#still working on the galadriel fic but wanted to finish a few more of these before the ao3 collection closes next week

[emyn-arnens]

A Sea-change

Tar-Míriel & Uinen | G | ~900 words | AO3

Mercy. Salvation. Míriel’s footsteps pound to the beat of her heart. Mercy. Salvation.

She is the rightful queen of Númenor. She is Faithful. She will not die like the accursed who gathered at the Temple of Melkor like flies to a carcass.

She must reach the flaming peak of Meneltarma, that the Valar might see her, know her to be Faithful, and save her.

She cannot look behind her. If she does, her heart will surely quail and her footsteps falter.

She looks despite herself. The wave rises in a green wall above Elenna. The blackened dome of the Temple of Melkor splinters beneath the weight of the water, cracks with a roar like an explosion of glass, and the sea purges the temple of its filth. The temple falls into the heart of the sea, marked only by the steam rising from where it stood.

She turns. The path climbs steeply ahead of her. She has so far to go.

The wind buffets her. Míriel falls, strikes her face hard against the earth as her ankle twists in a ring of searing fire. She tastes blood, spits it out. Rain streams in her eyes, and she scrubs a hand across her face, rubbing grit into her eyes. She screams—in fear, in helpless anger—but her voice is lost to the wind.

She scrambles upright, staggers, and limps forward. The peak is too far, her ankle alight with fire.

Still she runs, tearing blindly at her skirts until scraps of fabric hang in tatters about her waist. Her feet, slick with rain and blood, slap wetly against the path. Mercy. Salvation.

Her breath is fire in her lungs, and a cramp stabs her side. Water swirls about her ankles and tugs at the hem of her shift, pulling her back. This, too, she tears off, and it floats away from her, ghostly in the dark water.

The mountain shudders beneath her feet, throwing her stumbling into its side, and she scrabbles at the side of the cliff for purchase, lunges forward. Mercy. Salvation.

The ground rolls again, and Míriel falls to her knees, crying out in fear and supplication. Know me, I am Tar-Míriel, faithful and rightful queen of this land! But her cries are lost in the roar of the vengeful sea, her voice stolen by the wind and scattered over acres of rolling waves that hungrily swallow her words.

The water sweeps beneath her, lifts her up and carries her to where the peak of Meneltarma burns with divine fire, a beacon blazing furiously in the midst of the thrashing waves. Before her eyes close against the stinging waves, she catches sight of the sky, night-dark and lashed with lightning, and knows that no mercy has been reserved for her.

Water fills her mouth, her lungs in a burning rush. She cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot thrash against the unyielding grip of the water. Her limbs loosen and her body sags in the water, giving in to the furor of the waves. The embrace of the sea is a fierce shove and a tender caress, sterner and gentler than anything Míriel has known in life. 

With the clarity of the dying, she remembers suddenly every prayer she whispered to Uinen, huddled at the edge of the sea, murmuring penitent prayers for the misdeeds of her husband and her people as the waves lapped at her feet. The words well in her again, unspoken.

Darkness seeps beneath her eyelids like ink, and she welcomes it, falls into it. The waves brush her brow in the tenderest touch she has ever felt, and she knows no more.

Míriel sinks, a glimmering jewel falling into darkness.

She is dead, and she is not. Her body is no more. Where once she had arms, fingers, legs, and feet, she is now no more than seafoam, a stirring of the current, a tide propelling the waves. She is formless, voiceless but sees clearly and keenly through the green water that swirls about her.

A flash of gold catches her gaze. Ships of sable and gold sink slowly, their sails billowing to slow their fall. Men fall from their decks, their arms spread wide. Their armor glints dimly in the darkening water. In the center of the wreckage sinks the mightiest ship of them all, a floating castle, huge and many-masted, with many banners of sable and gold rippling from its masts.

Míriel draws closer. The king who boarded the ship in foolish, vain pride is gone, trapped beneath the hills in ceaseless torment. But his men remain aboard—his men who followed every order he uttered, who knelt in worship to Melkor, who gathered the Faithful and slew them on the altar of the temple, who stained Elenna with every drop of blood they spilled.

The sea churns, and the falling ships shudder. With voiceless laughter, Míriel seizes fore and aft of the Alcarondas and folds the ship in half until its timbers burst and its masts tangle and break and its banners flutter like torn rags. 

And she draws the Castle of the Sea into the deeps.

