#sweet merciful valar save me

[laneynoir]

Part Two of Changes

Legolas x reader

You wake in an amazingly soft bed, light streams through windows causing you to squint. The first thing you notice is that you no longer hear the blood puming through your veins at a rate that makes you sick. The second is that you had said that aloud.

The third is that Thranduil is in the same room, and happens to be... Laughing? "Uh hi?"

His hand is on you forhead moments later, and you feel the horrid pressure lessening. "Good morning, it is a pleasure to see you awake."

You blink twice. "Oh. How long have I been out?" His reply of three days leaves you nodding. "That explains why I feel like I've had the best sleep in my life." You pause, but decide not to dance around the issue. 

"I'm terrably sorry, but I must ask, have I been healed so you can kill me by testing out a torture device?"

The Elvenking blinks slowly, mouth lifting elegantly at the corner. "Have I made such an impression that you would think such?"

You shrug, and oh what a gloriously simple movement- free of pain you could liken it to the ripple of water over a rock in a cool, clear creek. "Forgive me, I'm suspicious by nature and life with dwarves tends to cultivate that, rather than remove it." You grin. "And you haven't exactly given me the best experience, I've spent the last who knows how long stuck in a doungon with the worst pain I have ever faced. And that's counting periods."

"I supose I can see where you may have garnered your mistrust."

You take the proffered glass, relishing in the delightfully clear taste, fresh spring water. "I'm still not fixed, I hear to well, and I can taste the minerals in this water, even though by rights they should be far to subtle."

The Elvenking look as if he is repressing a smile. "You wish to know what was 'wrong' with you I assume?" You nod. "Your body was going through a change, I assume it had much to do with your impromptu relocation from your 'Earth' it seems the Valar saw more than meer mortal exsistance for you.

"The heightened awareness, aversion to sleep, sensitivity... All of these were outward signs of this change. I placed you under a deep sleep so that I could better access your mind, having prodded a few things I managed to push the transformation into speed, the discomfort of this transformation passed during your slumber."

You bite you lip, confusion being the most prominent of the swirling emotions in your head, you inquire; "You keep mentioning this change, what about me has changed? Am I now a goblin?"

This time Thranduil does not contain his smirk. "That my dear is where the humor of this most interesting situation arrives."

"Oh, 'cause that's not cryptic" at the ache in your neck's insistence, you may back on the pillow. "Come now, the suspense is killing me, what foul beast am I changed to?"

"Let us say that I have no confidance in your dwarrow accepting you."

"What's that-" the implications set in halfway through your sentance. "...oh dear."

"Hm, I'm afraid you have a better chance with my son. However yes, you are now an elf." He looks entirely too pleased by this, and you shoot him a disgruntled look.

"That explains the ear pain. But I can't be an elf, I barely manahed to keep a flimsy mortal life together! Elves are suposed to be the fairest and wisest, I followed a butterfly because it looked neat, then ended up falling down a hole and landing buck ass nude in a Dwarven sheep pasture!"

"My condolences."

You sit up. "Has anyone ever told you, you're an ass?"

He sighs, and in that moment you can see through the mystical glow that seems to cling to his pale skin, you see the centuries of life reflected in his eyes. "What has happned to you is unheard of, no tale has ever even hinted at the possibility of a mortal experiencing such change. Therefore no one expects you to adapt seamlessly.

"Not all elves are always wise fair and kind, as I am sure you will have gathered. Indeed my peoples have long suffered life in a forest riddled with sickness, fighting a never ending battle from two fronts, excluding the dangers of our own home.

"Such we have been labeled warlike and less wise by our distant kin, tell me; is that fair?" He shakes his head. "No, our kind may be immortal, but still we have much to learn."

His words give you much to think about, so you stay quiet a moment. "So... What happens to me?"

"If your dwarves forsake you-"

"They would never!"

He holds a hand up. "Do you know this, truly?" At your silence he says, "No we can know nothing for certain. If your dwarves forsake you, the woodland tell is an open sanctuary to you." His mouth tilts upward again. "Indeed, I think my son should be much displeasured by any other offer. He is most fond of you"

You feel the blood rise to your face. "I'm sure he was mearly fascinated by the shriveled hooman turing into an elf." The smirk on Thranduil's face is a might too knowing for your taste so you ask instead, "Where is Legolas?"

The King sighs. "He and Tauriel raced off after the Drarrow band." He glares when you stiffle a laugh.

"Sorry" you say, batting your eyes to let him know that you are not, indeed, sorry.

Days have passed, and when you are at last allowed from the halls of healing you nearly sing with joy.

Instead you take a walk through the gardens, as much if a walk as you can any way, as you now mist get used to weighing about twenty pounds but having the strength of fifty athletes.

The two elves whispering to eachother while pointing 'discreetly' in your direction kill the peacfull mood.

It is almost a relief when the King tells you of the March on Erabor.

You agree quickly to come, Thranduil wishes no more bloodshed than he can prevent. And as you are kin, he points out, you have a better chance at convincing the dwarves to assist Laketown.

~

You knock back the mug of ale that Legolas hands you, though the taste is not so great as that of Thranduil's wine, not having to watch the Elvenking flirt with Bard king of Dale is a definite win.

Besides, you think with little shame, your current company is quite adequate.

Reclined on the grass and staring at the stars you trace the shapes of dwarven constellations.

"You are troubled."

The clear musical sounding voice does not phrase this as a question, bit as an invitation to seek comfort. After a mental debate you concede.

"Yes. They -the dwarves- are my family. Or were. The betrayal of their faces this morning... Hurts quite frankly. I dont know what or how they will react when they see... Me." You sit up, no longer focoused on the stars and wrap yourself in your cloak.

Legolas tentivly reaches a hand to your shoulder, smiling when you lean into the touch. "Dwarrow are suspicious in the best of times, to an elf, much less and entire army of elves at the door of a mad king? They, or at least your king, will suspect trickery. It is not you they bear grudge against."

The shift closer to the prince and grin. "I'm not sure I wish their wrath upon you my prince." You smirk. "Unless you have put some spell of trickery onto me."

Legolas traces the line of your jaw. "Do you feel tricked? Or under a spell? Tell me, what spell do you feel?"

His fingers brush your ear as they push hair back from your face, the touch sending and involuntary shiver through you.

Before you vould do something rediculouse, such as kissing the Ellon, you hear footsteps approaching. Moments later the owner appears, bowing quickly. "Prince Legolas, the king wishes to see you," he turns another bow in your direction. "You as well"

As you make your way tword the tent where they await, Legolas whispers, "I harbour no ill will unto Lord Bard, however I do hope that he may be absent from this meet. However much I may approve, my father is not so subtle as he think. That or he does this on purpose."

You stiffle a laugh before entering, and though Bard is presant, your attention is stuck on a curly haired Hobbit instead. "Bilbo!"

Though he looks unnaturally pale, Bilbo's face brightens. "Ah it is good to see you again! I- my goodness what has happened to your ears?"

On instinct, you reach up to touch the offending subject (causing all three elves to reden, though Tauriel's smirk is quite obvious). "I'd near forgotten, turns out I'm an elf now" you grin self consciously while doing halfhearted jazz hands.

Bilbo blinks very rapidly before He shakes his head and smiles. "Okay, alright."

"Wait- Bilbo why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the mountain?"

Bilbo then tells of how he took the arkenstone as his part of the share, explaining his plan. After the two kings and wizard acknowledge this course of action, Bilbo bows and leaves the tent.

"That was quite a brave thing to do Master Boggins."

Bilbo lets out a distracted humming sound. "It wasn't suposed to be you know, I meant what I said; I don't wish to see war."

You follow the line of his sight to the mountain of Erabor. "You also wish to save the life of your love." At his blushing and stammering you grin. "I may now have the eyes of elves, Bilbo, but that does not mean I was blind during our journy."

Cheeks as red as his prize-winning tomatoes, the hobbit huffs. "Now really! And even if I were -which I most certainly am not- you would have no room to speak of such. I'll remind you of a particular elven Prince, one who stayed beside your cell in silent comfort, and did everything he couldn't make your pain less?"

"Bilbo Bag-"

"You should have geard the argument he gave his father too, it was quite moving."

"Bimbo Boggins I love you, but I am two seconds from tieing to to a pillar and putting shoes on you." Your threat is rewarded by a scandalized gasp.

"You wouldnt-"

You grin, letting him know that you most certainly would. But the expression falls almost immediately. "I hope this works. I may not be accepted on the other side of this, but the company is closer to me than any blood relative I've ever had."

Bilbo ponders your words for a second. "It will." He says finaly. "It will."

You get the feeling he's more trying to convince himself than anything else.

"Gandalf doesn't wish for me to return to the Mountain."

"But you need to." At his signing admittance you stand. "Alright then, come on."

As you casually walk -with no alternative plan whatsoever, no escaping hobbits here- Bilbo, ever curious asks after you adaption to the new species.

"It's alright I suppose," you say after a shrug. "My main problem is forgeting that I only weigh twenty pounds max, but have the strength of three trolls. Fist time I rose from bed I accidentally launched myself into the air and hit my head on the ceiling."

Bilbo laughs, a merry sound, that convays a feeling of hope into you.

~

That hope dissapates quickly the next morning, as you watch in horror as your hobbit is held over the edge of the parpet.

You sigh in relief as Gandalf intervenes, though you shift in your armour. Rather niceb admittedly, and fits well, though not perfectly. The swords on your back provide a familiar comfort, and you are grateful for their return.

And then Lord Dain arives and you must refrain from snorting at his typical dwarven lack of diplomacy.

The Elven king is not so cold a being as he allows outsiders to think, his people remain loyal out of love. You are reminded of this when he pulls you into his steed during the battle, and instantly a calming influence spreads over you, the painfully loud roaring in your ears is suddenly able to focous.

Thus you continue until he elegantly rolls off, deciding to fight on foot to free his movement.

And again you are reminded of change, as the Thranduil pleads for you to go to his son.

Not that you had any intentions of doing otherwise. Ori and Bilbo are quite grateful for the ride to Ravenhill after you spot them both sprawled on the ground. (You kater learn that the hobbit had stumbled into the scribe whilst invisable.)

