatives to care about me, time for you to come home. I want to be alive now, Oropher, not when I'm 'of age' or the war is over."

Oropher did not immediately reply. He pulled a string of dyed leather from his hair and used it to tie off the braid he'd weaved in hers. Only once he'd given her braid a slight tug for good measure did he softly say, "I understand that."

Nimloth looked up at his shadowed, far-away eyes and knew he was thinking of his mother. She who- after his father died and he was sent to Menegroth- he did not see again until he was a warrior grown. Because the border was too dangerous, Father said. Because the grief was too strong, Mother said. As far as Nimloth knew, Aunt Tanwendess had never said anything on the matter.

Nimloth reached out and grabbed Oropher hand.

"Can we go camping while you're here?" she asked, and he looked at her curiously. "If we leave now, it'll be a nice little trip, just us. And we can do whatever we want."

"Don't you want to meet your cousins?" he asked, but he was smiling, fond and happy and boyish still. "I was going to offer to introduce you."

Nimloth shook her head.

"No. I like you better."

Oropher let out another booming laugh, and then he stood. No doubt the whole court was looking at them; Nimloth could never use this hiding spot again. Oh well.

She took Oropher's outstretched hand.

"Well, how can I turn down an invitation like that? Sure, let's go camping. Auntie and Uncle can yell at me later."

Nimloth, as she frantically packed to make her escape from the city with Oropher, knew that Mother and Father would not yell. They loved Oropher and they trusted him. She'd say 'as much as she did', but that was impossible. Surely no one loved and trusted Oropher as much as her.

Unlike all her bright and fancy cousins, Nimloth knew that Oropher would never, ever let her down. And that he would love her- even if she was small and plain and trouble.

[fellowshipofthefics]

Hey Fellowship of the Fics! Please welcome @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book​ !! 👏🥳 Mattie decided to share her thoughts and impressions on their fic: A Tussle at Turuhalmë.

Question 1: Is this a fic you would recommend to someone who has never read your work? Why or why not?  

Yes, I would! I feel that it is a good example of my writing. On the surface level, it's a very funny, fluffy read. However, there is also a deeper layer to it in which I take a deep dive into the character and how they interact with the world around them. This fic is a prime example of that, and the content in it is not as angsty of some of my others - a good way to dip your toes in!

Question 2: What small detail are you super proud of?  

The nod towards my favorite pairing, Glorfindel and Erestor! I couldn't possibly write a fic set in Imladris without those two being together. :)

Question 3: What is a worldbuilding fact about this work that didn't make it into the fic itself?        

In this fic, Legolas and Gimli are debating who actually started the tradition, but I don't give a definitive answer until the end notes. It was, in fact, the dwarves who started the tradition of Mistlefoe, and Oropher and his people were taught it by the dwarves of Gundabad.

Question 4:  What made you want to write this fic?     

There is a popular Tumblr post that talks about fighting under the mistletoe instead of kissing under it, and like I do with everything nowadays, I looked at it and said, "Yup, I wanna turn this into a fanfic!" And so I did, that very same day!    

Question 5: What is something you wished we had asked you about this fic? (And then please answer it.)        

"Will there ever be another installment of the mistlefoe series?" Yes! I have an alternate version involving the Hobbits being the ones to celebrate Mistlefoe instead of the Elves and Dwarves. Make sure to keep an eye out for that fic this holiday season to see what hijinks Sam and Pippin get up to...

If you haven’t read this story yet, go back up to the top and be sure to click the link. Also if you haven’t seen Mattie’s works before, here are some other fics that they have done that are worth checking out as well:

Turn of the Season

The Second in Arda

Watch You Sleep

If you would like to get you and your story featured in Monday Mentions, please click the Application Link! If you have any questions/concerns with the form, please feel free to leave an ask or DM one of us! Questions will be updated each month so repeat writers and stories are welcome. New writers will be prioritized.

[animatorweirdo]

A long way back

Fallen for a golden flower

(Well, I got stuck with this for a while. There was a missing scene and it almost messed up everything)

Chapter 4

Warnings; None really.

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You and Glorfindel galloped through the woods, then through the front gate. You both laughed and smiled while pulling your horses into a walk. Rex whined, trotting toward the stable.

"Goodness. After all, I might have been the rotten egg," You said, turning toward Glorfindel. "It was a good race, but if I knew better, I think you might have let me win o purpose," He said with an amused smile. You chuckled and couldn't stop smiling.

"Well, if that's the case, I apologize. It might be an old habit. I often let the boys win when we played games or raced," You explained. "It's quite a pity that they're all grown up now. They were so adorable back then," You said, then got off from Rex, Glorfindel following in suit.

"Oh, yes. I'm curious," You said as you walked toward the stable. "How did you end up meeting Elured and Elurin?" You asked, looking at Glorfindel. "Well, that is an interesting story," He started while you started unsaddling your horses.

"I met the twin lords when there was a meeting between the courts of king Gil-galad and king Oropher. They haven't appeared outside of their court, so we were quite eager to meet them," Glorfindel explained while you both started brushing your horses. "But let me tell you. The first impression was quite something," He chuckled. "They were like prince Thranduil, full of pride and looked down upon us. They also looked like they were ready to attack if needed, so they didn't like me," He said with a smile upon his face. "It kinda sounds like them," You said. "They may appear a bit cold and defensive when meeting new people. I believe it might be related to the childhood trauma they suffered. They didn't even trust their kin," You explained. "Elurin once tried to bite an old friend of mine," You chuckled. "That was their way of greeting back then," You added.

