#spring into arda

[hhimring]

Music Makers

Wandering by lone sea-breakers, and sitting by desolate streams (Arthur O’Shaughnessy)

Maglor:

If you can never go home--

it becomes a poem.

If you have blood on your hands—

it becomes a song.

If you have betrayed your kin—

it becomes a poem.

If you have failed your family—

it becomes a song.

If your voice dies in your throat—

it becomes a poem.

If there is nobody to listen—

it becomes a song.

Daeron:

If you can never go home—

It becomes a poem.

If you betrayed her trust—

it becomes a song.

If you will never see her again—

it becomes a poem.

If there is nobody to play for—

it becomes a song.

If you do not dare to remember yesterday—

it becomes a poem.

@spring-into-arda

Late submission for Experimental Tuesday.

[fiction-quotes]

In that time the Valar brought order to the seas and the lands and the mountains, and Yavanna planted at last the seeds that she had long devised. And since, when the fires were subdued or buried beneath the primeval hills, there was need of light, Aulë at the prayer of Yavanna wrought two mighty lamps for the lighting of the Middle-earth which he had built amid the encircling seas. Then Varda filled the lamps and Manwë hallowed them, and the Valar set them upon high pillars, more lofty far than are any mountains of the later days. One lamp they raised near to the north of Middle-earth, and it was named Illuin; and the other was raised in the south, and it was named Ormal; and the light of the Lamps of the Valar flowed out over the Earth, so that all was lit as it were in a changeless day.

Then the seeds that Yavanna had sown began swiftly to sprout and to burgeon, and there arose a multitude of growing things great and small, mosses and grasses and great ferns, and trees whose tops were crowned with cloud as they were living mountains, but whose feet were wrapped in a green twilight. And beasts came forth and dwelt in the grassy plains, or in the rivers and the lakes, or walked in the shadows of the woods. As yet no flower had bloomed nor any bird had sung, for these things waited still their time in the bosom of Yavanna; but wealth there was of her imagining, and nowhere more rich than in the midmost parts of the Earth, where the light of both the Lamps met and blended. And there upon the Isle of Almaren in the Great Lake was the first dwelling of the Valar when all things were young, and new-made green was yet a marvel in the eyes of the makers; and they were long content.

  —  Quenta Silmarillion (J. R. R. Tolkien)

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 3 - spring of Arda etc

Almaren was pretty, but Tulkas got married and got drunk with his brother-in-law. Yea...

So, Melkor messes it up and they go fortify themselves in a corner. (Which is at least semi-canonically a sub-optimal decision). Also, they gather most of the light and pretty things in there (which sounds very sub-optimal considering how things work in the Legendarium).

Making of the Trees is very interesting. Yavanna sings them into life and the Valar listen and Nienna (mentioned separately) sits in thought and cries. This fits my hc that while Namo is the omniscient one, Nienna handless all the difficult emotions that he would normally have from the extra knowledge. So of course she's already sad about the Trees, even not knowing why.

Or maybe simly she's sad because the Valar plant the Trees in a corner and are (in their opinion) unable to share them with the world (and later, CoI).

I forgot, but Laulerin was giving warmth too, not only light.

Manwë is canonically the Vala of poetry (and one of those most related to singing). Also, he's got blue (light in) eyes and blue robes.

Ulmo's music is the happy-sad mix we all know so well, also the foundations of the world are very sad.

Salmar, the least-known Maia. (serves Ulmo, made his horn)

Yavanna argues for a war with Melkor. Interesting.

The awesome part of Men being Weird™, but it's prefixed with "it is said, that after the Valar left, Iluvatar said…". I'd really like to ask about the source for that. Like, even the Valar weren't there! (probably were told it later, but still, the text is a little fuunny here) (or it's a case of source: Mannish lore. Feels a bit like it. (Pengolodh censored the best parts of what Finrod told him though))

Aulë and Yavanna. So, Aulë is very much like Melkor here (gets inpatient, and goes alone to do stuff because he fears the other Valar wouldn't like it), but his reasons are better (wants students to teach, not subject to dominate over). I guess this makes the difference.

And he gets over it after some talking. This too.

However… we don't hear about Melkor (when looking for the Flame Inperishable) being asked "What do you think you are doing?". Either it's because Aulë was more willing to share his story, or because Melkor was being more of a jerk. Probably the first one.

