#sorry for those who just followed me for silmarillion art

[peasant-player]

Soi fon from bleach ❤️

[arlenianchronicles]

Hello 😊 First of all, I want to thank you for everything you do. Every time I look at your drawings it makes my day better. <3 Just out of curiosity, do you have any headcanons for Fëanor's sons personality? I read The Silmarillion a long time ago, so I don't remember if Tolkien described their personality more detail, but I only remember he wrote that Caranthir was "quickest to anger" and that he described Curufin as "being the most like his father" but that's not a very detailed description. XD

I'm not a native speaker so I'm sorry if I wrote something wrong. Have a nice day/night! 😄

Hello anon! Thank you so much for your warm words!! I’m very happy to know that my drawings make your day better, and thank you for your support! <33 And no worries, your English is great! :D 

Hmm this is a tough one for me since I hardly think about the Fëanorians loll ^^;; What headcanons I do have for them were made because I was busy developing headcanons for the Nolofinwëans. I’ve posted some of those in various tags, so if anybody’s interested, I can put them in a post like this someday!

But back to the Fëanorians … The only information I have on them is from the Silmarillion (since I haven’t started reading HoME even though I have the books now ldkfskldkls). I suppose I should start from oldest to youngest hahaa But keep in mind that most of these are currently woven with my Nolofinwëan headcanons, aka how the Fëanorians behave towards them. I’ll try not to focus too much on Fingolfin’s fam here XDD

And for the sake of finding names easily, I’m going to bold each of them in case you wanted to scroll to the one you’re most interested in.

Let’s start with the Fëanorians as a family. I imagine that Fëanor doesn't generally give his sons as much affection and attention as they’d like (or perhaps need). However, Curufin is his favourite, so he spends the most time with him and showers him with lots of praise. I also think that their family would be quite the rowdy one given that there are seven brothers stuck in one house ^^;; Nerdanel must get a headache quite often!

Now let’s turn to Maedros. Some of y’all know this already, but for those who don’t, I don’t ship Russingon, so my view of his friendship with Fingon is simply that: a friendship, albeit a close and platonically loving one. Why is Fingon Maedros’ favourite, I’ve wondered? His brothers are wondering that too. I headcanon that Fingon’s company appeals to him because it’s a big contrast to what goes on at home. My version of Fingon is quiet and solemn (as you’ve seen from my art loll), but he’s also kind and gentle and compassionate. I imagine that they’d take walks through the markets, maybe with Finrod or some other, or just sit in the gardens and chat.

Maedros is also adored by his brothers and is seen as the perfect elder sibling. Not to mention the rest of the city might adore him as well, given how handsome and charming he is. I think he’d be able to shoulder the attention very well, and perhaps even enjoy it; he also returns his brothers’ love and cares for them all. But deep down, he looks to Fingon as the shining example of an older brother, a prince who cares for the people, someone perfect who can do no wrong. He admires him a lot. Perhaps that’s where half (or most) of his friendly love comes from. Does Fingon know about this? Beats me loll But if he does, it’d certainly affect him in some way (again, if y’all want those Nolofinwëan headcanons, let me know XDD)

Next is Maglor. What do I do with Maglor? He adores Maedros, yes – all the brothers do loll I remember trying to develop him for my time travel au fanfic, and I wrote him as a perfectionist. I think that’d work here: Fëanor doesn't give him and his music a lot of recognition, so Maglor believes that he must make every song perfect to prove himself and gain validation. I imagine Fëanor’s perfectionist nature rubbed off on Maglor too, which in part leads to this.

Of course, as he goes through the First Age on Beleriand, he becomes disillusioned and loses all that snobby, perfectionist stuff. By the time he’s with Elrond and Elros, he’s humble and solemn, and his songs are quiet and sad. But being with the twins and teaching them how to make music brings back that old spark -- the one that gave his music so much strength and power, etc.

Now for Celegorm. Boy oh boy. I see him as the wildest of the brothers, which could tie into his love for hunting and all. His name means "hasty-riser," so I'd imagine him as quick to be reckless and stubborn and angry etc. He loves Maedros dearly and is most jealous of Fingon, partly because Fingon is Maedros' favourite, and also because Fingon gets lots of affection from Fingolfin. Celegorm wants his father's love (or more of it, since Fëanor loves them in his own way already). He ends up treating Fingon badly, both out of anger and jealousy, and in an attempt to gain his father's approval.

I imagine this is what leads to Celegorm sticking with Curufin most of the time. Curufin is most like Fëanor, so getting his approval is likely second-best to Fëanor's, or something like that. But at the same time, Curufin isn't Fëanor; he has his own issues stemming from a desire for Fëanor's approval, and I imagine his behaviour is more insidious – rather like in the Lay of Leithian, where Curufin is whispering into Celegorm's ear and Celegorm just rolls with it. 

Speaking of Curufin, I think of him as the most crafty (scheming-wise alongside metalworking). And probably the most apathetic to others' hurts or concerns. If there's nothing in it for him, and it doesn't directly concern his family, then he doesn't really care. He only truly cares about fulfilling his father's wishes and all. 

Then again, I'm sure (or I'd hope) that he cares when Maedros is taken captive, but he'd busy himself with work and getting things done instead of dwelling on it. After all, Maedros must be dead after all this time, and what's the use of fretting over that?

And then we have Caranthir. The quickest to anger, as said in the Silmarillion. I imagine it's because there's not much that's remarkable about him, at least to start with. Nobody pays much attention to him, except perhaps Nerdanel and Maedros. For that reason, he'd draw closer to them, but he’s mostly frustrated with other people and especially himself. But out of all his brothers, I imagine he’s the best at numbers and figuring hahaa

Last are the twins, Amrod and Amras. I wasn't quite sure what to headcanon for them, since they seem to be the most carefree and easygoing of the brothers. I mostly imagine that they'd follow their father and brothers' example, especially with regard to how they treat the Nolofinwëans, but they're not sure about it because they don't think the Nolofinwëans are bad people (as Fëanor would paint them). Tbh I'm still thinking about the twins, and Caranthir for that matter ^^;;

So there we have it! My headcanons for Fëanor's sons. I may come up with more in the future, but this is what I have so far. Thank you so much for messaging me, anon! I hope I answered your question to your satisfaction, and I wish you a good day/night too! <333

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 4

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in the fantasy world you had no recollection of, your memory was jogged after weeks of depression: this land was Middle-Earth. A council of wizards and Elves was summoned, and Thranduil expressed his wishes of wanting you gone. Elrond agreed to take you in and Gandalf was excited to share in his adventures with someone who knew nothing of the world, quite like a Hobbit, but you wanted to stay in Mirkwood, with Legolas and Tauriel, of which you'd made friends with. Legolas leaves in three days to locate the orcs who enroach upon Mirkwood's northern flank, and the council sees this as a chance for you to prove your worth. If you fail, you are to leave Mirkwood...