[myfavouritelunatic]

Writer Asks

Thank you so much for tagging me @yletylyf @demonscantgothere @theriverwild @thrillofhope and @coraleethroughthelookingglass! Feeling the love! (and finally finding the time to do this haha :P)

How many works do you have on AO3? 17!

What's your total AO3 words count? 225,854 (the most I've ever written in a year in my LIFE)

What fandoms do you write for? The Rings of Power. But starting to dabble in general Tolkienverse/Legendarium.

What are your top five fics by kudos? - Your Blood, Your Power - Made the Pieces Part of Me - I Felt It Too - The Blacksmith - Barred

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Always (unless in a rare couple cases when I've had some odd or negative ones.) I think engaging with the readers is super important, and I love when I comment on other author's fics and they respond to me, so I happily do the same!

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hmmm that's a tough question. Probably my first piece 'I Felt It Too', even though I write a kiss into the infamous log scene, it still doesn't end happily for Haladriel. Feels!

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I'd say maybe 'Shake Like the Bough of a Willow Tree' because it's a version of Haladriel's first time together and it ends with them just being happy and in love.

Do you get hate on fics? So far I've been lucky to only receive two hateful comments (they weren't really hateful just misunderstood and harsh) on one of my fics. Basically they disagreed with something I made the 'reader' do in The Blacksmith and felt inclined to let me know. Was an interesting experience.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh yes I write smut haha. I mostly write het smut but have written a little f/f and m/m stuff as well. The Blacksmith even has a m/f/f threesome in it! I don't mind writing darker stuff either, so you'll typically find blood, biting, and choking kinks in my smut too.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one you've written? I don't yet write crossovers but I may dabble down the line. Never say never! My latest fic 'And Horror And Madness Walked' is sorta a crossover/mashup between TROP and The Silm, so that's as close as I've gotten.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge, nope.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope but totally open to it if someone ever wants to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No I haven't, but if I ever did, I know exactly who I'd do it with - my partner in crime @pursuitseternal ❤️

What's your all time favourite ship? Definitely Haladriel/Saurondriel. No ship has EVER compelled me to write so much.

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? I have a Galadriel x Female Reader fic called 'Ensnared' I started a few months back that got put to the side when 'Your Blood, Your Power' took off. I would love to go back to it, mostly because I had a lot of fun writing the Gal x Fem Reader pairing in 'The Blacksmith', but I don't know when I will if ever. Hopefully one day.

What are your writing strengths? Twists! haha. I love a good twist and have been told I'm quite good at writing them. I also write poetry so any chance I get to write more poetic sounding prose I absolutely love.

What are your writing weaknesses? Sometimes I think my vocab needs expanding. Thesaurus.com is my best friend haha. I have a habit of reusing words I think. Also planning my fics. I need to get better at planning my fics. Somehow lol.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? The only instance I believe of me ever doing so was using some elvish in 'The Blacksmith'. That was fun. I love the creativity of using different languages in your story, it really helps with the immersion.

First fandom you wrote for? It was never published of course, but when I was in early high school I wrote (and never finished) two Harry Potter reader insert fics. What I would give to read them back now hahaha. Bless 14 year old me.

Favourite fic you've ever written? Oh boy this is tough... it has to be The Blacksmith. Only because I'm so proud of what I achieved with that story. The longest thing I've ever written (102k) and complete with twists and turns that I cannot even believe I conceived and wrote. Plus the response I got from those that read it was so damn nice and I still think about some of the reactions I got on it. And I literally have made friends for life because I wrote and posted that story. It changed EVERYTHING for me. I'm so proud of it and so thankful it exists. Tagging (apologies if you've already done it): @pursuitseternal @heronamedhawks @gil-galadhwen @scriberated @youwearfinethingswellwriter @somebirdortheother @ichabodjane @klynnvakarian @90shaladriel @hazelmaines @myrsinemezzo @nenyabusiness @tmwillson3 @jhalya @hikarielizabethbloom

[ichabodcranemills]

1, 16 and/or 22 for the end of the year creator asks, please? :)

Hi! Thank you so much <3

Which work of the past year are you proudest of? Can you pinpoint why?

Oh, this is a hard one.

I'm really proud of we too are made of a need to call out through the dark, a Dominik Koudelka centered Wolf 359 fic. It was my first fic for this fandom and I liked the way I approached grief and dealt with a character we know so little of in canon.

But I think the one I'm proudest of is Through the Dark Glass.