"Well, thank Eru, it was back then because they looked like they wanted to rip me in pieces," Glorfindel said, which made you chuckle. "How did you manage to soften them up for you?" You asked as you both walked out of the stable after putting your horses in the stalls.

"Well, we got put together to deal with affairs, and over time I managed to sway them with my charms," Glorfindel said with a proud smile. You giggled at his antics. "They're still pretty strict and cold, but they became more relaxed and open when you arrived. It was almost shocking to us," He said. "That's why I believe your story because they act a lot different than before," He said.

"Well, I guess you would be more comfortable with family around," You said as you two walked to the top of the stairs. "Glorfindel," Elured called as both of the twins approached you.

You were unnerved when you saw the expression on their faces. Something serious was going on.

"By the way, Glorfindel. Unfortunately, you have to return to your duties early. Orcs and other beats have been acting in the north," Elured explained. "Is that so? Well. North has been quite active lately," Glorfindel said, then turned toward you. "I shall see it done. My lady, unfortunately, we have to part ways from here," He gave you a little bow. "I'm sure my lords here can help you, but I'm also available if you need something," He said. Your face started to fluster a little. "I wish you a good day, my lady," He said. "You too, and be careful," You said as he left.

You then turned toward the twins, who had strange looks. "What?" You questioned. "Nothing! I trust you had fun on your ride with Lord Glorfindel," Elured smiled. "It was lovely. I had a lot of fun," You smiled. Elured smiled while Elurin just scoffed. "Don't get too comfortable around him. He can be loud and obnoxious sometimes," Elurin said, almost muttering. Elured elbowed his brother in the ribs.

"Is everything alright? You looked troubled?" You asked, remembering their serious faces from before. "It's nothing you have to worry about. A mere trifle with the creatures of darkness," Elured explained, patting his brother on the back. You couldn't help but stare at Elurin's almost disheveled hair. "Well, do not overwork yourself," You tiptoed, pushing his hair out of his face. "We can't have you look tired and unwell," You added. Then checked Elurin's eyes. Mild bags and shadows were under there. "Goodness, you haven't been sleeping well, haven't you?" You asked, looking at him in the eyes. "It's nothing. I rest when we manage to settle this one thing," Elurin grabbed your hands, settling them down.

"Sorry, I can't help it when I see you troubled," You said. "No, there's no need to apologize," Elurin said.

"We're sorry that we haven't got much time for you. Troubles seem to grow when we least want them," Elured explained. "How about tomorrow we stay up late and spend some time?" He asked. "You don't have to force yourself to spend time with me. I'm fine with any time," You said. "Of course you are," Elured shook his head with a smile. "Well, unfortunately, we have to make you entertain yourself for a while until we get this matter settled," He said. "Of course, I already got a tour, so I should be fine finding something to do," You said. "That's good. We shall leave you up to it then, but don't be afraid to ask if you need anything," Elured said. "Of course, see you around," You said, bidding them goodbye and returning to your room. You took a bath because you stunk after riding all day.

In the afternoon, you wandered into the library, fresh and clean. You were in a good mood to read a book to pass some time. You were always curious what elven libraries had in store.

Walking between the shelves, you looked at the lines of books, trying to find something interesting. Your eyes saw interest in a book labeled The age of the two trees. You have infinite amount of years in your expanded life, so learning about history became a pleasing pastime.

You stood up on your toes, trying to reach the book with your fingers. They merely glazed the book. You stood down with a quick breath. You have stopped aging, but you were still too short for high shelves, or maybe these elves were unnecessarily tall.

Something moved in the corner of your eye then an elf appeared out of nowhere, making you shriek out of fright.

"Oh, apologies, I didn't see you there before," You said after recognizing the elf. It was the dark-haired elf from before with a grumpy-looking face. If you remember correctly, Elured called him Erestor. Glorfindel also described him as an elf who's always in a foul mood. Like a cat.

"I hope I'm not disturbing. I'm simply looking for a good book to read," You explained, then looked at the book you tried to reach. "Could you possibly reach that one book? I'm too short to get it for myself?" You asked with an awkward laugh.

Erestor sighed, closing his book. "Which is it?" He asked, looking at the shelf. "The green one with a golden text," You explained. "Are you sure you wish to read this? We have a book in a common tongue?" He questioned. "It's fine. I'm quite familiar with the elven tongue," You said, grabbing the book from his hand. "Thank you," You smiled in politeness.

"And I'm quite curious about the age of the trees, and it's sometimes good to recite my elvish once in a while," You explained. The elf kept looking at you. "Well, since you knew what the title meant? I'm curious who taught you sindaring?" He asked. "Was it the twin lords who taught you?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Oh no, an old friend of one taught me your language, and It was also beneficial to help encourage Elured and Elurin to reconnect with their kin. They had some trust issues back then," You explained. Erestor hummed, still looking at you with suspicion. You expected some of these elves not to believe your whole immortality thing, so you had no problem with his staring.