Bilbo's message is conveyed in time for Dwalin and Thorin, but this offers little comfort. Kili and Fili have walked into a trap.

~

In the midst of their concealed panic you tell them to go, and cross the water to search for the princes. 

Silently you pad through the tunnels, runing into Kili, you want him and have a heated argument in an attempt not to allow him to follow in search of his brother.

It is nearly comical the way he freezes suddenly, gaping at your ears.

"I'll tell you later, now go. Tauriel is searching for you, do you wish her to come to harm?"  This is am admitedly underhanded tactic, bit you find no shame In using both the elven warrior and his uncle against him.

After a panicked internal debate Kili's face settles into a determined expression, his hand shoots to your arm. The grip is tight enough to bruise, but the pressure is inconsequential against the severity of his gaze. "I trust you, you must know this. Help my brother. I trust you." You jerk your head, but his back is already turned and he strides quietly away.

Twitching your ear you hear comotion from down another tunnel and quickly dart down.

~

The aftermath of the battle is brutal, losses numbering high, but not so devastating as they may have been without the assistance of Radagast and his band of reinforcements.

Fili is the least injured of the Royal family, escaping with only broken ribs and a few nasty cuts. Kili's leg was shattered, and Oin says that it will never heal compleatly, the Wolf prince woukd bear a limp for all of his days.

Thorin has not yet awoken, the only reason for his life being a very outraged Bilbo Baggins (and supposedly the elk had something of a hand in the matter) 

Upon your entrance to the tent Kili is only patient awake, Oin hovers next to an unhappy looking Thranduil, who stands over a deathly pale Thorin.

When you take Kili's side he pushes his forgead against yours, a reliving alternative to the panicked moment that you misinterpreted his intent. "Thank you." He whispers.

He'd seen, having made it to the open ice just as Azog was wraping his monolouging up. In the end that was what had saved Fili from the pale orc.

You'd crept from behind, mind racing. Tackling Azog wasn't an option, as your new weight would have the same effect as a dodge ball against the large frame. So you'd settled for throwing another orc at the great white boy. He'd topped from the edge, nearly taking Fili with him.

A throat is cleared off to your left, and Kili releases you with a smirk. "Worry not oh elf prince, you've as much danger of me stealing y/n from you as inhave of you snatching Tauriel." To you he says, "You're physical change matters nothing to the company, always will you be welcomed in our home, Namad."

~

Legolas is as always a comforting presance, and rescues you when Oin begins poking at your injuries.

Walking through encampment you shiver. "The days are growing colder."

Instantaneously legolas becomes protective. "Do you wish to find a fire to rest beside?" You laugh.

"'S not that bad Leggy my dear," noticing that somthing seems off with him you bump agaisnt him. What is bad is your mood, what's wrong?"

He does not answer at first, but at your insistent glare he relents. "What was it that Prince Kili called you?"

You start. "Huh?"

"In the healing tent."

You smile and loop your arm through his, remembering to late that this may be more forward than youd intended, but as he says nought, nor moves away you leave it there. "Namad, it means sister. A great honour."

Legolas seems calmer and the two of you continue your stroll, speaking of anything that comes to mind. Later a disgruntled looking gaurd arives to escort Legolas to his father, unthinking, you press a kiss againstvhis cheek and turn to leave making it four steps befire your action register.

You seize up in horror, waiting for Legolas to say somthing in disgusts, but when you look at his face he just gives you his unfairly beutiful smile and walks away with the gaurd.

~

Legolas sighs when at last he is free from his fathers tent, why he was needed when all the king of Dale and Thranduil did was flirt the whole time...

The Prince's train of through is interrupted by the words of two elves close to the fire.

"-isnt even a real elf. Dont know why they let it so close to the prince."

"Must be offering other services, has the look of one of them." This is greated by laughtwr from his companion.

Legolas draws close, just as the reply comes; "Do you supose the king uses it as well? I don't think I'd mind seeing what's under that-"

“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again”

Both jolt, nearly falling over -clearly intoxicated.

Heavaly intoxicated.

"You cannot be ernest!"

They have fought in war today, and habe probably lost friends is not family. They cannot be in clear mindfulness. All this Legolas aknowlages, yet he still is angered. “yes, I’m being serious! That was way out of line.”

The secomd elf lowers his head once recognizing his prince. "Of course, my apologies my prince. I belive I've had more than enough of this drink."

"As he says, I don't quite know what's come over me..."

Legolas crosses his arms at the excuses. "Rumors of Y/n are not to be encouraged. If you hear of any, you will put a stop to them. Is this clear?" Both nod. "Very well, rest well."

The twoscamper of as Legolas hears a manic chuckle. He spins to see you perched on a beam. "That was rather nice of you."

"I will hear no ill against you."

You land in front of him and peer into his eyes. "You really shouldn't speak so my prince" at his risen brow you continue. "You'll have me taking Bilbo's advice."

Legolas breath is warm agaisnt your lips as he quips. "Master Baggins usually has good advice, prehaps you should do so anyway?"

You smile. "I think I may." You tilt up and press your lips against his.

Change is alright really.

This fix ended up over 6k words so *jazz hands*

[sansaorgana]

— SOMEPLACE BETTER (III)

PART ONE || PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!human(?)!Reader

SUMMARY — Lady Galadriel keeps convincing Halbrand and his wife to change their minds and go back to Middle-earth but Sauron is starting to realise that this new life might be his chance to start all over and redeem himself.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — As I warned, in this part Sauron is very ooc but I'm a sucker for happy endings... I couldn't picture it any other way with a mortal Reader tbh... 🤷🏻‍♀️ Although, whether she is really a human or not – I let you decide and interpret it whatever way you wish! 😉💝 The song The Reader sings in this part is called Lonesome Road and I know it from Joan Baez but I changed the lyrics a little so they could fit the fantasy world better.

WORD COUNT — 4,570

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

SOMEPLACE BETTER (III)

Even though he thought Halbrand's wife had given up on him already, it seemed to be quite otherwise. The guards came to Sauron in the early morning to tell him that he was free to go under a condition to never start any fight on the streets of Númenor ever again. Next time, the Queen Regent would not be so merciful. And now, she would even give him a chance to prove his worth and earn the guild crest.

Apparently, (Y/N) had spent nearly the whole night begging and pleading after getting an audience.

Free to go anywhere he wanted to, he simply decided to walk back to his new home and wait there for Lady Galadriel to show up with the next idea or opportunity.

It was not going according to his plan – (Y/N) had made sure of it. But it was still going well enough and that was what mattered the most.

As he was approaching the house, he heard a familiar voice singing a song as the sound travelled through the open windows and out into the streets. The voice perhaps was not the most talented but it was not awful either and he found it oddly soothing to listen to.

Slowly and quietly, Sauron walked inside the house and leaned on the wall with crossed arms as he watched (Y/N) with a smirk. She had her back turned on him and had no idea he was there as she busied herself with brushing her hair in front of a small mirror and preparing to go to her new work.

And while doing so, she was singing. Sauron listened with curiosity because he had missed many new songs in the time when he had been regaining his strength to go back to the world of living.

And he had never been familiar with the songs of common people anyway.

“They say all good friends must part sometime. Why not you and I, my Lord? Why not you and I?” (Y/N) sang softly. “Oh, I wish to the gods that I'd never been born or died when I was a baby, my Lord… Or died when I was a baby,” she added and Sauron swallowed a lump in his throat.

He had no idea he would be able to see himself in a song written by commoners and yet, he sometimes wondered himself why the Valar had created him. And he often wished they had not. It would save him pain and suffering that he was not able to speak of.

“Oh, I wish to the gods that I'd never seen your face, heard your lyin' tongue, my Lord… Heard your lyin' tongue,” (Y/N) kept going with the song as she put some rouge upon her cheeks. “You better look up and down that long, lonesome road where all of your friends have gone, my Lord, and you and I must go…” she continued humming and then she jumped up at the sight of him standing behind her with crossed arms. “Oi, Hal, I haven't seen ye. Forgive me, I know ye don't like it when I sing,” she got nervous in an instant.

“I don't?” Sauron raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Ye always say it's givin' ye headaches,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Anyhow, I'm off to work now,” she informed him with a sweet smile and approached him to place a kiss upon his cheek.

He let her but when she wanted to move away, he grabbed her wrists to keep her in place and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“What have you done to free me, love?” He asked in a whisper.

“I begged and pleaded for ye, Hal,” she answered. “Told the good Queen ye're naught but a man who wants to work, with a pride that's hurt. I promised ye wouldn't get in trouble again. An' ye better not.” (Y/N)'s eyes filled with pain as if she knew already he would break the promise.

Because Halbrand most likely had broken such promises many times before and Sauron had planned that, too. But now, looking deep into her eyes, he suddenly wanted to change his mind. He did not want to be like Halbrand – he wanted to be a better version of him.

“I don't deserve you,” he admitted and caressed her cheek gently.

“Start, then,” she challenged him with a cracked smile and patted his chest before going out of the house.

And even though Sauron was tempted to stay inside and wait for Lady Galadriel to show up, he walked out as well and went to the forge nearby where he was supposed to start his own training to be able to earn the guild crest.

Humiliating it was and very humbling for the disciple of Aulë to be reduced to the role of a common smith's errand boy.

When Sauron was coming back from work, it was getting dark already. He was walking slowly down the steps and whistling the very same song he had heard earlier that day – the one Halbrand's wife had been singing.

In his hands he was carrying a few coins he had earned on that day and he was playing with them by tossing them in the air and catching them swiftly right after. As he approached the harbour, he spotted (Y/N) standing by one of the wooden tables and selling the goods to the people standing in the queue.

He wondered why she was left alone by the stand but assumed the woman working with her was having a break. And the closer to the market he was getting, the more he could see how stressed Halbrand's wife seemed to be.

“You useless woman, you can't even count properly, can you?!” Sauron heard some man's harsh words due to the fact his hearing was much better than if he was truly human.