Yavanna is like "oh, king, is that true what my husband told me….". I don't like her vibe. It would be less passive agressive to just say "is it true". A little thing but I'm getting a bad vibe from her tone. But tbh Yavanna is one of my 2 least favorite proper Valar, so I may be biased. (Orome is the other one).

[balrogballs]

a very quick sketch of The Bird Lady [Elwing] done with the single colour-pencil I found in the bottom of my bag on an overnight train from hell, drawn for @spring-into-arda Back to Middle Earth Month Basketball Championship for ✨ Team Idril ✨ for the prompt “Connection” + some fun prose I couldn’t resist

[sweetteaanddragons]

Back to Middle Earth Month - Fun

@spring-into-arda

For a moment, the stars were obscured by puffs of smoke and the glorious rain of multicolored sparks that danced above them - starbursts of color waterfalling down in splendid chaos until one last explosion split the night and unleashed the image of a dragon over Tirion for what he suspected was the very first time.

“Fireworks, you say,” Feanor said thoughtfully.

“Indeed!”

Even after his unexpected release from the halls of the dead, Feanor was not much given to wishing to be in company with most of the Valar or Maiar. He probably would not have approached this one if he had not for a moment mistaken him for a Man; the long white beard fit far better within Vaire’s tapestries than in the usual guises of the Maiar, and he had hoped for the chance to speak with one.

Still. This “Gandalf” was interesting enough to talk to. Especially since -

“Are those more I spy behind you?”

Gandalf turned to look at his stock in what almost seemed like surprise. “And so it is! I confess, I had expected someone to run off with them by now. They certainly would have in the Shire.”

“They are extra, then? Not needed for tonight’s showing?”

Gandalf puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “Not needed, no . . . Did you have another purpose in mind for them?”

“The color is most remarkable; I wondered if you had experimented with other elements - the noise, for example, is impressive in volume, but hardly harmonious; what have you tried with that?”

An unexpected flare of delight flared in the maia’s eyes. “A worthy project! And one I would be deeply honored to embark upon with you. If all of us may turn our minds to such things, perhaps we can hold the world healed indeed!”

[farthertothemoon]

Soooo first actual art post after coming back is of Arda again!! (Surprise surprise) Involves a lesbian sandwich in a spring with two random other hunters I came up with off the top of my head for this lol

CW: sneezing, nudity (but you can't really see much at all, if anything) we'll see if this stays up lol

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

"But I say unto you that the children of Indis shall also be great, and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming. And from them shall spring things so fair that no tears shall dim their beauty; in whose being the Valar, and the Kindreds both of Elves and of Men that are to come shall all have part, and in whose deeds they shall rejoice. So that, long hence when all that here is, and seemeth yet fair and impregnable, shall nonetheless have faded and passed away, the Light of Aman shall not wholly cease among the free peoples of Arda until the end."

mandos really said it is indis who is earendil's forebearer. that it's his ancestry from her that takes front and center stage, not his ancestry from finwe. amen 👏👏👏

[aredhels]

And Melian put forth her power and fenced all that dominion round about with an unseen wall of shadow and bewilderment: the Girdle of Melian, that none thereafter could pass against her will or the will of King Thingol, unless one should come with a power greater than that of Melian the Maia.

@spring-into-arda Back to Middle Earth Month Basketball Championship Match 5: prompt “defence”

[hobbitwrangler]

B2MEM International Women's Day recs

I love the idea of spotlighting fics with female characters today, so here's my contribution to @spring-into-arda's Back to Middle Earth event!

she planted this garden by lonelyvisitor (G, Elros/Elros' wife, 0.8k) Beautifully written fic with such a fully realised main character that interrogates the alien-ness of the peredhil and how painful and strange it would be to be married to one of them.

A Thing Strange and Crooked by @emyn-arnens (T, Idril & Maeglin, 2.6k) An incredibly realistic depiction of Idril's isolation and sense of helplessness in the face of Maeglin's pursuit of her.

What Comes Naturally by @imakemywings (G, Indis & Míriel, 2.9k) The way this fic explores the aspects of motherhood that are painful and unglamourous and just plain sad ... I get emotional just thinking about this fic. And I live for this interpretation of Míriel.

Unwary by @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras (T, Théodwyn, 3.1k) Wonderful Théodwyn characterisation, I love her anger and resentment and frustration and how it all tangles with her grief at Éomund's death.