"Well, I shall go read over there. I promise I won't disturb you, my lord," You bowed respectfully. "Hmm," He only hummed, watching you leave.

You took a seat near the window and opened your book. Your eyes gazed over the elvish letters and lines. It took a moment to understand, but you soon started reading like a child's book.

You glanced outside, looking at the sun in the distance. When you mentioned your friend, you couldn't help but start thinking about her. It's been quite a while since the last time you met. You two went a long way back.

It happened on a day when you were doing some chores, and the boys were helping and playing around like kids.

You poured the food into the bowl, letting the chickens eat their stomachs full. The boys were running and shouting with laughter.

"Tag! You're it!"Elured yelled after touching his brother. "No way! I've tagged five times already!" Elurin said. "Can we play something else? this is getting boring?" He asked. "What? Are you now being a sore loser because you're slow?" Elured said with a grin.

You shook your head with amusement. They reminded you of your younger siblings when they were still young and kicking.

"Boys?" You called out. they snapped their heads toward you, giving you their full attention. "Could you help me with the bags so we can feed the cows? You asked. "I help!" Elurin ran up to you. "Hey! Wait for me!" Elured followed right behind.

"Our game is not over," Elured said as they entered the shed. "Screw you! I'm going to be useful, unlike you!" Elurin said back, then grabbed a sack of cow food. "That's so mean! How about this? Whoever feeds the cows first is a winner," Elured said and grabbed a sack of cow food. "You're on!" The brothers said, then started running toward the cow den, competing again.

You giggled in amusement. The twins sure had energy and wanted to help around, especially Elurin. He wished to repay you when he recovered from his fewer. He was determined to repay your kindness after saving his and Elured's life. Even though; there was no need for it. You have grown fond of them and took them in out of free will, so there was no need for repayment of any kind.

"Excuse me," Someone said, gaining your attention. You turned around and then saw a very peculiar-looking stranger.

They wore green, but the clothes didn't look like it was made by a human hand. They wore a cloak, and under it, they wore an armor plate, a very light one.

The stranger was a tall woman. Her eyes were sharp and green, and her red hair was long and put in a tight-looking braid.

Her ears then caught your attention. They were pointy, like with the twins. It turned your suspicion higher. An elf?

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, But I wish to have a talk with you," The she-elf said, bringing her hand across her chest into a respectful bow.

"Uhm, sure. How can I help you?" You asked, confused and a bit intimidated by her.

"I was simply traveling through the village, but I couldn't help but notice the children with you. They're elves, right?" She asked. "They are? What about them? I know that might seem unusual, so is there a problem with it?" You asked. "I seek no trouble. It's just the color of their hair that gained my attention. May I possibly know their names?" She asked. "They call themselves Elured and Elurin," You answered hesitantly. "I found them alone and injured in the woods, so I took them in, " You explained.

"Is there a problem?" You asked, becoming suspicious of the questions.

She elf's eyes widened, and she muttered something in elven language. Silence conquered the moment, and you became uncomfortable.

"You know, I'm not feeling comfortable right now. What do you want with the boys?" You asked, almost with a demanding tone. You have grown fond of the twins, and they suffered something traumatic, so you're ready to defend them from whatever this elf lady wanted.

"Oh, I mean no harm," She said. " I apologize if my approach made you uncomfortable. That was not my intention," She explained. "I was just surprised for a moment," She added. You frowned in suspicion. "Surprised by what?" You asked.

"(Name)," Elured called your name. The boys stared at the stranger. "Who is that?" Elurin demanded.

You took a moment to think about what to do.

"Boys, how about you go inside and let me speak with the elf lady?" You explained. "No way!" Elurin said and ran beside you. They both came beside you and hold on to you while staring at the elf lady.

"She has red hair! What if she's evil?" Elurin asked. You got confused and silently panicked. "Evil? What do you mean?" You asked, looking for an explanation. "The red-haired elves were the ones who brought us into those woods," Elured explained, almost whispering. "Yeah, so whoever you are, piss off!" Elurin said with a snappy tone. "Elurin!" You said, shocked to hear such language from him.  

You looked back at the she-elf, who was equally surprised. The moment was intense, and the boys looked like they're going to attack her at any given moment. You chuckled, breaking the silence, and then she elf smiled along.

"Thank you, my little heroes, but there will be no need for that," You said, putting your hand on their shoulders. "I was just going to talk with, lady..?" You looked at her with a questioning look. "Rossenthell," She answered, finally introducing herself.

"So, how about you two go inside and make some tea?" You asked, gently pushing them toward the door. "But!" Elurin started. "It's okay. She's a ..." You hesitated. " An old friend," You said, pushing them inside the doors. "Elured, I trust you can handle the pot. Call out to me if you need something," You said, then closed the door behind them before they could answer.

You turned toward your sudden visitor with a deep puff. "I apologize for that," You said. "It was Rossenthell, right?" You asked. She nodded. "I'm not sure what you want, but would you be kind enough to explain yourself with a cup of tea?" You asked. "Sure, and I apologize for this inconvenience, and I seemed to cause more fright than intended," She explained. "Well, mistakes happen," You said.

"My name is (Name), by the way," You said "It's a pleasure of meeting you, lady (Name)," Rossenthell said with a polite nod. "Drop the formalities. You can call me by my name," You said, then waved her over. She walked closer.