“I-I'm sorry, I'm still learnin'. How much do I owe ye, then?” (Y/N) was trying to sound nice.

“You're good for nothing, stupid wench,” the man spat out. “Where is Bellona?”

“She had to leave earlier today. Please, it is no big deal. Let me just give you back the money and–”

“You should go back to Middle-earth where low women like you belong,” the man interrupted her.

Sauron didn't think much in that moment as the primal instincts took over him. He hid his coins away and hurried to (Y/N)'s stand as he grabbed the rude man by his tunic and turned him around.

“Are you bothering my wife?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Hal!” (Y/N) squealed, looking nervously at the guards that were already coming their way after sensing trouble. “Let go of him, I beg ye! Ye promised me ye wouldn't–”

“Oh, but it's different, is it not? This man deserves it,” Sauron hissed out and when he was sure that (Y/N) kept glancing at the guards, he allowed his eyes to transform into two snake-like orbs that visibly terrified the rude man.

Sauron let go of his tunic the moment he heard the guards standing behind him and the man hurried away as quickly as possible.

“It's nothin', it's nothin'!” (Y/N) exclaimed at the guards. “I'm closin' for the day! Please, let us go.”

The men looked at each other but since the other man had run away and did not file any complaint, they just shrugged their arms and walked away alongside the rest of the people waiting in the queue.

��Ye promised!” (Y/N) gave Sauron a very scolding look as she busied herself with tidying up the stand and collecting the money.

“If you think I am going to let some bastard treat you this way, love, then you are mistaken. If I must rot in that cell for a lifetime, then I shall,” Sauron shrugged his arms and Halbrand's wife looked at him as if he had just said something crazy.

“Since when are ye so gifted with words, Hal?” She chuckled and shook her head. “Anyhow, in that cell, ye won't be 'round to protect me. Foolish, it'd be, but ye've never been the brightest, have ye?” she pointed out and Sauron gritted his teeth with an eye roll.

She kept blabbering to him about her day while they walked back to their house and even though it was a short road, it felt like forever due to her talking. However, Sauron was very surprised at the sight of Lady Galadriel sitting by the table when they entered the house.

He had been waiting for her to come and now he was shocked, nearly startled. As if he had forgotten already about his scheme.

“Oi!” (Y/N) put her hands on her hips. “Is it not illegal to sneak up on folk like that inside their own homes, Elf?!” She asked. “When'll ye leave us be, huh?”

“The Queen Regent agreed to gather the army. They will seek for the volunteers,” Galadriel announced. “People of Númenor might not need you, Halbrand, but when we arrive in The Southlands, a strong leader will be needed. Someone to unite and show the way.”

“Someone to lie, ye say,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and finally closed the door behind her. “But go on, Elf, keep talkin'. I'm sure my husband'll agree sooner or later. Vain as he is, always has been,” she sighed as if she was defeated.

Sauron felt an odd tug inside his heart at those words. Even though going with Galadriel to Middle-earth and continuing his plan while leaving annoying (Y/N) behind would be an ideal outcome… He felt challenged now to refuse Galadriel just to show (Y/N) that he could do better than that.

“I have already told the Queen Regent who you most likely are,” Galadriel insisted, ignoring Halbrand's wife and looking deep into his eyes.

“You must be desperate,” he pointed out with a smirk and watched his angry wife unpacking the groceries from her wicker basket on the kitchen counter.

“Of course I am. And you should be, too. It is about your home. Why do you give up on it so easily?” Galadriel wondered out loud.

“It gave up on us long before we ever gave up on it,” (Y/N) turned around to answer her.

“This land was your place in Middle-earth. It was giving you vegetables to eat, grass to feed your animals with, clean water from the rivers…” Lady Galadriel pointed out.

“And what do ye know about it, grand Elf?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes at that. “It ain't easy work growin' yer vegetables an' keepin' yer animals alive. One bad winter's all it takes to take away yer loved ones, yer cows, horses, an' chickens. I've no love for that land,” she stated, harshly.

“You can change the fate of people who suffer like you have suffered…” Galadriel's voice softened. “As their Queen,” she tempted and Sauron raised an eyebrow, surprised to see how dirty she could play.

Nearly as dirty as him.

“Me? A Queen?” (Y/N) laughed at that. “I can't even read!” She only said and turned around again to deal with the groceries.

“Halbrand, please. They need you,” Galadriel stood up and put her hand on his shoulder before lowering her voice. “I need you,” she added and looked down before leaving the house quietly.

Long silence occurred between Sauron and Halbrand's wife.

“Go with her,” (Y/N) muttered.

“What?” Sauron looked at her, surprised. She turned around to lay her wet eyes on him.

“I know ye want to. Just go, claim the title that's not yours, go on. But don't be stupid enough to think she'd ever want ye the way ye want her. Please, husband, don't embarrass yerself by thinkin' she'd want a filthy, ragged commoner,” (Y/N) whispered but in her voice there was no malice – it was pure worry and concern. Love.

“I'm not that stupid,” Sauron approached her with hesitance and put his hands on her arms to comfort her. “I know you're the only woman who is crazy enough to love me.”

“But is that enough to make ye stay?” She asked and her lower lip trembled.

He did not answer but he pulled her close to his chest to wrap his arms around her and kiss the top of her head.

Sauron was laying awake all night long as usual, caressing the back of Halbrand's wife and staring at the ceiling. He knew they would gather the volunteers on the next day and he still was not sure what to do.

The path he had chosen for himself was not so certain anymore. He truly did not mind the life he had here in Númenor and even (Y/N)'s presence was becoming less and less annoying to him. In fact – even though she had no idea who he truly was – it felt oddly nice to be loved and taken care of. As simple as that.

He extended his hand to the nightstand and brushed the pendant laying there with his fingertips as he remembered the very first conversation he had had with the heraldry's original owner – Diarmid.

“A sure path may crumble, but there's always another. Often, it can lead us someplace better. Someplace good. They say there's a place across the sea, a man can escape himself. Find another path. Perhaps another life.”

What if it was a second chance for him? Not for Sauron, but for the real him – Mairon…? What if it was his chance to get redeemed? To be at peace finally as if all the suffering Morgoth had put him through had never taken place?

(Y/N) shifted slightly in his arms and he looked down at her face that was now lit up by the first rays of the rising sun getting through the window. At that moment, that common and simple woman looked like the most beautiful creature in the whole world to him. And she certainly felt like peace.

“Is it time to wake up now, love?” She mumbled out, sleepily.

“No, love, not yet. I will tell you when,” he assured her.

“Good,” she smiled and nuzzled her face deeper into him.

“(Y/N)?” Sauron swallowed a lump in his throat as he fidgeted with the pendant between his fingers.

“Hm?”

“What if I told you I was not your husband?” He tried to make it sound light-hearted as if he was jesting. “That I'm a spirit that took over his body at that time when he was away while the village was being attacked?” He looked down at her, nervously.

“Ye're crazy, Hal,” she chuckled and opened her eyes lazily. Then, she tilted her head and reached her hand up to caress his hair. “But, mayhaps, I'd believe that, ye know? 'Cause ye've changed a lot since then,” she admitted and hesitated for a moment as she bit on her lower lip. “It doesn't matter, love. I love ye the way ye are now – more than I've ever loved ye, even though I didn't think it was possible,” she confessed and Sauron felt his heart swelling inside his chest as he leaned down to join their lips together in a loving kiss.

As he watched the ships sail away on that day, Sauron couldn't believe that he was simply letting them go. He saw Lady Galadriel standing in her shining armour, holding her sword. She was still glancing at him as if she expected him to jump into the waters and join them no matter what.

He wondered why she was so drawn to him, even after (Y/N)'s big mouth had made it clear that he was not any forgotten king. Could Galadriel feel who he was, deep inside?

But who was he? He was not sure anymore.

So, he looked away and went back on the road that would lead him to the forge where he worked these days. He was told he would get his guild crest very soon because they were in awe of his extraordinary talents.

Not only talent was his quality, though. It was also how much he was able to work at once and without breaks. At least it had been this way until recently.

It was the first time ever when he felt… tired. In the simplest and most common way, he felt exhausted and his stomach seemed to demand to have a meal. He nearly fainted at the end of his shift and when he dragged his feet back home, he was yawning. Surely, it would worry him under any other circumstances but now he was simply too tired to overthink what could have caused it. Was it some sort of a curse put on him by angry Lady Galadriel?

“Halbrand!” (Y/N)'s worried tone brought him back to reality when he entered the house.

She hurried to him and cupped his cheeks with widened eyes.

“Love, ye're so pale, an' the bags under yer eyes… What happened?!”

“Nothing happened,” Sauron shrugged his arms. “I'm just tired, that's it. I nearly fainted,” he admitted and sat down on the chair, sighing out of relief to finally be able to rest a little.

“Well, that's no wonder! Ye've been eatin' half meals for weeks now!” Halbrand's wife pointed out in a scolding manner. “We're not starvin' anymore, Hal, ye don't have to keep givin' me yer portions!” She exclaimed and approached the stove to pour him a bowl full of soup. “Here, eat,” she ordered as she placed it in front of him.

And, for some reason, Sauron ate all of it in a blink of an eye. He even asked for one more portion as Halbrand's wife gave it to him gladly but not without more of her whining about him being irresponsible. Then he asked for another and after three bowls of her soup, he finally felt better.

His stomach was no longer hurting at least, but he was still sleepy.

“Go, take some rest, love,” (Y/N) shook her head. “Ye don't sleep enough, don't eat enough. At least ye're not drinkin' and gamblin' anymore, but ye can't go on like this. Do ye want to die before forty, Hal? I ain't lettin' that happen!” She continued with her usual whining and he rolled his eyes.

“How can I rest when you keep your mouth open?!” Sauron asked and she huffed but she went silent and left him alone in the bedroom as she went back to the kitchen to clean the bowl after his soup.

It was the very first time when Sauron fell asleep not out of boredom or the need of dissociation but out of exhaustion.

And when he opened his eyes again, it was the next morning already and (Y/N) was shaking him to wake him up.

“Halbrand! Ye're gonna be late for work!” She exclaimed.