Birthright by cuarthol (M, Findis/Gandalf, 3.5k) I am still absolutely in love with this characterisation of Findis and the way her grief affects her.

Sword-hearted by @emyn-arnens (G, Éowyn, 1.7k) An insight into Éowyn's childhood that also weaves in Helm Hammerhand's daughter and references to Éowyn's aunts.

a fish, floundering on dry land by ncfan (T, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, 4.1k) Not only does this capture Finduilas' waining in Minas Tirith, it also comes with a cameo from one of Denethor's sisters.

what the shadows hid by @swanmaids (T, Lúthien/Thuringwethil, 0.5k) Perfect horror piece that manages to be hot, intimate and creepy all at once.

plundered her and stripped what remained by @swanmaids (M, Aerin & OC, 2.2k) A heartbreaking look at what befalls Aerin and the women of her people, caught between the pain of what they have lost and the pain that is to come.

Askance by @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras (G, Vidumavi, 5.3k) This fic perfectly portrays Vidumavi's sense of self and how she struggles with her feeling of otherness in Gondor.

Threads by Adlanth (G, Finduilas Faelivrin, Edhellos & Orodreth's wife, 1k) Gorgeously written conversation about foresight between three generations of elven women from three different backgrounds.

Beneath the Innumerable Stars by @emyn-arnens (G, Findis & Ilmarë, 0.9k) A conversation between Findis and Ilmarë about Findis' fears in the oncoming War of Wrath, with such vivid, magical imagery.

Queen Under the Mountain by @imakemywings (T, Dís, 2.9k) A look at Dís' grief and emptiness after the the Quest for Erebor, and her musings on how hollow her people's victory is for her.

Mutual In Divine Love by @elvain (G, Arwen/Éowyn, 4.1k) Love Arwen's rejection of fate in this fic, and her immediate appreciation for Éowyn is wonderful.

[ylieke]

Melkor began the delving and building of a vast fortress, deep under Earth, beneath dark mountains. That stronghold was named Utumno. The evil of Melkor and the blight of his hatred flowed out thence, and the Spring of Arda was marred. Green things fell sick and rotted, and rivers were choked with weeds and slime, and fens were made, rank and poisonous, the breeding place of flies.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"[Tulkas'] spouse is Nessa, the sister of Oromë, and she also is lithe and fleetfooted. Deer she loves, and they follow her train whenever she goes in the wild; but she can outrun them, swift as an arrow with the wind in her hair. In dancing she delights, and she dances in Valimar on lawns of never-fading green." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, "Valaquenta"

@ainurweek day 7 ⇢ NESSA

[ID: an edit comprised of six posters in shades of red, black, and brown, with some white and gold accents.

1: Sheerah Ravindren, a tamil model with brown skin and long black hair, some of which is braided. They are looking over their shoulder at the viewer with a neutral expression, surrounded by gold foliage on a red background. The image is framed by a white rectangle which cuts off in the upper left corner, where white cursive text reads "Nessa." White serif text in the bottom right corner reads "the dancer" in all caps / 2: A red-handled knife with a dangling tassel beside its matching red sheath on a black background. White text, some in cursive and some in the serif font, reads "And it is sung that in that feast of the Spring of Arda / 3: A deer's face emerging from dark shadows. Text in the same format as Image 2 reads "Tulkas espoused Nessa the sister of Oromë, and she danced" / 4: Sheerah Ravindren, this time facing the viewer with their hands resting on either side of their head. They wear no shirt, and their hair hangs over their chest, as well as several gold necklaces. Same text as Image 1, but the text has switched to the bottom left and top right corners / 5: Sheerah Ravindren facing the viewer and crossing their arms above their head as if dancing. Same text and format as Image 1 / 6: An indian classical dancer. The image shows multiple exposures, making the figure look like they are in several poses at once. Text in the same format as Images 2 and 3 reads "before the Valar upon the green grass of Almaren." //End ID]

[valacirya]

Indis appreciation post!

Disclaimer: All the canon info is taken from Morgoth's Ring and Peoples of Middle Earth. Also, this isn't a character analysis/meta. It's just a list of stuff I love (plus some headcanons) about one of my favorite characters in the legendarium.

