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squirrelwrangler · 2 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (10)

Part 9, Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part Three, Part Two, Part One

The monster of a fic started back in 2017, celebrating my self-indulgent love of creating crossover fusions, in-jokes, and worldbuilding. Princess Findis is an author, and her latest creation is Voltron. Interlude Part 1

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A week later, in a cozy tea room illuminated by sunlight flooding through a large stained glass scene of a deer frolicking through a summer-green meadow, Findis updated Heledir on what she had dubbed the ‘Flying Lions Five Adventure”. Her hands held the porcelain teacup between her fingers, rocking the nearly empty cup back and forth as she watched Heledir eat. “I have the prologue outlined, the capture of Arno and the two family members, then the jump to the present with the three pilot-knights. I think there needs to be a scene to establish them as friends and their skills before they discover Arno’s return and mount the rescue mission where they run into Red Knight. If I keep the student apprentice angle… I could have them practice skills on a regular boat with an instructor present. That happens, yes?” Findis sighed. “I am not researching sailing lessons. Uilon took me boating once, and I puked before we left the harbor. I warned Fingolfin, and he repeated my folly. Only Finarfin has the stomach for waves.” Findis’s small grin expressed her evident pride at the natural-sounding usage of her brothers’ Sindarin names. Heledir would have clapped for the payoff of her practice, but she would not have appreciated his sarcasm. And he was enjoying this fruit custard. “During the rescue of Arno, there will be a quick sequence to show off Red Knight’s combat prowess, and that he carries a knife. Finrod gave me the idea; he will have the knife as an heirloom of his missing mother, and there will be an identifying craftsmanship to the blade and a gem in the hilt by which his uncle shall recognize him. Kidhunadad, or something like that, for his name. Maybe a second shorter non-Khuzdul name?” Instead of answering herself, Findis tapped the side of her teacup with her fingernail loudly. “Names are so frustrating.”

Heledir hummed in agreement and speared a slice of fig with his dessert fork. Inspiration plucked at his mind before he could raise the piece of fruit to his lips. “Ketil. For the second name. It’s one of those old Hadorim names, and the mouth-sound is similar enough.” Heledir pointedly did not explain the name’s meaning as he chewed fig and then poured himself more tea.

Undeterred, Findis continued her recap of the outline. “The first lion ship that they discover will be the Blue, in a hidden cave with a small stream. The eyes glow when the chosen knight makes contact with their lion. Blue’s Lion takes them to the hidden castle and the Princess, and from there she gives them the maps to Green and Yellow on separate islands, splitting the band into two parties. Black is at the castle already, and Red will be the one captured and held by the Dark Kingdom. Nargun. Finrod is working on compiling names for me, but he suggested the name for our villainous kingdom.”

“Nargûn,” Heledir corrected. “Some of their vowels sound like our archaic forms.”

“Nargûn Túrinasta.”

Heledir nodded. Findis placed her teacup on the tabletop, staring at the dregs for answers on the deep mysteries of plot development and flow of pacing. “Pidgeon and Arno to find the Green Lion - thus they can have the private conversation about how and why she has disguised herself as a boy and the hunt to find her missing father and brother. Establish that arc and character dynamics early. A battle for the party retrieving the Yellow Lion, to have plot variance, but also to seed the reluctance of the Yellow Knight to engage in combat and …Ketil’s brashness for it.”

Technically the avian theme was adhered to, Heledir thought sheepishly, because of the spiraling of hawks on the high thermals of air reminding some long dead mortals of boiling water.

“Which artist has chosen to take the project?” Heledir asked.

“Elenwë’s younger brother, Hernostalë.”

Heledir almost choked on his desert. “Hernostalë! He has more technical proficiency than the artists that your family commissions for royal gifts- his composition skills, the way he shows movement as if the images were alive by song, his use of color and how light reflects- by the stars how did you convince Hernostalë Handion to draw this tale?”

Findis giggled. “He liked the idea of giant metal lions.”

Heledir’s fork clattered against his plate.

Covering her laughing mouth with both hands, Findis leaned back in her chair, green light from the stained glass window hitting her face and turning her complexion into that of a mermaid - or the nausea that she endured when on a ship.

“Hernostalë,” Heledir muttered in a mix of awe and envy.

“He has drafted a few pages if you wish to see them,” Findis offered with a sly smile, reaching to the large porfilio of hard leather by her feet. Heledir shoved the plates, teacups, and kettle to the side of the table to give Findis room to open the portfolio folder and display a stack of papers. Carefully she turned each one over. The drawings were black-and-white ink with minimal cross hatching and shading to give a cursory amount of depth. A blue stamp of a stylized cornflower in the top right corner of each page proclaimed them the property of Handë’s publishing house, which Heledir might have surmised without the maker’s mark by the fine quality of the paper, of uniform texture perfect to hold ink and weight to not crease or tear easily. Edrahil would drool over such paper quality, but then his dearest friend had been raised by calligraphers. The first image was that of the giant metal lion towering over five small figures. The cave backdrop suggested itself only in a trio of squiggly lines, the lion’s share of the drawing’s detail invested in the five small figures and the looming seated metal lion. The segmented blocky nature with visual joint hinges and gears instead of a sculptural smoothness conveyed that the lion was a tool instead of an artistic object.