It's a sort of gaslamp fantasy AU of The Magnus Archives and world building for this story was so fun! I'm actually working on a series taking place in this AU and I think it was a bold enterprise of mine, so I'm very proud of it.

16. Is there a subject/character/show you wish you had created more for? Why do you think you didn’t?

Yes! The Rings of Power, particularly Sauron and Galadriel, but I also wanted to write something about Isildur. I have a few stories on my WIP folders, but I only finished Yestarë.

I think the reason is the same as to why I never wrote any Tolkien fic until this year despite being a fan for most of my life: I'm a bit intimidated by the immensity of the canon and I keep thinking I should reread the Silmarillion before I write anything else (and I hadn't had time to reread Silm this year)

22. Are there any challenges/gift exchanges/etc you participated in last year? Which one was your favourite?

The only challenge I joined is the still-to-be-published Sylki Christmas Mischief and while it is, by default, my favourite, I'm having a great time writing for it and I expect posting the first chapter of my fic this weekend :D

End of the Year Creator’s Ask Game

[demonscantgothere]

I dont know if you are still doing this but for the question game

3, 4 Litost, 6 Litost, 17, 24 Litost, 26, 34, 41, 47 Litost, 49, and 50.

In case it wasn't obvious, I love Litost. Thank you so much for the absolute gift from the heavens that is that fic.

Oh wow, you have really made my day with that! Thank you so much!!! I don't think anyone's ever called Litost a gift from the heavens yet, so oh my God, I think this one is gonna stick with me for a minute!!! 😭❤️

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

. . . Alternate Universe, preferably canon divergence. Sharing a bed. Lots of hand touching. Face touching with hands. Hand porn is a thing. Angst. Lots of angst. Kidnapping tropes. Hate to love or Love/Hate being two sides of the same coin. The opposite of love is apathy, Galadriel, and you are not good at it.

4. What detail in [Litost] are you really proud of?

“I would comfort you,” he whispered, such sorrow in his own voice. “But it would only repulse you.”

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [Litost] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

So, Theo and Valandil have rings of power, but . . . there are others who have had them much, much longer. 😈

24. Are there any easter eggs in [Litost], and if so, what are they?

I don't think so unless callbacks to canon count. Galadriel's circlet that Halbrand makes her is the one from The Hobbit movies. The description of Theo's ring is based on one of the Dwarven rings from the original trilogy. In a future chapter there will be canonical name drops and inclusions of characters from Tolkien's works that haven't shown up yet. Also more callbacks to the original trilogy.

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

No dialogue. If I read something with only dialogue, I'd lose my mind, haha. I'd rather read action with silence.

34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

Occasional experiences here or there.

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

With every update to The Lesser of Two Evils, I often feel this way about Thrill of Hope's fic, though she is going to think I am pulling her chain by saying that. Her writing is exquisite to me.

47. If [Litost] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.

Lol, I have no idea!

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

A sequel to The Greatest Slavery.

The golden leaves on the edge of Lothlórien faded away to a world of green as the carriage bumbled along the path. Celebrían cast her gaze upward to the top of the canopy of mingling shades, her own eyes a reflection of them—green but golden amber in the center. Her eyes drew forth much attention in Lothlórien, for Elves were known to have grey eyes or blue, but never green or amber. Often, it caused her to cast her gaze downward to avoid the stares. Too many of them, so many eyes, and all of them blue or grey.

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

Trying to pick what to write tonight! I have multiple projects and no idea where I want to start! I've got the next chapter of Litost, of course, continuations of The Greatest Slavery and Eyes Closed, unnamed one shots sitting on the backburner, the next chapter of Beasts (which I think I'm waiting for Litost to be finished first, anyway), and then the finale installment for Dark, Dark My Light.

. . . I have no idea where to start.

[abeautifuldayfortea]

Visions of Aman

Summary: The death of Aragorn, the final parting of friends, the reunion of Legolas and Gimli and the passing of the Sindar colony of Ithilien into the west. Written from Legolas’ perspective.

A/N: I chose this particular period in time because I wanted to explore more in depth the reasons why Legolas decided to leave Middle Earth as soon as he learns of Aragorn’s death as it is only fleetingly mentioned in the appendices.  This took way too long and I am still far from satisfied with it. I spent two nights trying to decide what the tombs and the burial arrangements would be like (whether the bodies would be set in enclosed tombs or not (and then gave up after going nowhere)). Still, I hope you will enjoy reading it :), I am also very thankful to those readers who were kind enough to leave likes or comments or reblogs on my last fic and to those who didn’t as well, you all make my day, I love reading your comments and reblog tags!