"Just to prepare me. Why are you interested in the boys. You looked surprised when I told them their names," You asked. "Well, this might sound unbelievable, and I could be wrong," Rossenthell said. "About what?" You asked. "They might be the lost sons of the passed away elven king Dior," She said. You froze, progressing the information.

"Say what now?" You asked.

You smiled at the memory. It was a strange encounter, but you soon made friends with Rossenthell. It took quite a long time to get the boys used to her. They were defensive and tried to bite her more than once. It was a day you learned they were princes, and your life hasn't been the same ever since.

You smiled, then began reading the book in your hands. The silence of the library and the warmth brought by the sun allowed you to read in peace. It was pleasant.

[demonscantgothere]

1, 7, 12, 13, 18 (the Great Slavery), 43!!

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

I recommend Litost because I think is has most of what I consider my forte in writing - emotions, angst, and drama. Beasts of the Hill will have a lot of this later on in quantities just as high as Litost by the time I reach the area between chapters 48 through 52-ish onward, but most of it hasn't even been reached yet.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

The worldbuilding going on in Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den, especially once they have to leave Tol-in-Gaurhoth. But also, very proud of the setup I did in Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be, too.

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

Answered! xD

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

I can't think of any, no.

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

I am already writing a sequel to The Greatest Slavery! It involves Sauron coming back, laying an assault upon Celebrían, Galadriel, and Celeborn as they travel to Rivendell from Lothlórien to reclaim his daughter now that Galadriel has had sufficient time with her. Celebrían, upset that her parents Celeborn and Galadriel have basically lied her whole life to her about Celeborn being her father, agrees to leave with him if he doesn't harm them. Galadriel then concocts a plan to rescue Celebrían from Sauron's new fortress at Amon Lanc after he drove Oropher out of it - and what will be the future Dol Guldur.

43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written?

At present, Litost is currently my favorite because it's so, so tricksy, lol.

[stormwarnings]

dior eluchil is born in a green and lovely land under a dark sky and a new moon. his father says wearily, a healthy boy. a legacy made. his mother says wearily, the first of his line. the last of his kind. 

dior grows fast. dior’s wide eyes, always watching, and the people of this green isle do love their little lord, but he is strange. dior does not cry, not ever. he watches the moon like a hungry mouth, and his eyes are gleaming and dark. his teeth grow in so quickly that even the nursemaid is shocked. beren shakes his head. a man, he says. we grow like weeds.

but he is not a man. this, it is true, is evident in everything he does. perhaps luthien has chosen the mortal path, perhaps beren was born a man, but to be born half-maia, to be returned from the halls of the dead like no man will ever again -

dior is not a man. dior is not an elf. nobody knows what dior is. nobody ever will, not in his time. he is the last of his kind, his mother says. he hears her say it.

his mother sings to him at night, as he teethes on bone and viscera, and grows taller and many-eyed. his mother sings to him in her now-mortal voice, and dior hears the stories where the past and future twine together like old friends. 

dior is alone. dior is not alone. dior will be alone. present, future, past. boys left in the wood, boys found in the wood, a mother lost, a mother rescued, silver-haired beauty and dark-haired beauty and stars burning, and dior is not so different from them, can’t he be like them -

nimloth’s lovely silver face is familiar. he has seen her face before - or maybe it is that he will see her face again, on twin sons, on dark-haired daughters. you are beautiful, she says. why do you mourn?

dior does not know who she speaks of. he cannot speak. he cannot find his way out of the song. he is alone. he is flying and falling, he is a wolf and he is a ghost, he never has a choice - 

you are not alone, nimloth whispers at night. she is not afraid. perhaps that is why he loves her. or perhaps he loves her for her hunger, for her urge to change things, for her love of the quick-burning candle and the quick-changing world, so unlike her elven kin. for her lack of terror no matter the blood that drips from his eyes and his mouth. he does not know why she cares. cannot love be enough? she asks.

it has never been before - no, that is not true. it will never be again.

elwing, eluréd, elurín. dior restores the realm of doriath, becomes king and nimloth his silver queen, but nothing will ever make him so proud as the three little ones that bear his eyes and nimloth’s nose. ghost and gull, he sings to them. you are stars burning, you are mouths hungering, you are beings that will never stop aching but alone you are not -

his mother and father die, and the heralds bring him the nauglamír. around his neck it adorns, and they who see cannot deny how it shines, cannot deny how bright he shines, they say fairest of all three races, of man and elf and maia. they say of all rather than of none. with the silmaril on his breast and blood in his mouth and eyes shining white like the two trees themselves in the days of his grandmother, he is again alone -

the kinslayers come. dior knows even before they will. dior knows his own death, though he is never given the choice of his descendants. but is there, really, a choice? it is not so simple - elf or man. dior is neither. all dior knows is this: his end.

this is our birthright, the sons of feanor tell dior. give it here, and there will be no bloodshed. 

and dior - dior laughs. he says, you cannot even begin to bear it. his blade dazzles in the light. 

dior is alone.

here is what the songs will say. here is what the historians will not.