1. She's athletic and outdoorsy. We're told that Indis is "exceedingly swift of foot" and that "she walked often alone in the fields and friths of the Valar, turning her thought to things that grow untended." When Finwe sees her, she's chilling on a mountainside. I love that she's associated with nature, specifically the wilderness. She parallels Feanor in her exploration of Aman and interest in the imperfect. Also, this is purely self-indulgent but ever since reading HoME for the first time, I've pictured Indis as tall and broad, and muscular beneath a layer of fat.

2. She doesn't let her unrequited love affect her life. "There was ever light and mirth about her." She's not the pining, languishing princess stereotype. She goes on. She doesn't let it make her bitter or depressed, and she is so restrained that only Mandos and possibly Ingwe are aware of her feelings.

3. Part of her attraction to Finwe is intellectual. In HoME we're told that his "mastery of words delighted her." Considering that Indis is also a poet/composer ("wove words into song") and that the Vanyar enjoy linguistics, it makes sense. It's also just really cute.

4. She's politically minded. Her reasoning for pronouncing 's' instead of 'th' is: "I have joined the Noldor, and I will speak as they do." This is the right thing to do to gain the respect of the Noldor and their acceptance of her authority. I also think she makes a statement with Fingolfin and Finarfin's mother-names. Arakano ("high chieftain") and Ingoldo ("the Noldo, eminent among the kindred") are not only powerful, prophetic names, they're also strikingly similar to Ingwe ("chief of chieftains") who is the High King not just of the Vanyar, but all Eldar. What a power move.

5. She's able to balance her own culture with the culture she marries into. Indis integrates into Noldorin society easily while remaining Vanyarin at her core, as is evidenced by Finwe saying that "above all her heart now yearns for the halls of Ingwe and the peace of the Vanyar." Her sons also respect and are proud of their mixed heritage; Finarfin "loved the Vanyar, his mother's people" and is said to be like them (as are Finrod and Galadriel), and Fingolfin's daughter-in-law is Vanyarin (plus the Nolofinweans have a special connection to Manwe).

6. She gets an awesome prophecy about her line. "But I say unto you that the children of Indis shall also be great, and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming. And from them shall spring things so fair that no tears shall dim their beauty; in whose being the Valar, and the Kindreds both of Elves and of Men that are to come shall all have part, and in whose deeds they shall rejoice. So that, long hence when all that here is, and seemeth yet fair and impregnable, shall nonetheless have faded and passed away, the Light of Aman shall not wholly cease among the free peoples of Arda until the end." Fuck yeah.

7. Her name means "valiant woman." This is the only definition given in Morgoth's Ring, I believe. I highly prefer it over the "bride" meaning because it's a badass name and is similar to Artanis ("noble woman") and Astaldo ("the valiant"). A headcanon that I'm particularly attached to is that Indis's mother-name is Indome, meaning "will of Eru."

8. She's popular with most of the Noldor. We're told that "Finwe, King of the Noldor, wedded Indis, sister of Ingwe; and the Vanyar and Noldor for the most part rejoiced." The majority of the Noldor also follow Fingolfin and Finarfin instead of Feanor.

9. She's friends with Nerdanel. HoME states that Nerdanel went to "abide with Indis, whom she had ever esteemed."

10. She gets pissed off at Finwe when he sides with Feanor. So much so that he thinks she won't want to see him if he's re-embodied. I know this is from his perspective but I'm inclined to agree. [However, this is still very presumptive of him, and his comment that "Indis parted from me without death" is super shitty. Eugh.]

11. She's close to her kids. Finarfin takes after her, Fingolfin passes on the name she gave him, Findis lives with her, Lalwen goes by the name she gave her. Finwe also says that "she hath dear children to comfort her."

So there we have it! What little info we get about Indis is pretty awesome. And this is just a list; I could write a whole essay on her fortitude and unconventionality and my numerous headcanons about her.

[outofangband]

Poisonous plants and their lore in Beleriand part one

Note: the information provided about the effects of poisonous plants are the effects for real humans; I headcanon that toxin tolerance varies far more widely among elven peoples so I’ll specify

Medicinal plants part one

Flora, fauna, geography and environment of Arda Masterlist

Societal world building Masterlist

My second post in the series will focus on poisonous properties of plants that appear in canon!

Wolfsbane (Aconitum lycoctonum) is a blue flower also called monkshood that grows in mountainous regions. It contains a neurotoxin called acotin that causes gastrointestinal symptoms, burning, tingling, convulsions and can cause death.