“But… I'm still tired…” He mumbled out, not understanding what was happening to him.

“Like all of us working folk each mornin'!” (Y/N) laughed. “Come on, I'm not lettin' ye out without breakfast, go to the kitchen,” she hurried him and he rubbed his eyes before nodding at her.

Sauron began to suspect that he was turning into a human for some time now but it took an unusual revelation to convince him that it was truly happening indeed.

(Y/N) was grinning widely on that day when he came back home and she welcomed him by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him all over his face as he tried to give back some of the kisses. When she finally stopped, she fixed his brand new guild crest and batted her eyelashes while looking up to stare into his eyes.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I think I'm expectin', Hal,” she told him, excitedly. “I wasn't sure but my friends at work said those are the very symptoms!” She added happily and he froze as he blinked slowly a few times, trying to process the new information.

“That is… Impossible,” he furrowed his brows.

“I used to think so, too. Married for so long with no babe of our own but I was wishin' and hopin' and here we are!” She clapped her hands like an excited child. “Perhaps it was that damned Middle-earth not being good for us, Hal, but here we can!”

Sauron took a deep breath in. She didn't understand – it was not about being fertile or not. It was about the fact he was a Maia and there was no possibility of him putting a baby in her without doing it with his own free will.

Unless…

“You're not sleeping around, are you?” He asked before he could think about the rubbish leaving his mouth.

(Y/N) froze at his words and her smile turned into a frown. She approached him at this very moment and slapped his face. Hard. He could feel it like any mortal would now and he admitted it truly hurt.

“How dare ye, Halbrand?! Ye wretched bastard! Even if ye meant to jest, that was uncalled for!” She raised her voice as he rubbed his cheek and winced out of pain.

“I'm sorry, love, I haven't thought before speaking. I just can't believe it…” He tried to excuse himself. “Please, forgive me.”

Her face didn't look so angry anymore but she didn't say anything and turned around without a word to walk away.

In fact, she didn't say a word to him for the rest of the day and only at night when she was deep asleep, he dared to touch her abdomen slightly with his hand.

He wasn't able to feel any presence there but these days he couldn't feel anything, to be honest. He couldn't hear nor see as much either. He was losing his abilities as time was passing.

Sauron kept his hand there, on the belly of Halbrand's wife, and he sighed. It was happening, whether he liked it or not. And he was not even sure anymore if he wanted it or not.

As he got lost in the train of thought, he realised that he had been caressing (Y/N) abdomen all that time without thinking. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled gently at him.

“Hal, ye son of a bitch,” she shook her head and giggled as she took his hand carefully and brought it to her lips to place a few small and sweet kisses upon his knuckles. “I swear, ye're gonna be the death of me.”

“And you are going to be the death of me,” he chuckled and leaned in to peck her lips.

She was going to be. Literally.

This body would start growing old normally now and, eventually, he would pass away like every mortal. But maybe he would do that laying in a bed, holding her hand and surrounded by their children.

When they broke the kiss, (Y/N) smiled widely and caressed her husband's cheeks lovingly. She looked ethereal at that moment and a crazy thought appeared inside of his head.

“Tell me, love,” he started and she raised an eyebrow at him, “are you a spirit sent to me from Valinor to lead me back on the right path? Have I passed the test?” He dared to ask and he could swear, there was a small sparkle lighting up her eyes for a short while. But then, she only laughed.

“Go back to sleep, ye madman,” she patted his chest lightly and turned around while laughing softly.

He kept staring at her for some time more, then he went back to looking at the ceiling. And, eventually, he turned around as well to wrap his arm around the waist of Halbrand's wife.

His wife.

Halbrand was coming back from work slowly while playing with the little horse forged out of iron in his hand as he hummed a song. The sun was setting slowly on the horizon when he approached the harbour where (Y/N) was slowly tidying up her stand on the market.

Her own one, that she had earned finally and was so proud of it as she was working for herself now and was able to bring more money home.

He watched her tidy up with a loving smile and their son was helping her while talking to her excitedly about something – his mouth would never close just like his mother's.

“Daddy!” He spotted him finally and ran up to him as (Y/N) chuckled.

“Hey, little man,” Halbrand crouched down to give his son a hug. “How was your day?”

“It was good!” The boy nodded. “I helped mummy a bit. And yours, daddy?”

“I made this for you,” Halbrand handed him the little horse and the boys' eyes sparkled at the sight.

“So pretty! Thank you, daddy!” He wrapped his little arms around Halbrand's neck to give him another hug and Halbrand patted his back.

“And for me?! For me?!” He felt something tugging at his tunic and he laughed at the sight of his excited daughter. He gave her a hug, too and caressed her ruffled hair as she gave him a toothless smile.

“I have something for you, too, Princess,” Halbrand assured her and took another item out of his pocket – a seashell made out of iron.

He had made sure it was crafted with the best precision and with all the tiny details, therefore it looked nearly like a real seashell. Only it was silver, which made it even better in his little girl's eyes.

“Thank you, daddy!” She giggled as she squinted her eyes at the shell and kept examining it under every possible angle.

“You spoil 'em way too much!” (Y/N) stood above him and he stood up to greet her with a short peck on the cheek.

“Somebody has to,” Halbrand answered playfully and his wife shot him a glance, which made his son giggle.

“Stop sayin' nonsense and let's go back home,” she shook her head and walked away slowly.

He watched his children follow her happily and he did, too, but much slower as he stared at the sun setting on the horizon. The sky looked like a canva full of pink and orange hues and he took a deep breath in at the beauty of it.

It was nearly as peaceful and beautiful as back in the day in Valinor. Mortals perhaps were not welcome there but, apparently, they could also experience wonders as marvellous.

And perhaps this whole life was built on a lie because he couldn't imagine telling (Y/N) the truth about who he truly was and that her real husband had been dead for years. That he had died because of gambling and drinking after leaving her alone when she was being attacked by the Orcs. There was no point in telling her even if she would somehow believe him. It would only bring her useless pain and he knew very well that her actual husband would most likely never do all these things he had done to make her happy. He would not love her right like he could.

“Ye comin', Hal?” His wife's voice brought him back to reality.

Halbrand nodded at her and joined her side to take his daughter by her little hand.

After all, it was not the sunset but her and her brother that were the real wonders. And it was not Númenor that he called home but it was them – they were his better place.

MASTERLIST

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Wedding + Sleep Intimacy

Ah, my dearest...

I am sorry, this might have turned out sadder than expected or intended!

Prompts: Wedding + Sleep Intimacy

Pairing: Maedhros x Fingon

Requester: MoonLord

Words: 1 140

Warnings: Sadness, reference to anal penetration, cockwarming, wedding according to LACE

Findekáno was trembling with anger and anxiety as he jumped off the back of his horse with much less elegance than he’d usually display.

How his sister would have laughed at him, had she seen him struggling to perform so mundane a task!

Once upon a time, he had leapt off galloping steeds, cheering loudly.

Once upon a time, he had not yet known fear and deprivation.

Once upon a time, the endless ice—devouring love and life voraciously—had been but an infrequent, blurry nightmare.

Once upon a time, that motionless statue of white marble had been his kinsman, his one true love, his guiding star.

He bowed low, forgetting for a second that—before coming here to stare at the cold, ragged plain—Nelyafinwë Maitimo had renounced his father’s crown and claim to an accursed throne.

“My prince,” the other greeted in a rough voice and folded like a sheet of paper.

He looks like a falling tree, Findekáno thought distractedly and shivered once more. The mere thought of dying leaves and the ensuing darkness haunted him, and he banished the gruesome image from his mind forcefully.

“How have you been?” he asked as he followed his host into the fortress, wondering what name he’d call one whom he had loved so desperately henceforth.

“I am well—I owe you my gratitude,” the Lord of Himring replied calmly. “For oh-so-many things, but not least for that stubborn flicker of life that remains within this marred flesh. May you not live to regret your generosity.”

“So, you’d have me die?” Findekáno stopped on the topmost step of the flight of stairs that led to his half-cousin’s sitting room.

A shadow of utter horror and terrible premonition rippled across the still-gaunt face of the most handsome of Finwë’s descendants, at least in Findekáno’s humble opinion.

“Maybe,” the tall redhead then conceded. “Indeed, mayhap I’d prefer to know you safely in Námo’s care rather than to have you witness my ultimate fall. We now both know that you’d not put me down. Not even mercy—for me or for those you’d save—would overcome your indomitable hope.”

Findekáno knew not what to reply to that, so he kept his peace and let himself be charmed into accepting a seat by the fire and a light repast that was consumed in companionable silence.

“I’m glad to find you in good spirits,” he finally spoke up. “I was worried about you still.”

“I am your elder,” the other chuckled. “You have no reason to fret about me so.”

You have not seen yourself, Findekáno’s eyes pleaded mutely. You did not sit by your bedside, crying with fatigue and despair as the one you loved more than your own lifeblood languished in the throes of a devastating fever. No, you have not betrayed your upbringing, your family, and your loyalties by fervently praying to the Valar who have abandoned us for your inaccessible, forbidden lover to live.

“Do I not, Russo? Can you sit there, lordly and one-handed, and look me in the eye while so callously denying what you know to be the truth?”

Ire dispelled the fog of nascent tears in Findekáno’s eyes, which made the ghost of a better time facing him smile wistfully.

“You’d call me that still? Many things have died in a storm of fire and a desert of ice, haven’t they?”

“Not I. Not you. Not this,” Findekáno insisted stubbornly. Bold and brazen, he reached out to cradle the remaining hand—bony and white but still strong—of the one he hated with all the fervour of disappointed love in his own. “Or have you lost more than you admitted?”

A wry, raspy bark escaped Nelyafinwë’s bloodless lips. “They’ve taken everything,” he confessed. “My pride, my autonomy, the integrity of my body and mind…but not you, not this.”

Shaking himself as if casting off a noxious trance, the ghost of sweet Russandol melted from the hard, angular face of Nelyafinwë—uncrowned, dispossessed, desolate—like nocturnal frost thawing under the glare of the morning sun.

“You must be tired after your long ride. Come, I shall show you to the guest room I’ve had readied.”