Chapter No.: Chapter 4

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I want to thank all my readers for their feedback, likes, and reblogs! I'm only on Chapter 4 and all of you combined have made me feel really good about my writing. I've gotta admit, I was a little scared of going through with this multi-chapter fic at first, because while a few people really liked and enjoyed my stories on DeviantArt, they never got the reception The Art of Being an Eldar has. I just thought my writing sucked for the most part. Thank you all so much!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, The fucking Silmarillion, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words. Rating: Teen (14+) for now

"You what?"

Apparently Leggy didn't comprehend the concept of being accompanied by a suddenly Elvish human from another dimension.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you repeated, "I said, I'm coming with you when you leave for your orc-hunting mission."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "And who gave you permission to do this?"

"The council, that's who. So suck it up buttercup, I'm coming with your sorry ass."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Very well. Tell me, aside from randomly swinging a sword, do you know anything about weaponry?"

You raised an eyebrow. Shit, you'd have to fight? "No, but I can say a mouthful of greetings in Elvish."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Nin ista, Sairen, but words are not mightier than fighting skill in battle."

You scoffed. "I can think of a pretty famous phrase from my world that totally contradicts that..."

Legolas shook his head as he sauntered past you, down the stairs of the bridge you'd found him on. The sounds of his bows and knife sheaths clanking together as he walked relaxed you. "Of course you do, mellon." He paused to look at you. "Are you not coming? We leave in three days. If you are intent on coming with me, surely you cannot believe I will let you go without even so much as learning the proper way to stab an opponent?"

You made a face, but followed him anyway. "I know how to stab."

"How, then?" He gestured to you pointedly and crossed his arms.

"Um..." You mimed the gesture you'd probably use while stabbing an orc in the guts. "Like... This? With a twist?"

"That may work if your enemy has the weak skin and flesh of a human, or even on an Elf," He pointed out, "But we are fighting orcs, Sairen. Their hide is as thick as that of a boar, and their flesh is equally so." With a flourish, he flipped out one of his long knives. He paused in handing it to you. "I am not letting you keep this, mellon. My mother gave them to me."

You froze in reaching for the weapon. "You have a mother?"

Legolas chuckled at your wide-eyed expression. "You thought I did not?"

You stiffened before hurriedly turning away. "No! Of course not! Why would you think that?!"

Legolas laughed as he followed you. "Well, I do have one. She has been away on the other end of the palace-city. I should introduce you to her."

"Is she as fabulous as your dad?" You ran the tip of your index finger along your eyebrows. "And maybe even with the same super dark eyebrows?"

Legolas smiled. "No, no. She is perfectly beautiful."

"So you're saying your dad's not?"

"What?"

"Nothing." You waved a hand. "Where's the training grounds again?"

Legolas grinned evilly. "Well, your training begins now, Sairen. See if you can actually get to said training grounds without killing yourself on that blade."

Your jaw fell. "Are you fucking kidding me?! That's child's play! Don't you think I already know how to not do that?!"

"That is a double negative sentence, but no, I do not believe you already know this skill." Blue-Eyes shot you another grin. "Besides, we are not taking the average path to the training grounds. They are outside of the palace, after all. We will go out and around, on the hardest path imaginable. For a human, they would be entirely impassable."

You stared up at him dumbly. "Uh... Do... Do you even realize I spent the last nineteen years of my life around people with the mindset of shit water I might die because I'm a-- I was a-- human? Also, I was never agile. I won't be able to make it over a log, if it's big enough."

Blue-Eyes gave you a disapproving look. "Do the humans of your world never traverse nature?"

You pretended to think about that

"Hm... Let me see... Uhm... Yeah, nope, pretty much never, unless you're one of those super outdoorsey kinds of people, and the true ones of those are rare. For instance, most usually wear really tight clothes and walk through parks with stone paths and everything primped to perfect condition so that nobody even gets grazed by a dandelion, and everything's sprayed to keep the bugs away and animals are limited to squirrels and bunnies, then they wanna act like they just walked the fuckin' Sahara Desert without water. Real outdoor people are rare. Steve Irwin? Real. Bear Grylls? Real. Josh Gates? Real. Hell, when I was a very tiny little girl I used to watch a kid's show with two brothers who pretty much lived in the jungle. But out of everybody, those are the ones I can think of right off the top of my head. Them, and the few tribal races still out there."

Blue-Eyes made a surprised face. "Well... I am glad you got a chance to experience what real life is like."

"Thank you, Blue-Eyes." You'd reached the front gates of the palace, which were opened by a couple of those ninja Elf guys. You and Legolas walked on through, and into the forest, with its pink and amber leaves, down here, nullified into black and gray, piling up in the muck of the forest floor.

You'd been surprised when you'd seen this part of Mirkwood. Apparently, only the northern half was unaffected, but the rest of the once-spectacular Greenwood the Great was now victim to a strange plague, orc attacks from the north, and giant spider infestations from the south, from an ancient ruin called Dol Goldur. Animals no longer lived here, the rivers had mostly gone thick with filth, and the trees rotted and groaned in agony. The forest would confuse you, threaten to swallow you up and make you lose your way...

If you weren't an Elf.

Luckily for you and ol' Leggy, the two of you were Elves, and he had been raised here. If you stuck close to him, you'd be fine, even if the forest did manage to confuse you. He could hardly remember a time when the slow-acting plague hadn't been part of some region of the forest, and Tauriel had told you that he was 2, 371 years old. That was a long time for a forest to be sick.

"What even caused Mirkwood to get sick? Do you even know?"

"It is a nameless malice," Blue-Eyes replied, stopping all show-offy on a thick, low-hanging bough that precariously hung over a small gorge. "The darkness stems from Dol Goldur. Now, there are rumors; rumors of a necromancer, who resides in the ruins of that ancient fort."

"Necromancer?" That hardly sounded good. In anything where it was used, necromancer usually meant one who raises dead. "That doesn't sound good. Have you investigated it?"

"Of course not," Blue-Eyes gave you an odd look, like you'd just suggested he drink out of the toilet or something. You struggled to get up the side of a log he'd just casually hopped onto. "Why should we? They are merely rumors, and the forest has been sick for a long, long while. Still... This darkness unsettles me, as it does to all Sindar whom reside here."