In Beleriand it likely grew primarily in the Ered Wethrin and thus was encountered by the Northern Sindar, the Noldor and the Hadorian people. It’s name in Sindarin translates more to blue tower. Although the effects of the poison are mild to elves, it has posed a risk to their animals.

The Noldor occasionally use a substance derived from several plants including wolfsbane as a numbing agent. Tingling or numbness is a common effect of wolfsbane toxin (in both humans and elves)

It’s gained infamy as a killer of wolves; in later ages, some Sindar elves plant it by graves and monuments to depict the fall of the Isle of Wolves and Sauron’s defeat by Lúthien and Huan

The word in the Hadorian language means horse bane and it is often destroyed on site, especially in their fields and along grazing routes. Gifting these petals to another is considered a grave threat

Also little personal note: . I have ideas relating to Aerin about this (not my poisoning post actually though that is on my mind) Also speaking of poisonous plants and post Nírnaeth Dor-lómin, henbane has appeared in several historical accounts of witch trials so I want to write further about that too.

Ragwort is a common flower, often considered a weed, growing in dry fields and steppes. It’s generally considered to be more dangerous to horses than humans but can cause illness if ingested

In Beleriand it likely grew primarily in Dorthonion and in the northeastern plains such as Himlad and parts of Thargelion

Humans (including in real life) can eat honey that’s made from ragwort and the Bëorians did; some report mild psychoactive properties from this honey, leading to its cultivation among some curious artists and scholars

The Avari of Northeastern Beleriand use yellow wildflowers including ragwort in wedding ceremonies

Wood anemone are small white flowers that grow in woodlands.

In Beleriand it likely grew in deciduous forests such as Brethil, the woods of Núath and parts of Doriath

These flowers are not poisonous to elves beyond mild increased oral sensitivity and are occasionally used as garnishes in Doriath, especially in late spring and early summer

In Haladin folklore, clearings and groves where wood anemone grows in abundance are the site of unmarked graves or other dangers

Other notes

Nutmeg is used as a psychoactive agent in Valinor and there are groves of nutmeg plants in the gardens of Lórien

There are plants that have poisonous effects or psychoactive ones only on elves rather than the opposite

In addition to the canon poison plants, I’m also going to do a post about the environmental damage to flora caused by Glaurung and around Angband including the poisonous plants and mushrooms that thrive within Angband often cultivated by Maiar there

[balrogballs]

Best-boy Finarfin

today’s (well, yesterday’s) sketches and ficlet for @spring-into-arda B2MEM music prompt, featuring Finarfin and a bonus Baby Finfin. Prompt lyrics included “I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes”.

Sketches are very rough for this one, apologies, but I was on a train and even Michelangelo did not paint the Sistine Chapel sat inside a Great Western Railway stopping service.

When he was knee-high, Finarfin had been Baby Finfin. Best-boy Finfin, eats-his-vegetables Finfin, easy-bedtime Finfin. He was content with unsolvable equations, and if bedtime was bedtime, then fine. In a way, he has not stopped being Baby Finfin.

Baby Finfin never really had anyone to play with because he was a baby and everyone was much, much older than him, and sometimes he would sit sulkily at the window all day long, stubbornly counting out the seconds. Sometimes he would tire of that, and so he would stomp back inside and build himself a house of wooden blocks and tell himself that it was just as good as racing horses in the fields outside like the big boys did.

It is much the same today.

Finarfin the Penitent lives half-awake as always, uneasy and inbetween, the lonely god of an empty world. Ponds and shallow hills and bedroom-shrines, dusk and dogged determination. He commissions statues to be carved from the steadiest stones and tells himself they are likenesses. In the face of loss he tells himself there will be a gain, that he will see everyone again. He puts mirrors at the end of most hallways in the palace, and is confident in their ability to reflect reality whilst providing the illusion that he is not alone. Finarfin sweeps up ashes and tells himself it is incense. He airs out empty rooms.

Dreams, however, persist. In Finarfin’s dreams there are miraculous returns, done things undoing themselves and it is fuelled by one of these dreams that he makes an effort to befriend his wan-faced granddaughter. Celebrían is as lonely as he is here, and their odd little friendship is dictated not by their blood tie but by their twin desires to tow lost ships back to their lonely shore.