“A guest room? Far away from your own quarters, I suppose?” Findekáno hated how hurt and petulant he sounded, but he couldn’t keep the heat of shame and indignation from flooding his embarrassingly honest, open face.

“Would you prefer to sleep in my cold bed? Next to the one who’s deserted you? Would you seek comfort against the skin you’ve seen chafed and lacerated? Do you yearn for nightmares so?”

“I would,” Findekáno all but screamed at the mask of mockery beneath which he could glimpse the true extent of his Russo’s vulnerability and fear. “For then I could wake up and kiss your face, knowing that my mind is merely playing tricks on me, and you are well.”

“So be it then,” Nelyafinwë agreed and changed his course without further comment.

“I should have married you,” Findekáno whispered breathlessly when the candles had been snuffed out and only darkness remained in the lonely, empty, cold room. “Everyone who might have objected is dead, and—truth be told—I would have preferred their anger and disdain to their absence. Wouldn’t you have?”

“If anything,” the effectively orphaned firstborn of Fëanáro said, “I would have wedded you, stealing you away from all the hopeful maidens.”

Findekáno could feel the living warmth pressing against his back, and his whole consciousness inexorably zeroed in on the pulsating need that arose from their unexpected but healing intimacy.

“Do you—”

A vial was handed over to him wordlessly, and he spread it across burning skin without hesitation before tugging the much—too—light frame of his half-cousin on top of him.

“Finno! We’ve never—you cannot—”

“We have nothing left to lose,” Findekáno replied as he guided the engorged member he had caressed and kissed so many times under Telperion’s light to nudge against his tight, clenching opening. “Come back to me, Russo, and—this time—stay!”

Time ceased to matter or even exist as the one who had been lost for so long slowly pushed into the home he had always denied himself, only to still as soon as he was fully sheathed.

Two souls caught fire, the light of dead trees and forsaken blessings surging through them and intertwining them with incandescent finality.

In the obscurity of shame and lingering resentment, surrounded by cold walls and underscored by a howling snowstorm, they became one—against all odds and despite the burdens of the past.

“Let’s stay like that,” Nelyafinwë whispered breathlessly, looking down in amazement at Findekáno’s luminous gaze.

“Indeed,” the plucky prince agreed, locking his ankles around the narrow waist of his lover. “There shall be no nightmares plaguing me tonight, husband mine.”

@fellowshipofthefics Eh, the wheel spins on and on!

Lots of love from me!

-> 🌟Masterlist 🌟

[thebookoflosttalesproject]

Turambar and the Foaloke

(Not as much a recap, but rather a collection of quotes and facts I find interesting)

* * *

“Now all folk gathered here know that this is the story of Turambar and the Foaloke, and it is,” said [Eltas], “a favourite tale among the Men, and tells of very ancient days of that folk before the Battle of Tasarinan when first Men entered the dark vales of Hisilome.”

#what #why

Unless it's a favourite CAUTIONARY TALE - then I can understand it... :)

* * *

Turin, same as in later versions, is sent to the court of King Tinwelint so he can grow up and learn there, for the sake of his father’s friendship with Beren and other Elves of the woodland realm. Tinwelint happily agrees:

“Son of Urin, thou shalt dwell sweetly in my woodland court, nor even so as a retainer, but behold as a second child of mine shalt thou be, and all the wisdoms of Gwedheling and of myself shalt thou be taught.”

Now that’s a little bit heartbreaking, isn’t it - when you remember that he did have a son once…

* * *

Instead of Daeron in later versions, here Turin has a beef with one Orgof, and he accidentally kills him during a feast (because Orgof kept insulting Turin and his mother), then flees from the palace with guilt and anxiety, not knowing that king Tinwelint doesn’t hold what happened against him. And that’s how it all started...

#Turin’sRageVictimNo1

* * *

After being captured and tortured by orcs, Turin is rescued by Beleg and a Noldoli Elf, Flinding, but he takes Beleg for an enemy and kills him. Okay, that’s what happens in The Silm, too, although much later in the story. Still, every time it’s pretty devastating… :(

#Turin’sRageVictimNo2

* * *

Turin and Flinding arrive at a cave complex where more Noldoli live, ruled by Orodreth – and a scenario very similar to Nargothrond plays out, including Failivrin – a maiden who falls for Turin and pays a high price for it…

Also - Turin’s infamous sword was made by the Elves of these caves:

Now then Orodreth let fashion for him a great sword, and it was made by magic to be utterly black save at its edges, and those were shining bright and sharp as but a Gnome-steel may be. Heavy it was, and was sheathed in black, and it hung from a sable belt, and Turin named it Gurtholfin the Wand of Death; and often that blade leapt in his hand of its own lust, and it is said that at times it spake words to him.

#SentientSwordsAreAlwaysCool

* * *

Now those drakes and worms are the evillest creatures that Melko has made, and the most uncouth, yet of all are they the most powerful, save it be the Balrogs only.

If you ever wondered who would win... :D

* * *

Glorund's curse for Turin and Turin's answer:

“Know then this, O Turin son of Urin, that a fate of evil is woven about thee, and thou mayst not untangle thy footsteps from it whitherever thou goest. Yea indeed, I would not have thee slain, for thus wouldst thou escape very bitter sorrows and and a weird of anguish."

Then Turin leaping suddenly to his feet and avoiding that beast’s baleful eye raised aloft his sword and cried: “Nay, from this hour shall none name me Turin if I live. Behold, I will name me a new name and it shall be Turambar!” Now this meaneth Conqueror of Fate (…)”

#Well...

Can’t help but admire his arrogant self-confidence, though :)

* * *

After getting out of the dragon’s paralysis spell, Turin wanders and eventually finds his mother's old house, then kills Brodda – the supposed guardian of her estate, who took everything to himself when Turin’s mother and sister were gone.

#Turin’sRageVictimNo3

* * *

An interesting excerpt about the afterlife of a suicide (and a foreshadowing...?)

But Turambar was filled with shame and anger, and perchance he had slain himself, so great was his madness, although this might he not hope that ever his spirit would be freed from the dark glooms of Mandos or stray into the pleasant paths of Valinor.

* * *

Mavwin (Turin's mother) learns about what happened in Orodreth’s caves and that Glorund is living there now, guarding a treasure. She hopes that Turin is also somewhere there, enslaved.

Tinwelint, asked for help in finding Turin: let’s do it for the money (again...)

And I'm not even exaggerating it:

Therefore did Tinwelint answer: “Now shalt thou have aid, O Mavwin most steadfast, and, openly I say it to thee, it is not for hope of freeing Turin thereby that I grant it to thee, for such hope I do not see in this tale, but rather the death of hope. Yet it is a truth that I have need and desire of treasury, and it may be that such shall come to me by this venture; yet half of the spoil shalt thou have O Mavwin for the memory of Urin and Turin, or else shalt thou ward it for Nienori thy daughter.”

* * *

When Nienori met the dragon, she freely admitted who she was and, consequently got enchanted so she couldn’t remember her identity.

#NienorWhy #EvenALittleHobbitKnowsBetter

Then:

(...) Nienori dwelt with wood rangers, and after a while entered the house of Bethos, a stout man (…), but his wife was a Noldo-maiden, as the tale telleth, and vary fair, and fair also were his sons and daughters save only his eldest son Tamar Lamefoot.

I think it's the first mixed-race marriage mentioned in the Lost Tales!

* * *

After Niniel (Nienori) agreed to wed Turin:

“Twas well that I did name myself Turambar, for lo! I have overcome the doom of evil that was woven about my feet.”

My dude... do I have news for you...

* * *

[Glorund’s] greed was mightily kindled, so that after pondering much he set a guard that that he might trust to watch his dwelling and his treasury, and the captain of these was Mim the dwarf.

So that's the original Mim the dwarf... :)

* * *

Nonetheless Turambar creeping up set his foot upon [Glorund’s] body and withdrew Gurtholfin hardly with all his strength, and as he did, so he said in the triumph of his heart: “Now do we meet again, O Glorund, thou and I, Turambar, who was once named brave”; but even as he spake the evil blood spouted from that wound upon his hand and burnt it, and as it withered, so that for the sudden pain he cried aloud. Then the Foaloke opening his dread eyes looked upon him, and he fell in a swoon beside the drake and his sword was under him.

Turin... my dude.. you just can't stop making bad decisions, can you...

* * *

In the meantime: Tamar Lamefoot ends up as #Turin’sRageVictimNo4

* * *

And Gurtholfin daid: “That will I gladly do, for blood is blood, and perchance thine is not less sweet than many a one’s that thou hast given me ere now”; and Turambar cast himself then upon the point of Gurtholfin, and the dark blade took his life.

#SentientSwordStrikesAgain

So... is this really suicide or actually a murder?

* * *

In the end it is Urin who brings Glorund's treasure to Artanor:

"Gaze, O Tinwelint, sweetly on my gifts, for methinks the lustre of gold is all your heart contains."

#DragHim #UrinYou'reMyFave

* * *

The end of this depressing story:

Yet it is said that when he [Urin] was dead, his shade fared into the woods seeking Mavwin, and long those twain haunted the woods about the fall of Silver Bowl bewailing their children.

But the Elves of Kor have told, and they know, that at last Urin and Mavwin fared to Mandos, and Nienori was not there, nor was Turin their son. Turambar indeed had followed Nienori along the black pathways to the doors of Fui, but Fui would not open to them, neither would Vefantur. Yet now the prayers of Urin and Mavwin came even to Manwe, and the Gods had mercy on their unhappy fate, so that those twain Turin and Nienori entered into Fos’Almir, the bath of flame, even as Urwendi and her maidens had done in ages past before the first rising of the Sun, and so were all their sorrows and stains washed away, and they dwelt as shining Valar among the blessed ones, and now the love of that brother and sister is vary fair; but Turambar indeed shall stand beside Fionwe in the Great Wrack, and Melko and his drakes shall curse the sword of Mormakil.