nimloth died with an axe in her hand, unbecoming of an elven lady, her smile fierce and her dress bloody, succumbing to her injuries surrounded by a circle of cut-apart warriors who thought they were better than she. nimloth died thinking her sons were free, thinking oropher would spirit away her daughter with the silmaril on her head to a better life, to a happier world -

caranthir and curufin and celegorm lay atop a pile of bodies. they three had been brought down by dior alone. celegorm’s head cut off, curufin’s heart pierced through, caranthir’s throat torn out. dior had not used his sword for any of this. dior sang as he fought, a song that was not a song as the bards told but rather a song like the songs that made up the world before the sun and moon. 

and dior’s own folk locked the doors to this room, even as all were massacred and all was lost.

dior lay in the middle of the room. dior was a king with bloody hands and a bloody mouth, the first of his line, the last of his kind. dior lay in the middle of the room, eyes burned out of his skull, the ground around his corpse charred by many wings, many limbs, many eyes. dior lay in the middle of the room.

dior was alone. 

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Either or— or both the quote

if you want 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Thrandy?

Oh yes...My pleasure :D Sorry this took a moment

Words: 1,4 k

Warnings: theft, fear

To say that you had been distracted would have been a weak excuse for the unpardonable mistake you had just committed, but it was hard to keep your thoughts straight when you were writing a stupid Romeo and Juliet story in your mind.

It ran as follows: your parents were the proud owners of a small bookshop in a quaint little street in which a hitherto rather inoffensive flower and decoration shop was situated as well.

Recently though, old Oropher had left the business to his son Thranduil who promptly decided to open a small café – serving mysterious teas and other semi-magic potions – which made them your family’s rivals all of a sudden.

Your run-of-the-mill coffee and home-baked goods were clearly less attractive than the mystery inherent to the fantastical and enchanting ambience of the revamped flower shop, and that would have annoyed you much less if Thranduil himself had not been the most exquisitely intriguing creature you had ever met.

Brazen and arrogant, he had strolled into your shop with a self-satisfied smirk to purchase one of the lovingly crafted cinnamon rolls that were your specialty; he even went so far as to choose a small book of poetry – your favourite – that he slipped carelessly into the pocket of his coat as his long legs carried him out of the front door.

It was only then that you realised – shocked beyond what words could express – that you had left your own copy on a presentation table and that it had mysteriously vanished while you rang up that annoying pseudo-customer, flaunting his new-found wealth so shamelessly.

Had it been any other book, you would not have minded, but this particular tome contained notes and drabbles of your own that you had scribbled into it through the long years of your loving ownership.

“Blast it,” you cursed under your breath; for a moment, you considered running after him and simply asking him to swap the old copy with a new one, but you were sure that he’d demand to know your reasons for such a ludicrous request.

From what little experience you had had with the man, you knew that he was not the type to let anyone off the hook easily; he enjoyed teasing and mocking those he considered inferior to himself too much for that.

Switching the small, hand-painted sign swinging on the door to ‘closed’, you hastened after him, decided that you’d have to proceed with the utmost care if you wanted to swap the books without him noticing.

Despite the chill wind already carrying the first tentative bite of a crisp autumn, his open coat flapped in the draft like the sable wings of a mystical bird, and your heart beat a little faster.

It’s just the lack of regular exercise, you told yourself cantingly, and not at all the otherworldly beauty of Thranduil’s almost colourless hair shining like diamonds and platinum in the buttery glow of the timid sun, veiled like a virgin on her wedding day in a layer of clouds.

Your chance came when a random customer – not as if you’d take specific note of the stunning redhead making doe eyes at Thranduil – stopped him and, true to himself, he let himself be drawn into a lengthy conversation during which the lady touched his long, slender arm several times seductively.

Creeping closer, you inserted your hand into his coat pocket, drew out your own copy and replaced it with the brand-new one you had brought along; you might be a pickpocket, but you weren’t technically a thief.

Retreating slowly again, you turned on your heels and almost ran down the street back to your shop before your mother could come by and find it mysteriously closed in the middle of the day.

When you reached the door, panting and holding your precious personal copy clutched in your sweaty hands, you took a deep breath of relief.

You had never stolen anything ever before, but a strange sense of accomplishment and pride overcame you as you pondered the fact that you had managed to pull off your ludicrous plan; also, you had inserted your hand into Thranduil’s pocket, a weirdly intimate action that you would rather not dwell on lest you waste the rest of the workday as well.

After a mercifully uneventful day in your little corner of paradise, you finally locked the front door and pulled down the iron shutter that you father had installed recently.

As you walked down the street to the small house in which you had rented the second floor – despite your parents’ ardent protestations – you couldn’t shake the disgusting feeling of being followed.

Your little town was your nest; you knew everyone and didn’t usually feel unsafe in it and yet, you couldn’t help the cold shiver creeping down your spine as you dug into your pocket for your keys to save time and – if the worst were to befall you – defend yourself.

“Stop right there,” a velvety voice called out when – throwing yourself up the stairs in your eagerness to get a solid door between you and the world – you reached the front door of your building, “you little thief. What would your parents say?”

You whirled around in wordless shock and there he was, shining like silver-inlaid marble under the blurry halo of the streetlamp, Thranduil the Handsome.

In his slender hand, he held a bouquet of pale lilies that couldn’t compare to the elegant pulchritude of the crooked smile blossoming into mockery on his statuesque face.