"Dude, then maybe you should check the fuckin ruins," You mumbled, but he ignored you and continued hopping around from flowertop to flowertop. You just trampled noisily and clumsily along behind him. "Don't you guys like, live for light? So shouldn't you see if the ruins really do have a necromancer now? Especially since this dark ooze comes from it?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head. "King Thranduil does not wish for time to be wasted on rumors when we have other matters to deal with."

"Oh, so you mean he's too busy having everybody vote on which crown of berries goes best with his eyebrows."

"What?"

"Nothing. You Elves are just stupid."

Legolas grinned. "Well, humans are equally intellectually challenged."

You paused in chasing after him, stunned. He turned to face you when he didn’t hear you following. "Did you seriously just do that?"

"Do what?"

"You literally just used big words to sound smart." You laughed theatrically. "Oh! Pardon me, fine companion, I meant to implicate that you utilize gargantuan idioms to fabricate intelligence."

He smiled slightly as you finally made it up beside him. "I suppose you are not so daft," He relented teasingly, "Otherwise you would not even have those words in your vocabulary."

You made a face and rolled your eyes. "Whatever, blondie."

The training grounds were closer than you remembered, even taking the roundabout route. Along the way, though, you'd fallen into a bog, got your face scratched up by evil tree branches, and tumbled head-over-heels down a steep ravine, getting battered and bruised all over your body.

Apparently Middle-Earth-- Mirkwood specifically-- was prone to give previously non-Elvish members of other worlds injuries.

You made quite a show; barreling through a thorn bush and landing flat on your face right on the edge of the training grounds. You heard all the Elves turn their weapons on you, in case you were an orc, but then they seen your sorry ass, and Leggy casually coming down the steep ridge as if it was just a flight of stairs.

"Mae govannen," Said Legolas cheerfully to the Elves. Casually, he picked up his knife, which you'd thrown away from you halfway down so you didn't impale yourself at any point during the fall. Still, it'd skittered down alongside you. "Sairen, it seems you've failed this test."

"I dropped it on the goddamn border..."

"Nevertheless," Blue-Eyes ignored your response. "We are here now, and forfeiting other forms of training for the sake of redoing one failed task is pointless. You will learn as much as you can here, until I say we stop."

You finally moved, trying to at least sit up on your elbows. "It's only noon. We've got till nightfall, yeah? I can do that. No problem."

Legolas grinned down at you. "Mellon, you are of the Eldar now. You are stronger than before and do not need sleep unless you wish to dream."

"I don't what?!"

"Elves do not sleep unless we have been injured and need to heal," He replied, and grabbed you by the underarms to help you up. "We are stronger and more resilient than the race of Men. You are no longer imprisoned by the necessities of the human body."

Instant headrush slammed into you. "Apparently not all human body shit..."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you speak of?"

"Headrush, dammit."

"Oh," He grew amused. "Do you mean the Blackness? Unfortunately, that befalls us all."

You glared daggers at him.

Another Elf approached, with a slender face and long brown hair. "My lord, most of the training grounds are taken up. You may yet have mine, if you wish so."

Legolas smiled. "Ah, my thanks. [Y/N], this is one of the Elves that accompanied Lord Elrond here, Lindir."

You extended your hand. "Nice to meet you."

Both Blue-Eyes and Lindir looked at your hand in confusion. Lindir, with a glance to Legolas, slowly tried to hand you his bow. With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you realized they didn't even understand what a handshake was. "No no no, sorry; that's called a handshake. It's what two people do when they meet each other where I come from. I didn't mean to confuse you. SO." You bowed in the Elvish way. "Mae govannen, Lindir of House Elrond."

Lindir and Blue-Eyes smiled. Lindir returned your bow. "Mae govannen, [Y/N] of House Thranduil."

"Lindir will be accompanying us to trace the orcs, and Erestor of Rivendell," Said Legolas, "As will another of our own house, Elros; I believe you have met him already. He was the Elf who lead you to the councilroom. From Lothlorien is a friend of mine, Haldir, and of course, with the other Elven Lords aiding us, Mithrandir feels he should send his own aid as well..."

Lindir's eyes widened. "Do not tell me..."

Blue-Eyes nodded seriously. "He is sending Naughrim to accompany us."

"Naughrim?" You asked. Of all names, that didn't sound familiar. "Who's that? Somebody not well-liked among Elves?"

Blue-Eyes fought a smile. Lindir answered you. "Mellon, Naughrim is our tongue for dwarves."

Your mouth formed an 'o' in recognition. "Ohhhh, now I get it. Elves and dwarves hate each other for no explainable reason. Got it. Who's he sending?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head in exasperation. "They are all of Erebor. Balin and Dwalin, two are named, and of the other, he is the most insufferable of dwarves; Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. Mithrandir believes that this will be a good experience for him as it is for us, but he refuses to come himself. He's all but forcing the situation."

You looked from Blue-Eyes to Lindir and back. "How can he force you? Dwarves and Elves are both stubborn beyond all reason, and none of you seem to take him seriously."

Legolas shook his head and pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, Dwalin is as good a tracker as any, and Ada  is not permitting many of the Sindar on this journey for the reason that we are merely meant to find where the yrch dwell, and go no further. We will need all the aide we can find, even if it is in the form of unwilling dwarves. As for them, he has promised treasure, the details of which I know not; I can only hope it is not any of ours he has promised them." He smiled at you. "Shall we?"

Before you could follow, he walked off; you glanced to Lindir questioningly. "...Ada? Who's that?"

Lindir smiled softly. "It means father. He is referring to King Thranduil."

"Oh. Now I feel stupid."

"Do not, mellon, for the language of the Elves is not easily learned unless you were born speaking the tongue."

With a roll of your shoulders, which ached, you followed Leggy.

***

"Ow, goddamn it, and goddamn you, you stupidly perfect Elf."

At the end of the day, you'd been cut, pricked, whipped by a bowstring, nicked, dinged, and all kinds of other small injuries that added up to one big mess of drying blood and bruises.

Blue-Eyes had had you train deep into the night, until the silvery waning moon had all but left the star-filled sky. Now, as the sunrise approached, you both sat on two convenient boulders, and he bandaged your bloodied hands. In the eerie half-dawn light, he looked ethereal, and his pale hands and silver tunic sleeves compared to your now dark-with-blood-and-mud-and-bruises hands and black sleeves was a huge contrast. Your hands shook slightly, aching and stinging and pained on various sorts of levels, while his were perfectly steady as he wrapped them in soft green leaves.