Now this is... wild to say the least :D In the end I prefer the toned down version of The Silm... :)

[sparklecryptid]

flowers in your throat

orrr i wrote an arafinwe centric fic for the first time in forever so uh. here? casually  tags @hamelin-born for reminding me of my love for this elf

also on ao3

-

Arafinwë is dying. He knows this, knows his cousin and his uncle look at him in concern every time he has to excuse himself to cough up bloodied petals. He knows they suspect something, knows that they want to approach him about why he leaves so suddenly during their sparse time together.

Arafinwë knows that his mothers family loves him, which is why, of course, he can’t let them know.

-

Ulmo comes to him once, bringing with him the might of the sea that Arafinwë so misses, that he knows he will never experience without grief clogging his chest again.

“You love too much,” Ulmo observes as Arafinwë tries to swallow the petals in his throat, “Who is it for?”

And Arafinwë laughs, he laughs and it turns into a cough as blood and petals fall from his lips. He feels the Vala support him, ensure that Arafinwë doesn’t fall over from the strength of the coughs wracking his body.

Arafinwë laughs again when the coughing stops, and he turns to look the Vala in the eyes.

“Who isn’t it for?” he asks with a wry smile on his lips, “Who among my people do I not love?”

-

Here is the thing; Arafinwë has always been a fool in love. First with his family, first with his father and his brothers and nephews. Then with his wife and his own children. Arafinwë has always been in love in some form or another. Which is why, when after the Trees fall and Aman darkens he isn't surprised to find himself coughing up flowers.

It is then that Arafinwë realizes that it is not only his family that he loves, but the people who look to them for guidance as well.

"We could rid you of it," Manwë offers, "We could take the flowers from your chest, let you live." And Arafinwë looks at the Vala he had once admired and his smile is all teeth.

"Do you think I would let you?" he asks, "Do you think I would let you rip me from my people like that?"

"Your people need you alive, not coughing to death in a hidden room."

Arafinwë is silent for a moment, Manwë's words ringing true in his ears.

He turns and looks at the King of Wind.

"Tell me," the elf demands, and wonders why he ever thought the Ainur knew better, "Tell me, what is a king without love? What good is a king that is not willing to die for their people?"

Manwë does not answer.

Arafinwë answers his own questions.

"A king without love is a tyrant," Arafinwë continues, "A king unwilling to sacrifice himself for his people should have never been given the throne in the first place. I am selfish, King of Kings, but I am also foolish enough to know that I would rather wither and die than let myself be robbed of this love I have for my people."

-

Ingwë is the first of his remaining family to confront him about it.

"You're dying," the King says and Arafinwë only smiles at his uncle. Soft, sweet, the type of smile Arafinwë would give to people as a child.

"Yes," Arafinwë says, "I am."

"The Valar could save you," his uncle points out and Arafinwë stares at the furrow of Ingwë's brow, at the tense line of his shoulders.

"You know that they can't, that one way or another I am doomed."

Something wild and dark flashes in Ingwë's eyes. "I'll find a way to save you."

Arafinwë laughs.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

-

Ingwion knows, he must know, which is why he keeps to Arafinwë's side during the War of Wrath.

"You will come home alive, cousin," Ingwion says fiercely, "I am not letting you die."

Arafinwë opens his mouth to respond, and petals the color of moonlight fall from his mouth.

-

Arafinwë is gentle.

Arafinwë is terrible.

These two statements do not have to contradict each other.

-

It is when Sauron takes the field that Arafinwë feels his throat clear. It is when Sauron takes the field in front of the High King of the Noldor in Aman that Arafinwë decides that enough is enough.

That Sauron has to die for what he's done. That the dead that cried for mercy must be paid their due.

Arafinwë meets Sauron's eyes, watches as the golden gaze of the Maia flickers with amusement.

"What have we here?" Sauron drawls, striding toward Arafinwë like a cat stalking toward its prey, "The cowardly youngest has come out of hiding at last."

There is a rage in Arafinwë, a need to rip the limbs from Sauron's body, to make the Maia suffer for every ounce of torment that has been thrust upon Arafinwë's own people. That has rendered shadows under his children's eyes.

(For when Findaráto came forth from the Halls his gaze was solemn and exhausted. For when Arafinwë had looked upon his first-born he felt petals crawl in his throat and he was choking on love. Love for his children, love for his people. He was choking on love and rage and when Arafinwë finally went to War it was for those he loved.)

Instead Arafinwë smiles at Sauron, all sharp canines and threatening.

And when Sauron sings, Arafinwë answers, his love breaking free of his throat and lingering in the air around them. Arafinwë's love cutting through the hate and despair that Sauron's tries to overwhelm with. The song of the youngest of Finwë's twines in the air in silver and gold brings with it anger and sorrow. Regret and pain. But there is love still in all that, love and the acknowledgement that even the most beautiful emotion can be ugly.

And Sauron snarls, rage twisting his features as he lunges for the King that dared to love too much.

Arafinwë grins, petals stuck to his teeth and he wastes no time sliding his blade between Sauron's ribs just as Sauron own sword rips through Arafinwë's own armor and finds it's way into his chest.

-

Arafinwë wakes up three days later. He wakes up with his son and his daughter by his side. He wakes, and the overwhelming love he feels for his people, for his family is still there.

Arafinwë wakes, and the first thing he does is cough petals into his hand.

As he lets his his children fuss and fret over him he also allows them their anger.

He could never deny them anything.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

Manwë Stuff That No One Cares About (Except me, and that’s all that matters tbh)

Headcanons

1. Manwë, as a king, practices self-control. He tries his best to be composed and efficient as a ruler, although he’s not austere or overly strict, and he’s definitely not stoic - just calm. He only shows his softer side in private with those he’s closest to. However, he will throw a casual joke during meetings with the other Valar.

2. Speaking of jokes, Manwë is quite witty in private. His sense of humor always makes Varda laugh and roll her eyes. 

3. Manwë is an affectionate, considerate husband. He’s always mindful of Varda and her feelings. He’s also not afraid to call her things like “my love” around the other Valar. Ulmo often rolls his eyes because of it. 

4.  Manwë is genuinely sorrowful of the path that his brother chose and wishes things could have been different, but can’t bring himself to understand Melkor’s way of thinking. He’s a precious cinnamon roll and is literally incapable of comprehending Melkor’s greed and selfishness. 

5.  Manwë likes wine. A lot. He often invites Varda to have a cup with him. If she agrees, he’ll gladly pour for the both of them, and they have a nice, long discussion, husband to wife. If she refuses (usually by chiding him about his overfondness of wine), he a. tries to sweet-talk her into it, b. pouts and has a cup by himself, c. if she gives him a particularly stern chastising, he concedes and doesn’t have any for the day, d. starts pestering poor Eönwë to have a cup with him instead.

6.  Manwë is not that guy who believes that you have to be stoic and stony to look strong. He has no problem confessing his insecurities, worries, and burdens in private, particularly to Varda, Eönwë, or Eru. 

7. He may be the king of the Valar and all of Arda but Varda is the boss in their marriage bed :) Kidding, they’re equal partners.

8. Manwë trusts and respects Varda’s opinions very much. She’s an advisor to him as well as his wife and lifelong partner. When something’s bothering him, she’s the first one he goes to for advice. 

9.  Manwë, bless him, is not a very good judge of character. Because he’s so pure by nature, he has trouble comprehending the darker aspects of people (entities? beings? deities?). 

10. That doesn't mean Manwë doesn’t feel these negative emotions too, however. When he hears of Melkor’s newest crime, he gets angry, at himself for not being able to stop his brother’s fall, and at Melkor for doing such terrible things. And in Arda, the seas are stirred violently and the winds howl in response to his anger. He is often left feeling confused at his own fury, because he still can’t understand these negative feelings.

11. Manwë genuinely wishes that everything could work out happily for everyone (including Melkor), but he’s also very, very, very, almost painfully aware that it’s never going to happen. Sometimes he wonders what all the fighting is for when the "ideal” ending can’t be achieved. It makes him feel hopeless, powerless, and small. 

12. Manwë is extremely grieved by Melkor’s fall to darkness, but at this point he also has a no-mercy policy when it comes to his brother. He’s already been fooled by him once, and as much as he loves Melkor he refuses to allow Arda to be subjected to Morgoth again. 

13. There is nothing at all in Manwë that envies Morgoth’s rebelliousness. He has never wanted to do anything remotely like the things Morgoth does, and genuinely cannot fathom why his brother desires to rule Arda so much. 

14. Manwë doesn’t trust his ability to rule. He’s constantly questioning how he can be a good king when he couldn’t save his brother from a destructive path, couldn’t lessen the damage brought to Arda by Morgoth, and couldn’t see through his brother’s lies about repenting. But he wants to see a peaceful and prosperous Arda and tries his best to rule as kindly, wisely, and fairly as he can.

15. At the same time, Manwë is wise in that he understands the value of selflessness, kindness, and compassion, and that what others might dismiss as being “weak” can actually be a form of courage. 

Who I Ship Him With

Varda: Definitely who I ship Manwë the most with. I see them as having a perfectly balanced, mutual marriage based on love, respect, and trust. They both heed each other’s opinions and if they have a disagreement, they work it out by talking. Basically, they’re healthy relationship goals and couldn’t be happier together. 

Melkor: I’m not sure if this would be called a ship, but I will never believe that these two don’t care for each other. As Valar were born from Eru’s thoughts, and Melkor and Manwë are brothers, I see them as two halves of a whole. 

Mairon: This is an interesting one. I don’t exactly ship these two, but, going into a little Alternate Universe here, I can see that Manwë could offer Mairon good, healthy, non-self-destructive guidance. I sometimes wonder what a Mairon who is Manwë‘s most trusted lieutenant instead of Morgoth’s would be like.

[x-kytanna-x]

Durin’s Tale

It can also be read on ao3

All that Durin remembers is loneliness.

A consuming and agonizing loneliness.  From the moment he awoke to the moment he died.

When Mahal let him and his brothers roam free around Middle-Earth, Durin did it alone. He named all the hills and dells he encountered, and it was during his wandering that he came by Khazad-dûm, by his home.

He found it while looking upon mysterious stars set like a crown. Durin took it as a sign from their maker and there, in the cave above the lake, founded the great city of Khazad-dûm.