Words: 1379

‘Look!’ he cried. ‘Gulls! They are flying far inland. A wonder they are to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until we came to Pelargir, and there I heard them crying in the air as we rode to the battle of the ships. Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth; for their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not yet beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which it is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under beech or under elm.’

‘Say not so!’ said Gimli. ‘There are countless things still to see in Middle-earth, and great works to do. But if all the fair folk take to the Havens, it will be a duller world for those who are doomed to stay.’ 

‘Dull and dreary indeed!’ said Merry: ‘You must not go to the Havens, Legolas. There will always be some folk, big or little, and even a few wise dwarves like Gimli, who need you. At least I hope so. Though I feel somehow that the worst of this war is still to come. How I wish it was all over, and well over!’

~ Chapter 9 Book 5, Lord of the Rings

There were now no folk, big or little that needed him now. The vision had come to him unbidden as he lay dreaming, wide eyed, gazing up into the many stars of Varda and walked among the strange paths in a place between the gaps of the waking world known only to elves.

Painted within his mind, he saw unbeknownst to him the Hallows of Minas Tirith and within its watchful darkness, three figures arranged abreast upon a great slab of marble each in a peaceful slumber, hands folded atop their chests and garbed in pale raiment. Upon the left he discerned the form of Merry and upon the right lay Pippin, their hair white and their faces lined with the wrinkles of laughter lines and between them, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. At his feet lay folded the standard of Elendil, its seven stars set with gems catching the thin light that filtered in through the barred panels of the mausoleum and flickering with a pale faintness like the slow extinguishing of lamps in the pale dawn.

Legolas reached out with his mind, but he could not find the fëa of the three that lay before him and as his fingers reached out to wake them, he felt no warmth, no gentle stirring of the breath. There was no doubt now, the king had passed out of the world, shepherded to the Halls of Mandos and beyond into an afterlife where he would never follow.

He felt the consuming emptiness of sorrow stir within him like the stoking of an icy fire, leaving him cold and shaking again at the loss of not one but three of his dearest friends. As he turned over onto his side, emerging from his rest he dreamt no more of the fair mallorn trees of Lothlórien in golden autumn nor of the last strongholds of Fangorn in eternal spring or the brilliant halls of Thranduil in their glory before they were diminished. A shadow had fallen on his heart and from afar, the white city itself was shrouded in a suffocating grey mist.

And looking to the west towards the White City of Gondor from his bower in Ithilien he began to sing, weaving the tapestry of stories and the great deeds of his friends in a song that leapt, soaring like the great Eagles in its most glorious retellings and fell tinkling into the deep wells of lamentation. The last of his kin who heard his song quietly removed themselves from their dwellings and were themselves so moved and enamoured that they were said to be brought perforce to mourn for them, although they did not know them. To the ears of Men also the lament came, Aragorn’s people who understood not the winding language of the Sindar but upon listening grovelled and wept, for it awakened the truth within them and none were surprised when they received the black news of his passing the following day.

At the last note, Legolas faltered and verily, he knew the time had come for him to heed at last the haunting cry of the gulls and cross the great western sea.

For three years, he gathered his kindred and together they crafted a mighty ship by the shores of Ithilien, crested by a swan’s head set with silver at the bow. The men of Ithilien looked ever on in awe for they had never seen any ship fairer and the make of it, from its rope and canvas – light and iridescent - to the delicately carved oars in the shape of freshly fallen leaves, were of elvish design and its graceful curves and finish were beyond the work of any man.

As the time grew near to its completion, Legolas sought Gimli at the Glittering Caves, and bade him come with him over the sea and into the west for he could not bear for his closest friend and final living reminder of his time on Middle Earth to be left behind. Just as the Caves themselves had been slowly carved by the dwarrow to reveal its hidden beauty, time had tempered Gimli and although the furnace within his eyes still burned with the ferocity of determination, he looked to be in the winter of his days. His hair was more white than brown and was no longer as spry as he had been in his youthful days sprinting across the fields of Rohan. It was not so difficult to glean a smile from him now for though he had once been grim, the days of the War had been left behind and his people flourished in the new colony under his guidance. All was well and the world seemed all the brighter with Legolas by his side. That night a great feast was set and Legolas was given a place beside Gimli at the high table and much honoured by his hosts.