"Stop shaking, mellon," Legolas told you gently.

"What was that?" Your head snapped up. "Are you feeling sorry for me? Don't feel sorry for me! This is nothing! I've been shot in the calf by an orcish arr--OW!"

The leaves had drawn too tight and released some kind of juice that stung like hell. His hands hovered over yours. "My apologies, but it draws out the infection."

"What infection?!"

"You are not yet used to your Elven body yet," Blue-Eyes replied, looking into your eyes. "Since you are the equivalent of a newborn, I would say you are very susceptible to infections, sickness, and injuries."

You looked off dramatically into the distance. "That explains why I can't stop fucking getting hurt..."

"That it does," He smiled at you, and something pulsed in your chest. Da fuck... You fought a flush. He stood, then held out his hand to you. "Shall we return to the palace? You may rest until sunhigh, and then we will continue your training." You took his hand, and he helped you up; you stumbled into his chest, and backed up quickly. He took no notice, but patted your shoulder before going to retrieve his bow and quiver. "You did well today, Sairen, even if you frightened off half of the other Sindar and Silvan training here."

You made a face. "Pfft. They just can't handle my awesomeness."

"If you say so, mellon," He said, and started to take the easy way back, to your relief. You followed closely behind him.

You looked up at the stars as you walked in silence for awhile, until finally, you broke it. Of course, you broke anything, really... "Where I come from, they say there's a star for every soul that's passed away."

Legolas glanced to you, then followed your gaze wistfully. "That is something our two worlds have in common."

"Scientifically," You added, "They're spheres of hot air and gaseous materials wound up tight by gravity that glow and put off heat, but the idea always felt nice to me... But where I come from... You also can't see the stars."

Blue-Eyes halted in his tracks as if you'd just said someone murdered his mother. "I... What? You can't see the stars?!" He actually looked genuinely horrified by that idea.

You shook your head. "No. Humans... They've polluted the atmosphere too much. Filled it with trash, and man-made lights and even remnants of smoke... You can't see them."

He watched you even as you watched the stars. "I've never seen them like this... They're beautiful." You could see bands of galaxies and clouds of distant nebulae, and the small silver fires glittered in the billions, even as the pink-orange glow of the beginning of dawn was starting to show in the east. You were in awe.

You jumped when Legolas took your hand. "What?"

He smiled at you. "Come with me. I will show you one of the best stargazing places in all of Mirkwood."

"Thranduil's pavilion?"

"Better."

"Whoa. Dude, count me in."

He lead you off of the trail, deep into the woods, through the easiest ways that probably were a pain for him, but he did it anyway. Finally, you stopped at the base of a massive tree, stretching so far up you couldn't see its top. Its trunk was pockmarked with holes and vines, and after slinging his bow onto his back, he threw you a smile over his smile. "Come, Sairen."

You couldn't help but smile back. You climbed, quickly, all the way up, past the canopy, into the uppermost branches of the tree, where the copper-gold leaves thinned out to allow for one thick branch to get a view of the night sky. The branch was thick enough across to allow for two or three people to sit side-by-side against the trunk, and Blue-Eyes sat quickly as he helped you up.

Here, no branches obscured any part of your field of view. You got a perfect view of the sunrise, and the starry sky. "Holy shit..."

You felt him put an arm around you, and you stiffened, just before he breathed in your ear, "I will not let you fall from this tree, Sairen. You've only just arrived in this world, and should another portal be below that is activated by a beautiful sunrise, I am loathe to let you go, for there is so much I want to show you..." The sun burst over the distant mountains beyond Erebor, sending fiery orange and red across the sky. "Such as this. Your world does not sound as if it could have any sunrise as wonderful as this one."

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest as you watched the sunrise, jaw slack. "No... Not like this."

Legolas smiled, and finally turned his focus to it himself. Your eyes slowly dragged off of the beautiful scenery to look at the Elf beside you, and the warm feeling worsened; your heart started fluttering. Eldar only fall in love once... Galadriel had warned you.

...Shit.

A blush crawled up your face, and you tried your hardest to focus on the sky rather than the Elvish princeling pressed close against your side.

***

"Mae govannen, [Y/N] of the Woodland Realm," Greeted Lindir kindly as you approached the group of Elves gathering in front of the front gates.

"Mae govannen, Lindir of Rivendell," You replied with a smile. The Elvish greetings rolled off your tongue easily now. After the sunrise you and Blue-Eyes had watched together, you'd spent the last two days training at obscene hours and resting. Now, finally, the group of Elves leaving to track the orcs were gathering-- there were only about fifty in total, of which there were those wearing Woodland garments, the red-and-gold of Lothlorien, and the greens, purples, and browns of Rivendell. Apparently Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond didn't agree with Thranduil sending what would've only been a dozen to track some very dangerous orcs.

You heard several of them muttering to each other about Naughrim, something all of them had in common.

You swung your light traveling pack off of your shoulders and by your feet, scanning the crowd for a certain platinum-blonde head-- unfortunately, most of the Elves from Lothlorien had blonde hair. You looked at Lindir. "Where's Legolas?"

Lindir glanced around. "He is on his way, I am sure. After all, it is he and Haldir whom are leading this journey."

You nodded. "I've never packed for something like this before... I hope I didn't pack anything weird or forget something."

Lindir looked confused, then recognition flashed across his face. "Oh. Forgive me, I had forgotten you do not have this experience. Tell me, what did you pack?"

You shifted your weight nervously, and lowered your voice. "Uhh... Two extra pairs of clothes in case these get ruined, some extra food, even though I've noticed I don't have to eat as much as before, and some water. Then there's these," You gestured to your back, where a quiver and longbow hung from your back. You felt its weight all too strongly, and that of the sword on your hip and the knives on your thighs. "And some of those special leaves that're used for bandages."

Lindir smiled and placed a hand on your shoulder. "Mellon, you have packed what we all have, and lightly, as well."

You smiled. "Thanks. Just consider yourself lucky that I don't know how to read Elvish, or I would've packed a book or two to keep me company."

Lindir chuckled and stepped back. "Well, for now, I am glad of it. On this journey you will learn much, hopefully, and by the time we return, you may be able to speak more of Elvish. It is harder to learn to read it, I have heard, much harder."

You ran a finger over your chin in thought. "I wonder if Thranduil would let me go to Dale or Laketown to get some books in English..."

"Forgive me," Lindir looked confused. "I do not know what that is."

You realized what you'd said a second too late. "Oh! Sorry. Where I come from, Common is just referred to as English."