“Arwen is a little like you,” she says. “Always sitting by the window waiting for people to return. Just like that, big-eyes and pout, my very-good girl.”

They look at each other and shudder. The fear of the left-behind steams up the mirrors, and they clasp their hands and tell themselves it is not foresight masquerading as hindsight but in fact the other way around. All their lost things would rise drenched from the sea, Finarfin tells himself, and there will be such glad cries all around. All will return. That other shore is only meant to contain them, not keep them. It is a repository, not an archive, this Middle-Earth.

Most of the time he thinks about the past. What happened then happens now in his mind, slippery and pervasive, piling up yeni after yeni. He turns old sequences over and over in his head, kneading the edges smoother and smoother until it is only rides-on-shoulders and stuck-in-apple-trees. He waits and watches, and knows that one day his future will come sailing sluggishly oversea, heads cast down, and on that day he, Finarfin the Penitent, will be magnanimous and benevolent and forgiving.

Until then, he is six-years-old with starfish hands, baby Finfin, best-boy Finfin pressed nose-to-window. He sits quietly, counting down the seconds till familiar faces crest snowcapped hills, and break through the bated blur of his breath.

[sweetteaanddragons]

B2MEM - Defenses and Endurance

@spring-into-arda (357 words)

He had many excellent defenses, long prepared, as to why he should not go back to Aman. They began with the Oath - and frankly, Maglor felt that should be enough on its own - and slowly wound down to the frankly less noble.

He thought he had prepared for any attacks anyone might make on the subject, whether verbal or otherwise.

He had forgotten to account for Elrond turning to begin addressing the matter and stumbling into his own desk like the fevered elfling he once had been instead of the great elf lord he had become.

Maglor was across the room in a moment, half supporting him; Elrond was still leaning far too heavily on the desk.

“You’re exhausted,” he said, and he wanted to say it lightly, but he could not quite hide the horror of just how much weariness Elrond had managed to conceal behind his perpetual mask of serenity.

“It is nothing,” Elrond said, but he could not quite hide the way he struggled, just slightly, to catch his breath. “The ring fails. I must adjust to it until I have sailed.”

Until.

And there Maglor hesitated.

Elrond would improve after sailing, he told himself. Things would be better once he was no longer trying to support the Valley with strength he no longer had.

But Maglor knew, better than most, that Aman did not heal all ills.

Especially of the spirit.

“I will be well,” Elrond promised him, arms faintly trembling as he allowed Maglor to help him into a chair. He hesitated, then said - “Will you sing something for me? It will help, I think, and I should not like to worry the others - “

All the old songs of endurance, of strength unfailing, sprang at once into his mind; they had helped in worse cases before and could again.

“Of course,” he agreed. 

(It did help.)

(And since it helped - )

(He could not bear sending Elrond to sail alone, never knowing if it had been enough.)

(If there was any aid he could give him - )

(He owed Elrond that. He owed Elrond every chance he could give to enjoy Aman hale and strong. He owed him that and more.)

(Elrond had already asked him once to return with him.)

(He would not make him ask again.)

[lamemaster]

A Breathless Affair

"I loved the sound of your name. The way it felt to call it out aloud and not just my mind. To feel it crisp on my lips was surprising."

His name, Thranduil Oropherion, which felt like a foggy winter morning riddled with the scent of pine. The crackle of a twig under a fawn's hoof. A name intertwined with Greenwood the Great. A prince's name, only a few could say out loud.

You close your eyes fearing the look in his eyes. The vulnerability of heart laid bare was too much even in love like yours. To make him aware of the power he held over you was too intense. So you eluded whatever he held in his eyes.

The air stills. Heavy with a weight that makes your heart rush wildly. Thranduil. The name that you had cherished. The one you cherish even now.

Thranduil feels joy blooming in his heart. Like an overbearing flower that sprinkles a colorful spring in the world around. Is this what love is?

Intoxicating sugar of joy. Unbearable, unrestrained urge to cherish. Words so simple that could leave him gasping worse than a mortal.

Gathering the remnants of your courage you continue, "So like a fool, I stood in front of my vanity uttering your name, again, and again," you chuckle breathlessly as if sharing his turmoil.

Of all the uncertainties of Arda. Your love for him and his for you was one unwavering constant.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him. Taking away the space and air that separated you from him. To rest your ear next to his rushing heart. That was all he could do, for words often fail matters of soul.