He laughed and joked that Legolas had found himself more drawn to the underground than any elf there had been before him, his merriment bounding off the stars of the Earth embedded in the vaulted ceiling glimmering and iridescent. Looking high above his head to admire the work of Gimli he was reminded of the seven stars of Elendil, flickering at the feet of Aragorn and he shivered, his quip evaporating on his tongue. The cavern seemed all at once too large and despite the blazing torches, he felt cold and small.

“Gimli, my course is set for the shores of Aman. I walked in my dreams with the music of the waters cradling me, I felt the gentle rocking of a ship beneath my feet and a chorus of voices in the sea winds calling me. Will you sail with me? For there is more that I wish for you and I to see together, fairer than all the gems and treasures of the earth and deeper than the wisdom and thriving loveliness of any wood, so it is told. In such waking sleep the Lady of the Galadhrim came to me and she obtained grace for you to be received in the Blessed Realm even before I knew my own thought.”

Gimli was silent. His dark eyes hardened and he thought long for it was a hard choice to make. He loved the plunging valleys and cutting peaks of Aulë and in his dreams he gazed into the calm waters of the Mirrormere and wandered far underground discovering new places and minerals beyond comprehension, each more delightful than the last as he delved deeper into the very bones of the earth. No greed hid within his heart for he wished only to see the beautiful and learn from the fair. Yet he knew he was ever waning and growing closer to death as the timeless years marched on and if he did not go now, then he would be withdrawn without a choice to Aman by Aulë himself. Either way, his time was drawing thin and he wanted more than ever his friend by his side to ease his passing.

And he agreed, if only to gaze upon the exquisiteness of Galadriel again, to see Valinor in all its glory and to find anew things that lay beyond his wildest imaginings in that far island. His mind was set. Legolas was himself content and relieved for the dwarrow were a stubborn people and he knew that Gimli beheld things in a much different light than he did.

Together, they crossed the rolling plains to Ithilien borne by swift feet of horses to see the grand ship finished and sea ready. And together again, they would sail down the River Anduin on the pale dawn on the third year of the passing of Aragorn, leaving behind them the land of their forefathers, Middle Earth that they were born and raised in. 

It is said by the men who watched on that day that not one of the travellers heading toward the distant shores of Aman ever looked back, only onwards to where their final journey would take them...

And some who looked closely would have seen that among the host of elves on the ship stood an elderly dwarf beside his friend at the bow.

[cycas]

Fic Writer Tag Game

Tagged by @amethysttribble!  Thank you, this is a fun one!

AO3 name: bunn

Fandoms: Tolkien, Rosemary Sutcliff, Arthuriana & BBC Merlin, Organization for Transformative Works RPF  

Number of fics: 108

Fic I spent the most time on: 

Goodness, I really have no idea. I've written quite a few long things, but also, how to define 'spent'?  The House of Fëanor : Little Pity uses ideas that have roots at least thirty years deep, but the actual writing was only a few weeks.

 I have been researching and writing Rexque Futurus (my modern-day Merlin post-canon thingy)  for several years, but very on-and-off. I spent about two years researching The White Hare, (an Eagle of of the Ninth post-canon thing), but I'm not sure how much of that was actually writing time...

Fic I spent the least time on: Not Leaving Kudos. I wrote it in my head while walking my dogs, wrote it down in half an hour when I got home. For a very long time it was the most popular thing I've ever written :-D

Longest fic: Quenta Narquelion, at 119,524 words is the longest fic published as one document. However, my Return to Aman series is 151,764 words and I might have published that as a single story if I'd realised at the beginning what it was going to turn into.

Shortest fic: In Honour of Bilbo Baggins, which is less a fic than a brief poem, it's only 65 words. In terms of actual fic, The Country for Farming, about Marcus and Esca visiting the Cerne Abbas Giant, which is 329 and not much to it.

Most hits: That's now Quenta Narquelion , apparently! 8390.

Most kudos: The House of Fëanor : Little Pity , at 512, but that does have the advantage of being the last story in a 15-story arc, and you can’t kudos a series.  Some people only kudos the last story, but I think some of them may read the whole thing but only kudos at the end.

Most comment threads: Quenta Narquelion has 238 comment threads, because I published it a chapter a week, so people commented as it went along.

Most bookmarks: As a single story, Spirits, Names, and Why It’s Important to be Specific has 104 bookmarks, which is another example like 'Not Leaving Kudos' of 'why do I put so much effort in' because it's not really by me, it's a collaboration between three authors on someone else's idea, and I wrote my bit in about an hour. That said, Return to Aman has 218 bookmarks as a series and I did write all of that!