"Oh, I see now. I am sure he would, and if he does not yet, then perhaps one of the Woodland Elves could bring some back for you. What of Legolas? Are you not friends?"

You blushed. "Yeah, I hope so. I've never been very good at making friends, though. Nobody's ever really liked me." You realized Lindir was staring at you with an absolutely terrified expression. Your own eyes widened in alarm, and you frantically patted your face. "What?! Is there something on my face?!"

Lindir shook his head. "I-I am not sure. Your skin has suddenly gone red, as if burned. Are you ill?"

"Uhhh..."

You were spared the embarrassment of explaining blushing by all the Elves gathered suddenly gasping and bowing in the direction of the stairs. Lindir saw the cause before you did, and his jaw fell. "By all the Valar..." He bowed deeply, and you followed his motion, but not before catching a glimpse of who it was. Thranduil, of course, and Legolas, following a she-Elf in a tunic that looked as if it were made of starlight itself, with flowing white hair and alabaster skin.

"Ui!" Shouted Thranduil irritably. "Ni telima lume, autauva!"

You leaned closer to Lindir. "What did he say?"

"He is forbidding her to join us," He answered quickly.

The she-Elf whipped around, generating a power almost as strong as Galadriel's. Legolas stepped forward. "Amal... Mecin."

She shook her head. "Yon, venno, nin carindo ier nin indo. Alye uva pusta ni."

"What did she say about pasta?" You whispered.

"Sh!" Lindir said quickly.

The woman looked at Thranduil and Legolas lovingly, before approaching Thranduil and placing both hands on his face. Thranduil closed his eyes in regret, and the woman kissed him; you looked away, embarrassed. That was the Elvenqueen.

That was Legolas's mother.

"Melinyel, Thranduil, alye ista si."

Thranduil sighed. "Melinyel, mela... Mecin ea girthonwed."

With that, Legolas reluctantly took his mother's hand and lead her down the stairs. They disappeared in the crowd, until you heard the Elvenqueen's voice. "Rise, all of you." Unsure, the Elves rose one-by-one. "Which of you hail from far places, whom rescued my son Legolas Greenleaf from the fate of an early death?"

The Eldar glanced to one another, realized it wasn't their neighbor, and slowly, like somebody who'd gotten called out in class, you were being stared at, and a path was made between you and her majesty, while Legolas stood beside her.

You swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. Lindir patted your shoulder. "You have been summoned, mellon. Go, I will make sure your pack does not get swapped with someone else's."

You tried to look and walk confidently, but you were terrified. She was beautiful and indimidating, and you had to admit, you were definitely intimidated. When you reached her, you bowed as deeply and respectfully as you could, a fist over your heart. "Elen sila lumenn omentielvo, your majesty." You didn't know what else to say. What you'd said to Galadriel and Celeborn was the most respectful thing you knew in Elvish, and you'd never been in the presence of royalty.

"You come from another world," She looked down at you indifferently, and you suddenly felt very small and very weak with everybody's eyes on you. This was nothing like Thranduil's fabulously indifferent look. "Yet still, you saved my son's life. After, you make the presumption that you can live and walk among us as one of us, freely, unburdened, merely because you came here by happenstance and you were allowed the reward of living. Do you feel as if this is the correct course of action for you to take?"

You glanced to Legolas, absolutely horrified. "Y-your majesty..." Your hot-headed tongue, a lot more toned down, popped into existence. "I saved your son's life because he didn't deserve to die. I was given the freedom to live, and to repay that, I mean to make the most of my time here by helping in whatever ways that I can. King Thranduil has given me the chance to prove myself worthy of living here by allowing me to join in hunting for the orcs. If I fail, I will leave Mirkwood, and go with Lord Elrond to Rivendell."

Legolas's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, before going back to their normal selves; he looked to you with almost a sadness, but you couldn't figure out why. Elvenqueen smiled, as if proud. "Then you are not what the rumours of your world have made you out to be. You are humble and grateful, qualities I did not expect from one of this Earth. You possess a unique personality, [Y/N]. Tell me, who are your parents, so that I may refer to you properly?"

"I have no father," You said quickly, relieved that she was just trying to scare you. "None I care to speak about. But I do have a mother, who I love very much. Her name is [M/N]."

Elvenqueen smiled. "Very well, [Y/N], child of [M/N]. Here, we, all of us, have a secondary name, such as my son; Legolas Greenleaf. During this journey, you may earn your own."

You smiled back, relieved beyond relief that she'd decided not to kick your ass for existing. "My thanks, your majesty."

She sailed away regally, and Legolas shot you a glare. "Why did you not tell me you would be leaving us?" He demanded.

You balked. "I-I said if I failed..."

"And you are most likely to do so," He snapped, sending your heart and soul plummeting to roughly the center of Middle-Earth. Without another word, he followed his mother.

"Mellon?" Said Lindir from behind. You turned around; He held his bag and yours, which you gratefully took from him.

"Thanks," You said, but your eyes followed Legolas's back as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Is everything alright?"

"Just fine," You shrugged. You were used to being abandoned.

Lindir looked doubtful. "Very well, if you say so. May I introduce you to those you will be most judged by?"

"Sure."

He took you through the crowd, to the guy who helped you find the councilroom. "Ah, [Y/N]. Mae govannen."

You bowed your head and returned the greeting to Elros in a monotone voice. "So your name is Elros?"

"Yes," He replied. "Son of Elrond."

If you were taking a drink of water, you'd've spewed it everywhere. "Huh? But isn't Rivdendell like, waaay over the Misty Mountains?"

Elros chuckled. "Yes, but those of the Eldar cannot always remain in one place. We yearn for far places, and even farther shores. Long years I have spent in the halls of my father, but I left for Mirkwood when my sister, Arwen Evenstar, left for Lothlorien, to spend a time with our mother's mother, Galadriel."

Your eyes were wide. "Galadriel is a grandma?! Your grandma?!"

Lindir and Elros looked at each other in amusement. "Elves," Said Lindir, "Live forever, so long as we are not killed by injury, or the wounds of the heart."

"Wounds of the heart?" You echoed.

"When love remains unrequited, it is sometimes too much to bear," Replied Elros, "And the victim suffers long before dying of a broken heart. Oftentimes, it is when a wife perishes during childbirth, or when war or battle takes the life of a beloved, and their souls pass into the Halls of Mandos. I still worry for my father, even though my mother has long since passed due to child-sickness."

Your eyes widened. "I'm so sorry."

Elros raised a hand. "She is at peace now. She resides in the halls where her mother lives, and many of my kin who have long since passed on."