The Hall’s of the Dwarfs.

And on his first life, he left for Mahal’s Halls as he came.

Alone.

His brothers were already long gone and by the moment his time had arrived his people already referred to him as “The Deathless”. For he had died at 2395, a far too unnatural age. Whereas his brothers, the ones who were supposed to be his equals, lived half as long.

His people, all the dwarfs he had fought for to give a home, a life, a place in Middle-Earth that was not beneath the Elves, could not and would not think of him as an equal, they already treated him as a legend, as a gift from Mahal, and for a moment Durin rejoiced the attention, thinking that maybe this was his place, that taking care of his people was his duty, that maybe, just maybe, this was the reason for him to be alone.

But that moment was short lived, for the loneliness came back faster than it left, and Durin could only hope that Mahal would be merciful and would take him back with him.

Durin, later found out that mercifulness didn’t exist, at least not for him, because once again, he was special, he was the one…

He was alone, and destined to go back and do it all over again six more times.

He felt his heart shatter and with it came an agonizing numbness that filled the place that his heart once held. Still, there was little he could do about it.

It was his duty and he would see it fulfilled.

And he would wait, wait for the moment he would finally rest till the end of time.

---

Remembering became the hardest part of the rest of his lives. Most of the times he already was aware of who he was, even if he couldn't really understand what that meant, since his parents could spot his distinctive features even as a babe. That came with a life full of expectations, full of awed looks that he as a pebble could not comprehend.

The only thing he ever felt was loneliness.

His only friend, his only companion.

He felt as if Mahal had carved a hole in his soul that the love of his family was supposed to fill, but rarely did, and barely enough to even begin to mend his broken soul.

In all his lives, never once his parents had treated him like a son, never had he been the recipient of parental love. And in those times he had the blessing of having brothers he could only watch, watch with burning jealousy and sadness as they were given the love that was neglected to him.

It didn’t help that he remembered as he grew, that he came to realization that this was not the first time he had felt this way and it wouldn’t be the last.

One thing that he actually enjoyed was watching his people grow, see them find happiness in the city he had built for them.

And that is why watching as it was robbed from them hurt beyond words could express.

---

There were times where he was lucky and he would be born in times of peace, but those were scarce and far apart. Nonetheless, he longed for them fiercely.

Durin was far too tired of war and blood.

With every life it became harder and harder to wield his axe, but his duty was to protect his people and lead them to prosperity. And if after every battle he cried himself to sleep, well, no one needed to know, or would care, for that matter.

His sixth life was the worst, with the Balrog awoken all he had fought for was lost, and there was little he could do to protect his people, short from giving his own life to save all that he could.

And that he did, without hesitation and a with heart full of grief he charged towards the demon to what would surely be the end of his sixth life.

---

Durin died protecting his younger brother, and praying to Mahal that this would not be the end of his people; that he, somehow, had managed to stop the Balrog from erasing all his lifetimes work.

As it was customary after every death, he went to the Hall’s of Mahal to have time to assimilate his death and the life he had lived.

It was typically just one of Mahal’s people that greeted him and waited for him to be ready to start a new life.

This time it was different.

Mahal was the one waiting for him and as soon as he spotted Durin he gave him a smile tinged with what appeared to be sadness.

Durin still in shock from his sudden and brutal death could only stare at him when Mahal started speaking.

“Welcome again my child” when Durin still was unable to answer, Mahal sighed and looked at Durin with an expression so full of regret that took his breath away “I’m sorry, Durin for I have failed you, my eldest, my first creation, my son” He approached Durin and put his big hands on his shoulders “You have done more than enough for your people and you have never been thanked with the affection you have always craved and deserved. This is why, my son, your last life will be different.”

“Different? How so?” Durin asked softly, he could feel hope rising from within him, but Durin squashed it down, he had been disappointed more than once, he would not allow himself any hope.

“You will have the life you deserve, I will make sure you are happy this time around” Mahal, gave him a warm smile and grasped his shoulders a bit tighter “You will have the family you deserve and a life fitting for you” he suddenly started laughing while Durin could only stare in astonishment “Why, it was my own wife how helped me with this task. She has suggested one of her own creations for you.” Mahal suddenly hugged Durin, whispering into his ear “I’m sure this life will be full of surprises and I hope this can finally mend your broken heart and your battered soul”

At last Mahal pushed their foreheads together “Farewell, my child. I will be awaiting your return”

And with that last sentence Durin was gone.

The next thing Durin remembers is coming from the earth with big big fussy feet and his name on his lips.

---

By the time he was three, he could already talk and understand most of what the adults said. Uncle Balin said he was really smart since most of the other kids could not do that. He could also walk and run very well, but pa had said that was because he was part hobbit and hobbits learned to walk almost as soon as they flourished.

Durin was certain that he was the happiest he has ever been

But then he turned four and the nightmares began.

And with that so did his memories.

After that he started to sleep with his parents and every night before bed his pa and his adad would hug him very tightly and tell him how much he was loved before cuddling with him on the center. That always made the nightmares more bearable, even if everytime his family told him how much they loved him he felt like crying.

It was when he was eighteen that he dreamt of a his last death.

He had just woken up and he was sure he had just saw himself die.

As typical after a nightmare his parents also woke up and instantly his pa’s hands were holding his and his ada was brushing his sweaty curls with his meaty fingers.

Strangely enough, after a nightmare, with his parents comforting him, he always felt at peace.

Basking in his parents affection, he asked the one question that was been on the tip of his tong since he started having his nightmares.

“Pa?”

“Yes my boy?” answered his pa.

“Why do I have to watch myself die in my dreams?” Both of his parents froze at that, until it was finally his adad who finally reacted.

“Oh, thutratur, we have much to talk about” answered his ada with a sigh. “Me and your pa were hoping you wouldn’t have to deal with this until much later”

Durin stared at them in silence, he felt like he should know what his ada was talking about but his mind came blank.

“Blossom, do you remember the tale of Durin the deathless?” asked his pa, in an uncertain tone.

Durin tried to recall the tale, it had been told to him many times, and suddenly he just knew.

“That’s me, isn’t it?” asked already knowing the answer “I’m Durin the deathless”

His ada looked sadly at him while his pa closed his eyes, breathing shakely.

“Aye, my pebble, you are”

“That’s why I keep having nightmares?”

“Those are your memories of your past lives, it is said that you will fully remember when you reach your majority, but since you were born a dwobbit we are not quite sure when that will be” explained his pa, rubbing Durin’s hand with his soft tumb.

“But, all I see in my dreams are horrible things, in none of them seems that I have ever been happy” said Durin looking at his fussy feet.

“Oh, my sweet blossom...” said Bilbo hugging him against his chest. Durin loved his pa’s hugs, they always made him feel loved and safe. “We don’t really know much about your pasts lives; but one thing I’m sure is that never again you will have to go through all that goes on your dreams.” Durin felt how his ada started to card his fingers through his hair, he always mentioned how much he loved that Durin had gotten his pa’s curls even if it was a nightmare to braid. “Not just your ada and me will make sure of it, but all your family. We all love you very much Durin, and you are our blessed treasure”

“But not because you’re Durin reincarnated, but because you are our son and you are the best gift Mahal could have ever given us” added his adad.

“Really?” Durin lifted his head from where it rested in hi pa’s chest, and looked straight into his parents eyes.

“Really; my boy, we don’t expect you to be this character of legends and that you fulfill some outlandish duty that the Valar had put in your shoulders at the beginning of times. You are Durin Baggins son of Thorin and that is more than enough for us”

His ada lifted his chin and and pressed their foreheads together, smiling at him “No matter what you choose in life, we will always support you and love you”

Durin felt much better, one would have thought that after hearing all that new information he would be overwhelmed or even shocked, but for some reason Durin felt like a weight have being lifted from his shoulders.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him how much his parents loved him or his family for that matter, still, it always made him warm inside and despite having lived with that kind of affection it always made his heart jolt in surprise and pleasure at the praises and affection his family threw at his way.

Now, of course, everything made much more sense, and he could only be thankful for the life he had now.

---

It was was on the eve of his thirty birthday that he really understood how much his family was willing to up for him.

He had been on his way to his personal chambers when he passed the royal meeting room and heard his father’s voice.

“I will say it one last time Boak, my son won’t be the crown prince!”

“But my lord you must understand as the royal consort the importance of this matter.  Mahal has once again blessed us with the birth of Durin the Deathless, we can’t just ignore thousands of years of tradition.”

“I can and I will! My son doesn’t want to be king and I will respect his wishes. It’s the least he deserves. Why, Fíli will make an excellent ruler if you ask me, and he’s more than ready to take the crown when the time arrives”

“Wasn’t it enough, that you made a decree that stated we all must treat price Durin like any other dwarf and not like what he really is?”

“And let you all threat my sapling like a god or some other posh like that? No thank you! My son will be happy and he will have a normal life for once, as far as I’m concerned, even if been a prince is far from normal, mind you. He’s suffered enough.”

“My King, will not see reason either? You better than anyone know the importance of this happening. What would your grandfather say?”

“I am not my grandfather and you as one of my advisors should know that by now Lord Boak. But if you must know my consort has my full support in this matter. Fathermore if any of you try to oppose to our decision, know that we will no doubt in taking Durin with us to a place where can be free of expectations”

“B-But my King, that would mean you would have to abdicate”

“Indeed it would, but as Bilbo had said before, Fíli is more than ready and Kíli is prepared to help his brother in anyway he can. For us forfeiting the crown for our son’s happiness would be nothing. And we are not the only ones. All his family supports our decision”

“So, Boak are you and the rest of the council willing to face the consequences of your demands or will you listen and respect our choice?”

“I…”

“We will listen your majesty”

Durin fell tears running through his cheeks, and without making a sound he returned to his rooms. He sat, back against his closed door with his knees pulled to his chest. He could hardly believe it. His parents, his family were willing to left all their lives behind just for him, just to see him happy.