Total word count: 814413.

Favourite fic I wrote: HOW can I choose between them?! My beloved stories, I love you all!  

OK, but if I must choose one, I think I’ll go for Cool Water on a Hot Day, in which Feanor  & Nerdanel visit England in 991AD.  I’m proud o fhtat because it pulls together so many ideas that are dear to me.  

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: None on 'rewrite'. I don't feel the need to do that.  But on 'expand on' : Oh lord, so many. I feel deeply guilty that I have four unfinished WIPs, and I'm really hoping to get those all finished. All are beloved!  None shall be abandoned! 

Once those WIPs are done, I'd quite like to do more of some of my series: 'Discussions upon Translations from the Elvish' (Bilbo chats to Elves about history), send Fëanor and Nerdanel on more adventures in 'Elves in History', maybe write more post-Return to Aman stories in 'Undying Lands' and perhaps also more 'War of Wrath' since there are a lot of unexplored viewpoints there.  I still haven't written Celeborn dragging Galadriel back to visit Doriath and finding it's full of dragons.

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on:

OK, here's a bit of dialogue from 'Lands of Weeping and of War':

“I understand that your art is knitting,” Maglor said, going for what seemed a safer topic.

“My art?  My hobby, I’d say.  I have no arts. The tasks that I am practiced at are not tasks that I wished to do, and I’m grateful that there’s no-one now to ask them of me,” Arachon’s mother said with a bitter twist to her mouth. “I lost my youth and my beauty to slavery in Hithlum. I’ll never get them back.  I intend to sit in the sun and knit in peace, like an old woman should. I may not do a good job of it, but I would have done, if I’d had the chance to practice sooner.”

***

Tagging: @joyfullynervouscreator because I know you track your stats in a very organised manner, @mainecoon76 , in case it trips of thoughts about Narvi & Celebrimbor, and @feanope and @grundyscribbling on the offchance you might have fun doing it.

[kumeko]

Title: the act of living

A/N: For lynndyre, for a lotr exchange! I’m not happy about the first two pieces in this fic, but I think the rest came out decently enough. :/ I really liked the prompt of post-canon, of what comes after, and making it bitter but also hopeful.

…

…

…

…

i. Gondor

 Despite all the damage to it, Gondor stood strong. It had always done so; years of facing enemy after enemy had weathered it into a resilient place, capable of shaking off injury and keeping a united front. Its people were even more so, their faces as sturdy as the stone that made the city.

 This was a comforting thought when directed at their enemies. Less so when it was directed at himself. There were many ways Aragorn thought the people of Gondor would treat him but even the cool indifference of a stranger would have been preferred to the harsh front to an intruder. It was even more apparent when Aragorn rode through the streets, surveying the damage with Faramir and Pippin. As their horses trotted slowly down the winding streets, as they catalogued the various repairs they had to make, Aragorn could feel his people’s eyes on him. For the most part, their gaze was hard, their lips thin, jaw set. The occasional citizen would give him a tentative smile and wave, but the overwhelming feeling was this:

 Who are you to rule us?

A fair question, perhaps. It wasn’t like he’d grown up here, it wasn’t like they were expecting the king to return. It wasn’t fair to just push him forward as a king in the middle of a war and expect everything to be fine after. Not that Aragorn was sure what he was expecting; he had never wanted this position in the first place.

“It’s not that bad,” Pippin chirped. Seated in front of Aragorn, he glanced up at him. For a moment, Aragorn thought the hobbit had read his mind. “It’ll take a little muscle and spit, but we’ll clean it all up.”

 Ah, that made more sense. His friend had thought his dark mood was over the destruction. However clumsy it was, Aragorn was grateful for Pippin’s kindness and he smiled. “Certainly.”

 “The people of Gondor are not one to back away from a challenge,” Faramir said from his right. He sat straight on his horse and while there was still something ghostly about him, he looked proud. “We have weathered attacks before. This will be no different.”

 “Really?” Pippin furrowed his brows, disbelief on his face. “You guys have fought orcs and wraiths and all of that?”

 “Well, perhaps nothing that bad,” Faramir admitted with a chuckle.

 “Thought so.” Pippin snorted derisively. “No way anyone can just rebuild after all that.” He gestured at a pile of rubble nearby, soldiers and local citizens creating a chain as they shifted giant rocks to a wooden cart. “Not without a lot of help.”

 “Fortunately the elves are assisting,” Faramir answered, glancing at Aragorn with a wry smile. “They said to consider it a wedding present of sorts.”

 Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly. “Arwen.” He glanced at the clean up crew once more. Now that he was paying attention, he could see the odd elf in the group, examining the debris and finding the right rock to move next.  The folk regarded the elves warily but begrudging accepted the assistance. “How long have they been here?”

 “Over a week.” Faramir smiled wryly. “It was a little odd at first but the people have come around to it now.”

 “Have they?” Aragorn glanced at Pippin and thought of Boromir. Of Legolas and Gimli. The oddest of companions that were now the closest of friends. There were things that you could only learn by working next to someone, to watching them toil away with you. He tightened his grip on his reins, pulling his horse to a stop.

 “Huh?” Pippin thudded against his chest at the sudden stop. Bemused, he stared up. “See something?”

 “More of a realization.” Aragorn slipped off his mount. “I’ll go help out.”

 He was never the sort to watch from a distance anyways. Aragorn had gotten this far through hard work. This kingship would be no different.

    ii. Rohan

 “Wow.” Merry stared at the garlands strung up around the Meduseld, his eyes wide with wonder.

 “Unexpected, isn’t it?” Eowyn chuckled, amused by her companion’s amazement. To be perfectly honest, she had looked the same earlier. It had been too long since flowers lined the halls of her forefathers, since the cold grey had been washed over with warmth of a blaze and good company. The trifecta of loss, a poisonous influence, and war had left her home less than it ought to have been.

 Now, finally, it was returned to its former glory.  

 “Yeah, I didn’t think you guys even had flowers,” Merry chirped, examining a wreath on the wall. There was a long silence and then his ears burned a bright red as he realized what he’d said. Turning around, fidgeted nervously. “Not that that’s a bad thing—it looked very noble before—we just have a lot of flowers—”

 Eowyn laughed, cutting him off as he cycled through excuses. “No, no, it is understandable. We haven’t had flowers in here for a long time.”

 “Oh.” Feeling relieved, Merry smoothened down his shirt with a pleased smile. “It looks good.”

 “We’re celebrating our harvest and the end of the war, so I thought we could brighten the place.” Eowyn gestured at the torches that lit up every few metres, ensuring that no darkness pervaded her home. It felt a lot more like it did when she was younger, when her brother used to chase her through these halls and her uncle…

 She paused at the thought. He would have liked how it looked, praised her with his gentle smile and kind words.

 Eowyn wished she could have seen it. That he could have seen this. Loss, she found, sprung up in the most unexpected of places and every time it took her breath away.

 Unaware of her shifting emotions, Merry replied, “So this isn’t everyday? We have flowers everywhere at home, so it’s strange to find places without it.”

 He was smiling up at her, bright and unassuming, and Eowyn shook herself out of her thoughts. Her uncle wouldn’t want her to linger, the way he had lingered over her cousin’s death. The best way to honour him was to keep moving forward. Looking down, Eowyn asked “Is that so? I have never seen that many flowers.”

 “Well, not everywhere everywhere—definitely not on the toilets cause that’s weird but everywhere else.” Merry stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And maybe not on the paths. The proper ones, that is—the ones that we aren’t supposed to take are chock full of weeds.”

 “The ones that get you in trouble?” Eowyn teased, having heard plenty of stories about angry farmers and vegetables.

 “It’s only trouble if you get caught!” Merry retorted, crossing his arms. “And I almost never get caught.”

 “Hmm, I wonder about that.” Eowyn chuckled. Every description Merry gave of his homeland gave a warm impression. It sounded like place that would produce such wonderful hobbits, such wonderful heroes. “Perhaps I should see for myself?”

 Even Farmer Maggot sounded fun to meet. Especially since she wouldn’t be robbing him.

    iii. Mirkwood

“I did not expect you to come all the way here,” Thrandruil drawled, each word carefully articulated as though each one was a jab from one of his guard’s spears. Walking through a well-maintained path in Mirkwood, his gaze was ever upward, giving one the impression he was barely paying attention to his companion.

 Celeborn knew better than to fall for that. Thrandruil was always alert to his surroundings, however he might act, and it would take one wrong word, one false step to be barred from returning to the forest elves’ realm. “I heard the forest had cleared and thought it was a good time to visit.”

 That wasn’t a lie—the forest was brighter than it had been in centuries. The spiders were finished, their webs burned through, and starlight once more graced the elves as they frolicked in the night. Mirkwood was beautiful again.