“Thranduil,” you gasped, transported back into your youth when you would see him from the corner of your eye as he strutted up and down the street with his cronies; he was a tad older than you and you had never been part of the same circles, but somehow, you had still grown up side by side.

The shock and bad conscience sketched across your face made his own mien mellow into soft indulgence though and he admitted that he had known that he had grabbed your personal copy.

“It was a joke,” he laughed ruefully, handing over the bouquet with an affable smile, “but you seemed so distracted by something; it was in bad taste, forgive me.”

Then he took out the new edition you had slipped into his pocket and waved it slowly in front of your eyes.

“A thief,” he chuckled, “but an honest one. I confess I do regret the loss of that priceless artifact that contains all your thoughts.”

Your eyes grew ever rounder, the adrenaline not having subsided completely yet.

“Either way, where are you going? Were you going to throw yourself at the mercy of some poor, unsuspecting stranger or why did you choose this particular building, charming as it might be?”

Ever curious to the point of coming across as almost intrusive, Thranduil cocked his head inquisitively and gave you a dazzling smile to calm your frayed nerves.

“I chose this building,” you replied acrimoniously, “because this is where I live.”

“Oh truly?” He seemed surprised by that, “I wouldn’t have thought that you’d already moved out.”

“What you think is of no importance?” you grumbled, fiddling with your keys nervously while you wondered if he would insist on retrieving your copy.

“Alright,” Thranduil nodded slowly, “but I’d still be honoured to hear some of your thoughts though at least if that is permitted. How about a private book club?”

Well-meant irony tinged his deep, melodious voice now and you suppressed a warmer, more seductive shiver caressing your skin.

“My thoughts about what?” you asked wearily.

“My shop, your shop, the poems…” he shrugged casually and grinned, making a vague gesture that englobed seemingly the whole street, maybe even the whole world.

“You better come in then,” you sighed, finally pushing your key into the lock and accepting that – whether you wanted it or not – this man would manage to drag out your most secret and private thoughts so he could examine them like insects on a corkboard.

Interestingly enough, you were looking forward to the endless bickering and negotiations already; you’d give as good as you gave and let him have a taste of his own medicine.

With a peal of genuine laughter, you pushed open the door to your little realm.

I hope you liked this...

Lots of love from me <3

@fellowshipofthefics this is probably the last one for May (except Shalini decides to get something after all)

❤️

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

'haven' (from the one word/short phrases prompts) for an oc of your choice?

so this one is the one that ended up being 2k+ words, so uh oops?

Morinel can faintly taste the salt-tang of the sea breeze even as the elegant grey spires of Mithlond appear on the horizon and she takes a shaky breath. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all, to do this alone. 

Maybe she should have waited for Saelinriel to finish her errand in Evendim, or for Remlas or Celebros  – she would even gladly take Eglamír of all people – just so she was not alone.

But she pushes those thoughts aside and guides Súretal along the long paved road that leads to the city, a road that carries so many memories. 

The Gondolindrim had built this road and placed each stone so closely that not a seed would grow between them. Trees still lined the road on each side, the ones Oropher and his Sindar for shelter from sudden storms. The first ones had been birches though they'd grown small and crooked in the salty sea-winds but later they had planted oaks that had grown tall and strong.

The oaks still growing here and along the edge of the hills might be the children of those first oaks– Morinel bites back bile when she remembers how long it has been since she has been in Lindon –or their great-grandchildren more likely.  

They might still remember, if she stopped to ask them. Remember riding home into Mithlond, laughing with Gil-galad and Gildor and Elrond and Remlas in the teeth of a storm from the Sea? Remember Celebrimbor, so proud to show off his new sea-gate in Harlond...? 

She wonders, distantly, if the sea-gate is still there but then remembers who built it, and forces herself to swallow the lump in her throat.

A gentle dusk settles over the hills as she approaches the Hall of Swallows. 

Once, the many windows and balconies would twinkle with light -- light from candles or Fëanorian lamps alike -- but now all, save a pitiful handful, were dark.

She stops, then turns away from the main approach and seeks instead a familiar winding track through the grounds. 

With luck, she finds it and it grows sandier and narrower as she follows it until finally the rough grass and patchy shrubs give way to the expanse of beach. 

She dismounts just before she reaches the dunes, tethers Súretal to a shrub in reach of the grass, and discards her boots. The sand is still warm beneath her feet and the ocean rushes in her ears and she makes her way towards it. 

The salty haze above the white foam and the swells fills her with freshness she hadn't felt in a long while. As she kneels and leans back against the sand, stars wink into being in the purpling sky and their sharpness pricks at her like needles. She closes her eyes and lays 'neath the starlight and the cooling damp of the early autumn evening, which is how Círdan finds her later.

She winces and sits up, shaking some of the sand from her dark hair before turning to where the shipwright sat next to her in the sand. 

“I should have announced myself -- time quite got away from me.”  The politeness, though automatic, feels forced, but Círdan doesn't seem to notice.

“I had word from Elrond that you were coming,” he says without looking away from the sea, which had progressed up the beach some way since she first arrived. 

“And then word again that you had reached us earlier this evening.” 

The waves rushed up the sand as if in acknowledgement before slowly shrinking away. She nods absently and silence falls between them before Círdan breaks it.