"Is Elrond gonna be okay?" Now you were worried. You didn't even know the guy (Even though you probably knew him before your amnesia.) but you didn't want him to die of heartbreak. He was being nice to you, and offering you a place to live if Thranduil decided to be more of an ass.

"He is strong," Lindir assured you, and partially Elros. "He is stout of heart and fierce of soul. He will live long yet, that I can assure you with the utmost certainty."

Together, Lindir and Elros took you to where another dark-haired Elf in the Rivendell attire spoke with a Lothlorien Elf in red-and-gold armor. White hair was braided away from his stern face. Elros said something in Elvish, getting their attention, and they both bowed to you. "[Y/N], child of [M/N], may I introduce you to Erestor, Chief Counselman of Elrond, and Haldir of Lothlorien."

"Mae govannen," They both said.

Haldir regarded you warily. "I have heard you come from far lands, one beyond even Arda."

You tried not to look stupid. "Arda?"

"This world upon which we live," Haldir clarified.

"Oh!" Now you knew what they were talking about. "You mean this whole planet? Mine never had a cool name; Earth, that's it, with a bunch of different countries on it. Are there countries besides Middle-Earth here?"

Erestor chuckled. "Yes. There is Beleriand, just the remains of it, to the farthest west. Also in the west lie the Gray Havens, and across the Sea are the Undying Lands of Aman, far from Endor-- that is to say, collectively, Middle-Earth and Beleriand."

"Oh, cool! Where I come from, nowhere has cool names anymore, except for maybe Dubai, Greece, and Rome. In the past, there were hardly ever cool places, except for Egypt and Babylon."

The four Elves around you glanced to each other in amusement, as if you were a child just learning new things; and you pretty much were...

"Haldir," Said a familiar voice, and you perked up as Blue-Eyes stepped through the crowd. Your heart sank as he completely avoided your gaze. Damn, you should be used to this kinda shit by now. One small thing and someone abandons you. "We go to meet the dwarves. You have told your party, yes?"

"Of course, mellon."

"As have I," Added Erestor as Blue-Eyes went to ask. "None of us may like this, but it the word of a Maiar, of which the Noldor still yet revere. Worry not, Legolas."

Blue-Eyes nodded, glanced to you, and walked back through the suddenly-departing crowd as the doors opened. You hefted up your bag further onto your shoulder. "Mmkay, Lindir?" You fell into step with the purple-clad Elf.

"What is it?"

"Questions. Lots of them. What the hell is a Mayan and a No-door?"

Lindir chuckled. "Maiar, and Noldor. The Noldor are the oldest of the Elves. The Maiar are wizards, servants of the Valar; such as Saruman, Mithrandir, and Radagast."

"They met gods?"

"Yes," Said Lindir doubtfully, eyeing you. "Do the people of your world not know of their gods?"

You scoffed dryly. "You kidding me? Almost everybody believes in some bearded guy in white floating through existence and pointing to a random spot, then saying 'Let there be light!' Bam, universe created. Others have much more gruesome stories; like in Norse, Odin and his two brothers cut up a giant to create the world. Then there was Egyptian, where two godly people representing the earth and sky consummated and BAM, universe created again. They all say the gods came from the sky, which others believe to be aliens-- people from other planets entirely-- but I've always been an atheist."

"And what does that mean?"

"That I don't believe a goddamn word of any of that 'god' shit."

"You should not speak of them so, for they hear all."

"Yuck. Let's hope they don't find somebody on their wedding night."

Lindir's eyes bugged out of his head. "That was... Sudden."

You grinned. "I'm like that. Get used to it, Lindy."

He frowned. "My name is Lindir."

"I know that," You laughed. "It's a nickname. It's a sign of friendship."

Lindir smiled. "Oh. Then we are friends, then?"

"Sure! I've never been friends with so many people before!" You looked ahead excitedly, waving when you seen Legolas glaring at you. So what if he was pissed? You'd make him un-pissed.

Lindir gave you a sad look. "But you have only befriended Legolas and myself."

"And Tauriel."

"Still, that is only three people." He looked genuinely confused. "Do the people of your world not believe in friendship either?"

You sighed. "Not really. They're more interested in betrayal. Me, personally, I've had it all. Betrayal, death, abandonment... I've gone through some shitty times, that's for sure. One catastrophe after the next. One painful step at a time through it. I've been through hell and back, been shattered like glass and looked death in the eye, and somehow, I'm still standing. Sometimes it feels like I've lived a thousand lifetimes in only nineteen years." You gave him a sideways smile before looking back ahead of you, trying to block all of the flashbacks...

Lindir regarded you with newfound admiration. "I can... See it, in your eyes. I believe all of us can. The things that you have endured are marked on your stride, and not many could recover from what you have recently gone through so quickly. A human with your strength is... Unheard of."

You laughed. "Yeah, 'cause now I'm an Elf!"

Lindir laughed too then, as did a few other Elves and she-Elves near to you-- as you walked out of the doors of Mirkwood's palace, you got this strange, tingly sensation in your core... The odd feeling of people laughing with you, not at you. The feeling of not being judged. Of people realizing you've been through hell. Of people not automatically striking you onto their enemy list because you're different.

As you moved into the north, the light filtering through the leaves was golden, and everything seemed at once surreal and ethereal. But aside from those two feelings, you felt one stronger than any other. You smiled as you looked around at your new friends in this new world, which still felt so familiar. You were happier than you'd ever been. Even though you'd miss your family, you were glad the portal had been closed.

And there are many paths to tread...

Through shadow, to the edge of night...

Until the stars are all alight...

You passed Blue-Eyes, who'd climbed a tree to scout, and when he seen your awestruck, childlike expression, even he, who was currently pissed at you, couldn't help but smile at down at you. You smiled back. That warm feeling returned.

Finally, I'm where I belong.

I'm...

I’m...home.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @hauntedsiriel​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @naryamirie​ @legolasdeserveslove​ @escapingthoughtsandsecrets​ @sagabriar​ @brushwood-souls​ @taurlel​

If anybody wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Extra Notes: Elvish is SO FUCKING HARD. And yes I put the Elvenqueen in this. And dwarves are inbound. Don't guess the plotline, just DON'T.