 “It has,” Thranduil admitted with a regal nod of his head. His brow furrowed and scornfully he added, “Though it is the age of man, so who knows how long this shall last.”

 “So many elves have departed these days,” Celeborn sighed. “Lothlórien feels emptier these days, as does Rivendell.”

 “As expected. They were never tied to the land like we are,” Thrandruil spit out, contemptuous. “I am only surprised they didn’t leave earlier.”

 He should have expected that remark. Despite the time that had passed, Thrandruil’s pride was infamous and it seemed nothing could change that. “You aren’t going to answer the call?”

 “One day, maybe.” Thrandriul shrugged dismissively. “Perhaps when my son is tired of playing with dwarves and the sea. Until then, this is my kingdom and I will not abandon it while it still stands.”

 “As expected.” Celeborn chuckled. “Galadriel is also considering leaving.”

 “And you?” Thrandruil looked at him now, his brow raised curiously. “What will you do?”

 “I will join her.” Celeborn clasped his hands behind him, looking up at the starlight through the trees. It glinted off nearby goblets and here still the sound laughter and life existed. “But not for some time. Lothlórien has lost its shine and diminished. Rivendell is a tomb.” He glanced at Thrandruil. “Is there room for another here?”

 Thrandruil smiled.

    iv. Rivendell

“You look worn, old friend.” Elrond didn’t look up as Gandalf stood next to him. Despite the physical changes underwent, his voice remained ever the same, as did the comfort in his presence. “What troubles you?”

 “Things that are beyond my control.” Elrond sighed. Standing on a terrace, he watched from a distance as his daughter read a book on a bench. How much longer would he be able to witness that sight? How much longer could he just simply open his mouth and call her?

 “Ah.” Gandalf studied her for a long moment before shaking his head. “You made your choice long ago. And though you do not want to admit it, so had she.”

 “I should have realized it the moment they met.” Elrond frowned, closing his eyes. “I had hoped otherwise. Her path will be a painful one, a long one, and there will be no one to comfort her in the end.”

 “You are not staying then?” Gandalf asked, his brow raised.

 “No, I do not think I can bear to see her hair grow white. And I do not want my sons to change their mind because of their love for the Dúnedain. Besides, already the world is changing.” Elrond smiled wistfully. “There is no room for our kind anymore. It is better to accept it and leave now.” Before their images of the world was tarnished, before he could see the old places wrought with ruin. He had seen what man made, what man could do, and while there were great creations, there were more often than not ruinous. Only the dwarves could match them for greed.

 “Then fret not.” Gandalf squeezed his shoulder. “There are others here to comfort her. Thrandruil—” Elrond snorted. “—I know you do not like him, but he and Celeborn will still be here when her time comes. She will not go alone, forgotten and unloved.”

 Elrond glanced at Gandalf. “And you?”

 “Perhaps.” Gandalf only smiled mysteriously. “I cannot say where I will be or not in the years to come.”

 “Father!” Before Elrond could question him further, Arwen waved to him, a smile on her face.

 There would be plenty of time to interrogate a dodgy wizard in the future. For now, he wanted to soak in every moment with Arwen he could. There would be so few of them and his years too long after.

    v. Shire

It was strange how empty the Baggins’ home was. Samwise had taken care of it for years and had helped his father for it even longer. It had been customary to find white-haired Bilbo in the gardens, writing the next page of his manuscript. Or Frodo puttering about, laughing about the latest prank Merry and Pippin had pulled.

 Now the gardens ran wild, left unattended during their mission. That was something Sam could fix. Something he would fix.

 Something he couldn’t do anything about was how silent the rooms inside were. No fire crackled in the hearth, inviting one to rest their feet and stay a spell. There was no welcoming greeting when the door opened, no soft swear from trying to open a too tight jar of walnuts. Just complete and utter silence.

 Sam stood at the foyer, not sure if he should go further in or not. It had been one thing when Frodo had left him the key to the place, another thing entirely to use it. He could just sell it but Frodo’s history, his own history was too deeply tied to it.

 What to do?

 What to do?

 Sam took a deep breath. The air smelled musty from disuse. Frodo wasn’t here anymore. He was across the sea with the elves. A place Sam could go, if he wanted to. Another decision he wasn’t ready to make. Pulling out the key, he quickly slipped out of the hole and locked it behind him.

 Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d figure out what he wanted to do with this place. To do with himself.

 Today Rosie was at the pub and Merry and Pippin would be back from their travels and he could just soak in the act of living.