“I am glad you came,” he says. 

The honesty is apparent, though she cannot tell if he was glad at the prospect of company in his lonely guardianship of the deserted city, glad of the link to his lost son, or glad for another reason entirely. 

Círdan continues, “Your horse has been found a stable and taken care of. Why don’t you come inside and let me do the same for you?”

Morinel hesitates, but doesn't have the energy to resist as Círdan’s sun-worn hands take hers and help her to her feet.It is strange to be returning to the stone walls and tall towers of Mithlond when Gil-galad is gone, the bright king and dear friend that she'd served with all her heart.  

Celebrimbor too, is gone, both of them fallen to the Enemy. There was a time, coming back home to Mithlond, when first she would have looked for Gil-galad, and then for Celebrimbor, but that was long ago now. Mithlond is empty, save for Círdan and his few faithful Falathrim. 

His eyes are tired, and his beard is longer and greyer than before. 

They do not speak as Círdan leads her wordlessly down the long streets that should be busy -- busy with Falathrim dressed in cheerful blue and green as they head to and from the boats, Sindar coming down from the hills with flocks of sheep or baskets full of fruit from the orchards and with Noldor with shining gems in their hair, their looms and smithies and potteries busy and bright and loud.

But now they're quiet and empty.

There are no lights at the windows, no song echoing from the towers or the doors, only the sighing of the distant Sea.

A few candles light the dining hall as they step inside. A handful of Elves sit at tables, belying the palace’s deserted appearance from the outside. The drapes are closed and mute the already quiet conversations and make the place feel secluded, shut off, like a sanctuary. 

Or maybe a shroud…

“Would you care for some dinner?” 

She comes back to herself, and she doesn’t know how long passed between her answer and Círdan’s question. 

“Thank you but I've no appetite. ”Suddenly, this all is a bad idea, and not the first bad idea she's had either. And yet this is still something that she needs to do. 

“Círdan, I-” She swallows again. “Forgive me. I am no company and your efforts as a host are bypassing me entirely. I am simply here to… I need to…” She stops, unable to find the words.

"Do what you need to.” Círdan’s eyes are warm with understanding as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Lindon is still your home, for as long as you wish it to be.”

Círdan – wise, old Círdan –  presses an all-too-familiar key into her hand, and she bows her head in thanks.

Morinel finds that she's never really noticed the detailing on the rich wooden doors to her room before. 

But now she stands examining the carved constellations that someone had once etched into the doors with obvious care.It takes her a long, long time to force her hand to the cool doorknob and unlock the door with the key Círdan has given her. The doors open with a slow creak from lack of use and she lets out a shaky breath.

Everything is as she’d left it – her hairbrush still lay on the dresser, her bed was hastily made, her red tunic was draped over the back of a chair, and her copy of  The Coming into Eldamar lay on her desk, a thin silver ribbon marking her place – and Morinel nearly starts crying then and there.

Instead, she takes a moment to collect herself as she sits at the desk, and opens the first drawer on the right side. The letterbox is there, undisturbed and untouched. 

With trembling hands, she pulls the medium sized box onto the table.The wooden lid is smooth with age but the collection of letters within are well preserved, though the ink is not so bold and the Tengwar is half-faded.Morinel takes an unsteady breath, and begins to read through them. 

Some are lighthearted missives from Remlas or Celebrimbor or Indilwen, about their newest projects or observations or any subject beneath the sun.

Others are less so, speaking of the shadow in the east and the matter of loyalty and a thousand other things, and then the letters signed with the calma with three tick-marks, and the eight-pointed star stop.

Morinel forces herself to read onward, to the correspondence she had with Calatië of Numenor and a half-dozen others of the Faithful and with Galadriel of Lorien when it was clear that Thauron had not been vanquished forever and was waiting in the east.

The last paper in the box is not a letter at all, but a half-finished sketch of a lake beneath starlight, signed in the corner with a double  anga on a single stem. She holds it gently before placing all the other letters back in the box. 

Abruptly she rises and wanders over to the corner of the room, beside the tall windows, to the half-finished tapestry still hanging on the loom. 

There is no confusion about what she had once been trying to make and all the threads and fibers she’d been using are sitting in the basket at the side of her stool.

She doesn’t know what possesses her to do so, but Morinel sits at the loom and gingerly picks up the thread, examining each spool for breakage, before  continuing on from where she’d left off.

The time passes in a haze until, when she is almost finished, she notices that the grey and white have run out. Grumbling, she places the empty spools on her desk, before something in the basket catches her eye, shining in the moonlight.She rummages through the basket before finding what had glinted. Something burns at her eyes and Morinel cradles the spool with care.  

It shines brighter than silver and it’s soft but strong and she can’t quite believe her eyes that it has been simply  sitting in the basket for all of these years. 

She is loath to use it (though this is more due to the memory tied to acquisition of the thread, she can almost hear Celebrimbor laughing when she holds it), but she wants to finish the tapestry so she rations it carefully, to use as little as possible and continues on.

When the moon is high in the sky, it is finally finished and her hands ache, and somehow she forgot to light a candle. Silver light filters through the clear glass and she studies the now-finished tapestry. It is Nen Cenedril shining in the moonlight over the mountains, the Valacirca glittering in the depths. 