He thought of his ten uncles, and how settled they were. They all had their lives built in Erebor, and they still were willing to left that behind. Because Durin didn’t doubt for a minute that if his parents did gave up the crown and took Durin somewhere else, most of his family would come with them.

Since Durin could remember they had always been a tight group, and every single one of them had always been for him when he needed them.

He could count as a blessing that the council had surrendered so easily, although it seemed that it had not been the first time that topic had been brought to his parents attention.

The next day he was gonna turn thirty and while his majority as a hobbit wouldn’t be for another two years, Durin felt that his thirty were going to be a turning moment in his life.

Since no one really knew when he would actually reach his majority as he was a dwobbit, he and his parents had reached a compromise, and at his father suggestion they had decided that they would celebrate both his hobbit majority and his dwarfish one.

He got up and head to the side of his room that held a full body mirror and glaced himself over.

He wasn’t that different looking from his previous lives. His hair was raven black, as it had always been, but this time around he had slight curls and the texture of them was far from dwarfish. He had been told far too many times that he had the bearing of his ada and the soul of his father, and it was true. His features were all Thorin except for a few differences, like the colour of his eyes, that were mossy green like his father’s; or his feet that were slightly bigger than average and had a light fuss of hair on the top. He was also smaller than the average dwarf.

None of this ever bothered Durin, far from it. Looking himself in the mirror always made him happy.

He was his own self, he wasn’t Durin the Deathless.

He was just Durin.

Durin Baggins, son Thorin, the first dwobbit to ever come to exist.

---

In the end Durin turned out to be right, for when he turned thirty all his memories came back to him.

It wasn’t painful or agonizing, it just felt like the last piece of a much larger image was finally placed and Durin could finally understand.

All his dreams made finally sense, and when he woke up he felt like a new person all over.

He was still the same dwobbit that he was the night before, but now he had better understanding about all that had happened, and with that came the realisation that Mahal had, in fact, kept his promise.

He had given him the family he had longed for since the moment he had come to exist and so much more. He couldn’t feel the crippling loneliness that had been his companion during his past lives.

He felt whole and complete.

It was then when the enormity of things dawned on him. He had the rest of his life to enjoy, he had so much ahead of him to discover, to be much more than he could have ever dreamt to be.

Thanks to his parents, to his beloved and blessed parents he could be whatever he wanted.

For the first time in existence, Durin shed tears of happiness, thanking all that was sacred for the opportunity that had been granted to him.

He had so much to discuss with his family, but that could wait, after he had given them his gifts, after he had enjoyed their affection and the cake that his uncle Bombur and his father had been planning to make for him.

He got ready as fast as he could  and with a crate full of gifts and a head full of dreams he made his way to his family, that was surely already waiting for him.

[mylifeasamillenialrobot]

I tried to write a fanfic

The Night King prowled across the godswood. The trees crackled around them with dragon fire. Ghost was injured and panting atop a burnin branch, too broken to save himself from such an agonizing death. Jon fell in combat with the creature standing before her. Danaerys was knocked from her dragon hours before. Drogon had gone wild with grief and breathed fire on the living and the dead.

Sansa was supposed to retreat to the crypts with the old and young. She was supposed to wait it out until the food ran dry then lead the remaining people south. The dead didn’t swim. They were to break the ice and make for the coast. Perhaps try to meet up with Nymeria. Jon had hoped that Rhaegal would protect them after his death. The green dragon tried, but with a mangled wing the wights overran him in minutes.

She couldn’t bring herself to hide. This was her home. She was the last Stark alive; she’d had to burn Arya herself. Bran was dead too, but he hadn’t Brandon Stark for a time anyway.

The sword was unfamiliar in her grip. Brienne and sweet Pod had taught her the basics. The greatsword, once Sam Tarly’s and then Sandor’s Clegane’s and now her’s, was far too heavy for her frame. She glanced from Ghost to the Night King and back again. Ghost was all that was left of her family. The Lady of Winterfell would not let her last kin die in pain. She darted to the left, but before she managed even a step, a sharp, cold pain erupted through her belly.

****

A part of Sansa had always craved death. She’d given up on the gods a long time ago. She wondered if it would be a welcomed nothing or if there would be seven heavens and hells. She hoped it would be an eternal, infinite blackness that her soul was free to drift through.

Death was Winterfell. It was the smell of cold rain and the remnants of a fire. It was the heat seeping through the stone walls and the accents of the people in the halls. Sansa allowed herself a small smile.

“Are you awake?” A familiar voice demanded. “You’ve got to get up.”

Sansa’s eyes flew open. Her sister loomed over her, years younger and with a great, thick scar around her neck.

“Fuck.”

Arya nodded fervently. “I know.”

“What is this? He killed me, I know he killed me!”

“Valar Doaeris,” her sister intoned gravely.

All men must serve.

“I thought it was over,” Sansa whispered.

The door to their room crashed against the wall. Sansa sat upright. Arya wielded a candlestick at the intruder.

It was only Jon, face smooth and his eye still scarred, breathing heavily. It only took one look for his face to drop. He cursed darkly as he eyed Arya’s throat.

“Jon? What is the matter with you?!” Someone called down the hall. Jon hurried to close the door, but Robb threw himself in the opening and wrestled it open. He stopped short, blue eyes wide, at the sight of Arya. Behind him, Jon shut the door and barred it. He went as far to move the girl’s trunk of old toys in front of it.

“Bran?” Sansa demanded. “Rickon?”

“What?” Robb asked. “Who? Arya, what-“

She ignored her brother and looked to Jon. He merely shook his head. “They weren’t in the nursery.”

“Arya!” Robb cried. “What happened-?!”

“Where are Bran and Rickon?” Arya asked.

“Bran and Rickon? Who in seven hells are bran and Rickon? Are you talking about Uncle Brandon? He died long ago. What is on your neck, Arya?”

Robb went on asking questions but his siblings paid him no mind. They stared at on another, faces grim and hearts pounding. It was obvious; Bran - no, the Three Eyed Raven - had done something terrible.

“What did he do?” Arya whispered in horror.

“He wasn’t in the godswood,” Sansa supplied.

Arya looked at her sharply. “How do you know?”

“Because she was in the godswood. With Ghost,” Jon answered.

“You were supposed to be in the crypts,” Arya snapped.

“Only death may pay for life,” Jon interrupted. “The Red Woman once said only death may pay for life. If there are three of us-“

“Father!” Arya cried.

Sansa jumped out of bed as Jon lunged for the trunk.

“SANSA!” Robb bellowed. She’d never heard him like this, but she’d imagined it. It must have been the voice he used to command his armies across the Neck. “What the bloody hell is going- your arm...”

The white night gown only reached her elbows. She’d taken care to cover every inch of her skin from neck to toe before. An angry pink scar in the shape of a dog bite began on her left forearm and twisted down to just above her wrist. Jon straightened, his face very white and his full lips pressing into a thin line.

“My dressing robe, Robb,” Sansa demanded calmly. She glanced at the grey and pink garment over his shoulder.

He grabbed it from the hook, but didn’t hand it over. “Not until you tell me what is happening.”

“We will. After we find Father,” she promised.

He rolled his eyes but tossed it to her nonetheless.

Arya rounded on him. “So Father’s alright then?”

“I don’t see why not. But with you lot-“

“Mother?” Sansa asked.

“Mother? Sansa....Mother died birthing Arya. You know that. Are you alright? Come, I’ll take you to Maester Lewin.”

Sansa took a shuddering breath. Arya looked at her feet, her grey eyes shining with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said softly.

A knock sounded at the door just before it rattled.

“Girls?” A woman called.

“In a minute,” Sansa said in a sweet voice.

“Is everything okay, Lady Sansa?”

“Yes. Just a minute, please.”

The woman hesitated for a moment, but continued down the hall soon after. Sansa sat on her bed, pulling the robe tight around herself. Jon joined her and Arya soon after. Robb, still bewildered and more than a bit angry, lowered himself onto Arya’s bed across from them.

It made sense, she thought, resting her head on Jon’s shoulder. Catelyn Tully was not a Stark. She did not have ice in her veins. Though Bran and Rickon did and Bran was too important to the old gods to be tossed away. Perhaps he was already there, already learning from the man that called himself Bloodraven and the Children of the Forest. Would they demand another life for him if he’d already dedicated his to them?

“Who was it that went north with Bran?” Sansa asked.

“The Reed children and Hodor,” Jon answered.

“We’ll need to send a raven,” Sansa said. “Perhaps they might be able to tell us something.”

“I wish you were able to tell me something,” Robb glowered.

Jon sighed deeply, the exhaustion heavy in his bones. This was the second time he’d died and come back. It made her glad she wasn’t a god. She didn’t want to be the one to meet him when he finally died. She’d seen him angry. Danaerys called it his dragon fire but she’d never seen how wild the Starks could get.

“We’ll have to tell them,” he said. “There’s too much to do on our own.”

Arya stood. “I’ll go fetch Father.”

“Not with your throat like-“ Sansa was cut off by another knock at the door.

“Girls?” The woman called again.

“We need Father,” Arya shouted.

The woman was quiet for a moment before she said through the door, “If the Lady has flowered I can fetch-“

Arya rolled her eyes. “No, she isn’t bleeding. None of us are bleeding. I won’t open this door for anyone but Lord Stark so you better not fetch anyone but him.”

“Arya!” Robb chastised her.

“Lord Robb?!” The woman exclaimed.

“My father NOW!” Arya yelled.

The woman’s footsteps scurried off down the hall.

“You’re not half as scary anymore,” Sansa teased.

“How old are we anyway?” She scowled, plopping down on a cushion beside a dollhouse. “When is it?”

“Before King’s Landing, I’d wager,” Jon said as he rubbed his smooth chin. “And we don’t have the wolves yet.”

LadyLadyLady. Sansa’s breath caught. To have her direwolf, to have her fur and fangs and love was too much to ask. It was more than she deserved. Though maybe it was a mercy that Lady had been killed gently in the north.

The Starks were silent, each contemplating the morning, until someone pounded on the door.

“Robb! Girls! Open this door now!”

Robb hurried to unlatch the lock. He pulled the door back to reveal Ned Stark towering in the doorway.