Fun Facts: In Old Nordic mythology, there was a forest known as Mirkwood. There was also a dwarf called Durin, who created the line of the most power dwarfs, some of which, just to name a few, were Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dvalin, Balin, Oin, Oakenshield, and Gandalf. There were also many types of Elves-- Ljosalfar were the Light Elves, and Dokkalfar were the Dark Elves. In general, Elves were known as Alfar, and they lived in Alfheimr, "The Land of the Elves." Supposedly, Alfheimr had shining trees of silver and gold, like Lothlorien. Also, there was a dragon called Fafnir, a cursed fire-drake, coppery-red, who laid atop a mound of gold and guarded his wrongfully-taken treasure with his life. The original owner of this treasure was a dwarf, reduced to a husk of his former self, called Andvari, who, out of all of this treasure, loved most a golden ring, inscribed with runes. He cursed this ring, so that all who wore it would soon come into misfortune...

[thelioninmybed]

Catch 22

@imindhowwelayinjune and @erotetica​ tagged me in the 11 questions meme! And then I took two thousand years to answer it!

June asked:

1. If I gave you $20 and told you you had to spend it right now, what would you spend it on? A nice lunch, there’s a place that does bahn mi down the road I’ve been meaning to go to but- wait a minute, they’re not gonna accept USD. Um.

2. If you waved your foot in the air to the immediate left of you what would you kick? My PC tower, so I’m not gonna do that!

3. There’s a new spider in my sink. Name it. Wally (to go with Mack)

4. Describe one thing you’d like to create (eg a specific story, art, type of pancake, etc) I would really really like to give Raised By Wolves the ending it deserves (and Star*Boys but tbh we’re well on track for finishing that)

5. Describe one thing you’d like to consume that someone else created (eg a specific story, art, type of pancake, etc) Some kind of matcha chocolate cake thing, @knight-tracer gave me matcha kitkats she got on holiday and they’re really good!

6. If you were a cartoon character, what outfit would you always be drawn in/what features would make you identifiable? My hella cool wizard coat that’s been handed down through my family for generations (i.e. it was Mum’s until it stopped fitting her last year)

Bonus: Draw yourself as a cartoon character - take no more than five minutes - and include the sketch here.

7. Tell me some gossip about someone I definitely don’t know. The Marchioness of Worcester is now Duchess of Beaufort (which sucks tbh, I know Marchioness < Duchess but it’s a radder sounding title) but the important thing is if you ever invite her over for dinner she will cycle over with a pan of soup strapped to her bike and eat that instead of whatever Duchess-worthy meal you had prepared. 

8. Without checking to see if it’s correct type something you have memorised (a line of poetry, a lyric, an equation)

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said; ‘two vast and trunkless legs of stone, Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, Whose frown and wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read, Which yet survive stamped on these lifeless things. The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear; "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look on my works ye mighty, and despair." Nothing beside remains round the decay Of that colossal wreck. Boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

Pretty sure that’s right, except for the punctuation! 

9. Go to the elf name generator, generate a name, and tell us what the parts of it mean. Half. It means seashell :)

Bonus: Describe who this name belongs to. A dead Teleri. 

10. What’s something that made you laugh out loud recently? I just started listening to My Dad Wrote A Porno which is hilarious but maybe not the best thing to listen to on a crowded bus. 

11. What trope do you secretly love that people like to say you shouldn’t? (eg self-insert characters, purple prose, chat fic, pumpkin lattes - you know, whatever the latest fun is that we’re not supposed to be having) Angsty antihero/villain-but-feels-bad-about-it types. Apparently I never stopped being fourteen. 

Erotetica asked:

1. Do you have any pets? If so, in what way are they stupidest? Kira, my cat, will come find you and cry for food until you go and point at his (full) bowl. What a moron, I love him so much. 

2. Favourite kind of book (classics, scifi, romance, etc.) ....speculative fiction. This is a cunning code for ‘Books with elves in but I don’t want to admit that’

3. Obscure Headcanon for a character you haven’t previously shared? I can’t answer this cause I already tell you all whatever dumb shit comes into my head soon as it happens. 

4. Do you have any ocs? If so, share what universe they’re from and a little bit about them. I think my OCs are well documented! Horrible Minions Tuluspen and Yreth are my only significant Silmarillion OCs - Maedhros’ steward and the captain of Fingon’s guard respectively (and inappropriate girlfriends collectively).

Raised By Wolves, my original fiction, follows the adventures of neurotic elven apostate Khazri Il’harren, his hot doctor friend Imrael Sovelin, and the hideous machinations of the Il’harren family.

As you probably already know (cause we won’t shut up about it/did a weird hoax last year), June and I are writing a novel and share custody of the cast of Star*Boys. 

Matthew Rose is an Emmy award winning actor, the golden boy of prime time TV. He likes cats, getting into internet slapfights, and his new costar’s biceps. 

Finn Martin is a theater nerd coming to grips with his newfound celebrity status and he’s really excited to explain the role of ostranenie in the High School Alien drama he’s starring in!

Katya Walker is a model, a feminist, and aware of the contradiction, thank you very much. Don’t ask her about cheerleading outfits. Or pastel overalls. Or- don’t even talk to her, just keep the drinks coming. 

5. Music or Audiobooks? Audiobooks! 

6. What is your favorite hobby? Does writing count? Ice skating, the longsword and baking are all up there too. 

7. An author you enjoy? Susanna Clarke

8. Do you speak more than one language? If so, how many, and which ones? High School French and Teenage Anime Fan Japanese. Neither is very impressive.

9. Share a quote/book passage/poem that you like ‘Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.’

10. If you had to choose a Bad aesthetic, which one would you pick (dudebro, edgelord, I Liked It Before It Was Cool, etc.) Aesthetic generator says Ghost Bug which...sure. Sounds like a Pokemon.

11. You are stranded on an island. What one thing do you have with you? Say the first thing that comes into your head. A stapler because I’m looking at one right now, can I not take something I’ve thought of after a period of careful evaluation (a solar powered Kindle)?

I know I’m meant to tag people but omg just answering things took too long I can’t handle tagging I’m so sorry

[lgbooknotes-blog]

It’s Only A Model World-Building - How Much is Too Much? Is More Less?

The devil is in the detail. Read the Silmarillion backwards at a crossroads while a black cat sits on a broken mirror nursing a sore bum, and he will appear, horns and all. I love the details. I am utterly absorbed by them, the nit and grit, and textures of life inside stories (and games). However, Failbetter founder Alexis Kennedy, and sci-fi author Lincoln Mitchell have a point when they spit 'world-building' like a dirty word. Maybe our desire for fully fleshed out worlds needs to take a back seat. 