It is, by far, her best tapestry and Morinel gently traces her fingers over the curves of the mountains’ peaks and the stars made of Mithril that glimmer in the water and the sky.She rises from her seat, puts her materials away and sets the letter box carefully back in her desk, and tucks the mithril thread into her pack. 

Then she sleeps. 

Morinel wakes early and takes one last look around the room. She’ll leave the letters and the book here, if fortune is on her side, she will be back ere long. If it is not, then letters will be the least of her worries..

She writes a quick farewell note to Cirdan and places it on the dining table when she leaves Mithlond just before dawn, when the stars are beginning to fade as the sky slowly lightens to grey, with a spool of mithril thread tucked into her pack.

The gentle rush of the sea comes to her ears, as if it is bidding her a soft farewell and she draws Súretal to a not quite stop. There is a faint trill mixed with the sighing of the sea. 

It is not the liquid warble of a skylark nor the shriek of a seagull, but something else – a distinct fall of notes, familiar and alien all at once. 

She purses her lips, ignoring the twisting feeling in her chest, and urges Súretal onward.

[halfelven]

last

short piece in Political Drama AU territory in which the Elves are not leaving Middle-earth. The way to Valinor is Shut. Oropher has survived. Gil-galad has also survived. Unfortunately, the whole business with the not destroying the Ring happened, and Sauron’s still out there. The wizards are like, literally, just trapped on Middle-earth. Sauron’s power is growing.

anonymous request for Oropher’s views on the politics of Legolas marrying Elrohir 

rating: T

Oropher feels a moment of shame pass over him when Legolas announces his engagement to Elrohir. But he pushes it aside, because how is this something to be ashamed of? Many grandparents feel a sense of joy at their grandchildren marrying. A sense of relief even. And he felt both of those, but not for Legolas’s joy. For his safety. Their safety.

The paths over the sea are shut. There is no escape for the elves who want to leave. Not that Oropher wants to leave. He’ll stand on this land and fight for it until his dying breath – longer even if he refuses the summons of Mandos and stays. He’s heard that is possible. He’d do that. He’ll fight Mandos as long as he can.

It’s fortunate that it is Thranduil who must react most now. Must get up and hold Legolas in his arms and kiss him. Must take Elrohir and kiss him too. Elrohir is beautiful and powerful, and his father is even stronger. Legolas is young and ridiculous. Oropher breathes a sigh of relief. He stands and kisses Elrohir first, twice on both cheeks, and then Legolas, on his nose and forehead.

And this will put their realm in closer ties to Rivendell. And Rivendell is strong; it may very well be the last place that falls to Sauron. Oropher touches Elrohir’s hair. It is the shade of Melian’s hair, so black that it is living darkness. Elrohir doesn’t pay him mind. He talks to Thranduil.

This is news for celebration. Oropher rubs Thranduil’s arm as he passes him and ducks down a narrow corridor. They keep the passages small in the palace. It’s a precaution from invaders, from the spiders. (They’re good at eating enemies, but they are not tame pets.) Everything has been a precaution, but they never get enough peace. They never will.

But this. This is good news. Galadriel is stubborn and too proud, and he is too and that’s why it makes him so angry to see it in her. But still she spies on them, and he knows this, and he cannot stop it. And she makes her realm into some play on Valinor, but she cannot return, and she didn’t when she had the chance, so really she played the wrong hand, and she knows it. So she shuts herself away more, and he can’t be promised that she’d help them.

But Elrond is better than her, and everyone knows it. And now Legolas is marrying Elrond’s son, and there’s no way that Elrond will leave them stranded. And that’s good. Oropher leans against the wall. He wasn’t going anywhere, just away, and he’s now alone in a drafty, dark part of the palace where the river is running, and you can feel the dampness of it even through the stone.

And if Celeborn would leave them stranded from Galadriel’s influence before, she won’t now, because Elrohir is her grandchild, and she won’t turn her back on someone that close in kin. His knees give out from him, and he sits quickly so he won’t fall.

It’s relief. It washes over him. He doesn’t know why his heart is beating so fast now, why his stomach is twisted. It’s relief that feels sick because it makes him realise how much worry he was carrying. And now. Now.

If he plays this hand right, he could get Elrond’s full protection on them. Galadriel’s half protection. But Rivendell is still rumoured to be the last place that would fall. Elrond is stronger then. He should focus on that. This is good news. This is very good news.

But still it will take him awhile before he can join the others. He shakes with relief that he doesn’t know where to put. There’s a pain in his stab wound. He lost two ribs on that side. But he made it through the wars. He just doesn’t know if he can make it through another one. It’s coming soon.

a/n: this pulled me back into the War of the Last Alliance games that my sister and I played with our friend when we were little. I was usually Gil-galad and died a dramatic death. Anyway there was this like one idea we had of ‘and then the elves can’t reach Valinor anymore because the way closed earlier than expected.’ Since I don’t know we were going with some idea of there were gods and an island that was magically connected to Middle-earth but the separation was coming and that’s why the elves were leaving Middle-earth at the end of The Lord of the Rings, but what if it happened sooner? (Mostly so Celebrían couldn’t leave...) So that’s basically where this idea is coming from. Also Oropher and Galadriel are not exactly Good People because they’re both too proud and just a wee bit power hungry?