Both Kennedy and Mitchell argue that the attention to detail demanded by obsessive little nerdlings like me comes at the expense of storytelling, and further more that it’s also detrimental to the reader's imagination. It is a hindrance; narrowing the our focus until we end up bickering for days about plausibility (how did the orcish economy work, etc?*) while missing the point entirely. We could be star gazers gaping on a dark hill with all the riches of the sky spread before us. Instead we’re picking at lint, marvelling at its consistency, and congratulating our woollens for bobbling. NK Jemision's Dreamblood series made me wonder. It was intricate and detailed, but unconfined too - comfortable to wander about in, sort of like a really posh dressing gown. There was room to make up your own answers.

What is world-building? It’s having the answers, or rather it’s having the details and structure from which answers may be plausibly conjured. Good world-building is beautiful bridge - or even a spiderweb. It supports the story, allowing the reader to travel along its path nodding at the tensile strength. It hold us, ad in some cases grabs us. How much of it do we really need? Have you seen those spider-webs when the spider is on crack or caffeine? 

In his post Kennedy quotes extensively from Tolkien "Lord of the Metal Umlauts," reminding us that while ol' JRR might be held up as the Grand High Wizzard of World-building, even he understood the necessity of mystery and a bit of slack in magical realms. That bagginess provides room for imagination; it's a fulcrum for storytelling. Authors who lose sight of that lose the mechanics of spinning a good yarn.Y'know what, why not go read Kennedy's article. It's a good un'. I'll wait here...

My favourite bit of LotR provides a good example of both top notch world-building but also of knowing when less is more. It happens on Paths of the Dead....A dwarf, and elf and a human walk into a, well, I wish it were a bar (Pub of the Dead), but that sort of thing was four hobbits and two books back. The dwarf, elf and man walk along haunted paths to a haunted stone to summon an unseen army of ghosts. Everything is haunted because of course there's a big backstory of angsty oathbreaking (oh the added heft of centuries old betrayal). Remember, I'm not arguing that all world-building is bad. Aragorn marches along (probably singing in his head, the bastard), while Gimli is busy being terrified, He notices a skeleton reaching for a closed door. And that's it, the story goes on by and takes us somewhere else. My favourite bit in all of the Lord of the Rings. Skeleton, hand, door. Bit of weft to the ongoing epic's weave.

You never find out in the main book what's behind it. You don't need to. And yes, there's a wee paragraph of backstory in the appendices, and hasn't Tolkien’s oft noted thoroughness totally undermined my point? No. You don't need to read the appendices to wonder about that door or what's behind it, and reading them won’t stop you from be troubled, like Gimli or from feeling sympathy for that stodgy little axe nibbler. You’re both out of your depth, and you’d be out of your depth whether there’s an explanation tucked away somewhere or not.

Maybe the learned reader gains something later on, by knowing that REDACTED lies mouldering there, but it doesn't add anything to the story or the moment, and again, even in the appendices it's only a quick sketch of a bigger story - one you'll never know, because Tolkien isn't going to tell you, Even this vast, historied world, is actually quite empty, full of pauses and held breaths.

Mitchell's argument, which prompted all this mulling, concerns laziness. Not any specific author, but ours. By shifting the focus from the story onto the minutiae, readers creative faculties are left untaxed and under nourished. Not everything has to be explained or planned out,  he argues; let the reader work - engage them as something more than problem solvers (or nit pickers); turn their imagination into your own personal dancing monkey. World-building in overdrive can provide ample manure for the roses of pedantry, but little else of value will grow. 

I'm not immune to sniffing those particular blooms. Sometimes it’s in appreciation of a wonderful world: I want to know more, I want to go beyond the story. Other times it really is a persnickety critical huff. I get very frustrated with Wizarding World's cult of isolationism. In Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets we learn that Arthur Weasley, a grown man doesn't understand electricity, or .... ahem, no...  I'm sorry, I can't help myself....  USE A BIRO! IT'S A LABOUR SAVING DEVICE! LEARN ABOUT ELECTRICITY!  DO YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT THE ANIMAL CRUELTY USING QUILLS INVOLVES?!!!!!!!!!!!

... Ahem.

I quite agree with Mitchell that the longer a reader is asked to spend in a world the more structure that world requires, but that doesn't mean that it necessarily needs lots of depth; sometimes a superficial structure will do...

.... it’s only a model. I often think of the Discworld as a old house (built on loam), with bits added on in different styles - clashing styles, with doors opening to reveal stairs that go nowhere, and that's fine. 

We regularly praise good world-building during Literally Geeky hangouts. Rightly so; skillfully evoking worlds, whether historical, fantastical or futuristic is artful (and, the cynic in me would add, lucrative). I'd argue it’s not limited to genre fiction, though genre fiction is  primarily, though not exclusively, the stamping ground of in-depth world-building. All authors create a world with unique rules of some sort that you have to process and invest in. Warren Ellis is weird, wonderful and highly conceptual, Lolita plunges the reader into the tilted summers of Humbert Humbert, Joyce gives you a Dublin you can smell. Mary Shelley paints a chiaroscuro with shades of detail and withholding; the endless lists of Frankenstein's university readings, his nocturnal trips; procuring, stitching, followed by a spot of misdirection. Bam. Life! ....How did he do it? How much detail is too much? Robert Jordan, I'm looking at you.

Did William Goldman have the right idea with his 'good bits' Princess Bride? Maybe. AS Byatt built not one but two romantic poets from the ground up in Possession, and as good as that book is, oh my god, when you turn the page and see the beginnings of another six pages of meticulous pre-Raphaelite verse, well, it's the same sinking feeling you get when Aragorn strikes up another sad Elvish song.  There's a point to the poems and the songs, and yes, the respective authors put a lot of hard work into their art, but battering me round the head with the cudgel of needless intricacy (+10 to over-complication) won't stun me into loving a story. Excess baggage bogs the bloody thing down. 

Detailed world-building can be a joy and I’ll hold my hand up; I fetishise the good stuff, I buy into the franchises and sequels and want more of the same beloved worlds. That sort of thing isn’t not always good for you. Less is more. Take Gaiman at his best.That cunning mop-haired fiend! He knows how to use just enough detail to make you believe. Just enough weirdness to make you want more (oh gods, more Neverwhere, please!). Just enough reality that the magic seems ... right. Natural. Something that was always there but never articulated, lurking deep in your marrow. Then he ends and moves on. 

Compare that ruthlessness and confidence in storytelling to a dull but meticulous world: an indulgence of detail, stifling in its tediousness; weighty and constricting. Slowing authors down, sidetracking them like a primrose path from their original purpose. In putting out faith in in the heaped bricks of world-building, we the reader (and perhaps publishing houses) are losing sight of the joys of the bigger, vaguer picture.

*The Orc economy in action. I’m not immune.