Heledir smiled. His design was no longer an outline but detailed and realized as if a true object - and he suspected that an articulated model had been crafted to have something to pose for angles.

One the next page was a detailed illustration of all five characters crammed into the helmsman's cabin of the lion-ship. Seated like the driver of a carriage was a young man with a long face shape and almond eyes. The artist creatively made the equivalent of reins or ship’s tiller a pair of marionette crossbars, conveying the puppet origins. The other four characters, each recognizable from Heledir’s sketches, clustered closely around the pilot. More panels on the next pages. A series of funny faces and contortions as the Blue Lion galloped through the air, the cramped confines creating the same effect as shoving an entire battalion into a chariot. A small panel of the aerial view, the lion small and high like a hawk on a thermal. A leap through the clouds, parting like a trout breaking the surface of a lake. A floating island, a castle overgrown by trees with a lion’s face above the grand door. The five looked up at the castle with an awe that Tuor would have recognized.

What little liquid that might have remained in the kettle on the table had lost any remaining heat as Heledir finished his perusal of the sketches and watercolors. The final sheet in the portfolio had been the only artwork not connected to the Five Lion project; instead it was a watercolor of the full cast of one of Findis’s earliest novels, the sports-themed work. Amidst blooming fruit trees bathed in Tree-light the various young athletes looked towards the viewer, the colors delicate yet rich. Findis commissioned it as a personal gift to hang in her guest quarters at the Valmar palace.

Heledir lingered on the penultimate sketch.

“Who invented the amalgamation of the lion-ships into a giant armored man?”

“It is absurd,” Findis drawled, “I think my note about the lion-spirits coming from one source garbled my intentions. I have no idea how it is supposed to work or where the faceplate comes from or how the hands form. It does make one-on-one duels easier to draw.”

Heledir flipped through the draft pages once more. “I like it.”

Findis sniffed.

#my fic #silm fic #the meta fan findis stuff #hernostale is a ref to yusuke murata #next two nterludes are the callote introduced something findis wished wasn't written and then the shipwar stuff

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (8)

Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part Three, Part Two, Part One

“Draw our fifth knight,” Findis instructed. “But give him brown hair.”

As Heledir sketched out the lanky body and narrow face, scribbling out the color instructions in a minuscule hand, Findis continued to plot out the final core character dynamics.

“Gold and Iron will be rivals,” Findis stated, and Heledir remembered that her first novels were not tales of hesitant couples courting for the first time but fictionalized accounts of the sports festivals of Valmar, to which Findis never participated as a competitor but had intimate knowledge not only of the training and events but the majority-Vanyar elves and Maiar who would compete every year in the various athletic feats and challenges. Due to her mother’s family, Findis knew more about the Valmar athletic competitions, the wresting and boxing matches, the foot races, the various throwing events, and the team ball games, than anyone that was not a Vanyar or had attempted to win the garlands of victory. Her first stories had been idle amusements because one could only watch cousins perform calisthenics as the Treelight shifted before the monotony destroyed the mind, according to Findis. Also as petty revenge against some peers. Allegedly. She first wrote out the gossip between the interwoven relationships of the various team members of rugby and that stick and ball game, then started to dramatize and create hypothetical pairings and rivalries, only exaggerating the villainy of some competitors slightly. The drugged drink incident was based on an actual scandal. Over time Findis created stock scenarios and characters and branched out into other athletic events, forming a subgenre of fiction. Not that said accounts of underdogs aiming to win boxing and racing events did not also transform into romantic stories, revealing the connection between her juvenile and mature works. Findis’s first breakout hit was that of a slow-witted but softhearted boxer who clumsily but earnestly courted a maiden that served Yavanna and whose final match against the current champion was not to win the bout but to prove his stamina and resolve. Sardo lost the exhibition match but won respect from the arrogant champion and the love of the maiden. Heledir as a young boy re-read that novel incessantly, had memorized the poetic verse and musical retellings, and had begged his mother for a pet turtle so that he could emulate Sardo. Finrod had convinced Heledir to sneak into Princess Findis’s private library on the basis of the secret that she was the original author. Somewhere in Tirion his signed copy of “Sardo Palpondo” languished in storage.

“Starting back when they were students?” Heledir asked.

Findis nodded. “Gold as the prodigy, unaware of how deeply Iron wants to prove himself superior. Argumentative when in the current timeline until they learn to work together. Blue is unsure of what expertise he can offer the group, as Gold is the valiant skilled fighter and main duelist, impulsive in combat when Blue has the marksmen’s patience. Whereas Gold envies Blue for his connections to the group and his ease in situations outside of combat, his large and loving family and many friends.”

“Your classic sports rivals.”

“I have not written one in more than a century,” Findis admitted. “It would be nice to return to my roots.”

“I wonder whom the original pair that dynamic was based off of? Is there some loyal duo in Valmar that fights to this day over petty challenges?”

“You and Edrahil,” she muttered low enough to keep Heldir from hearing.

“Hm?”

Findis raised an eyebrow. “There is nothing unique to it. Especially among boys,” she added with a snort.

Heledir studied the charcoal drawings spread across the floor. “Iron does not seem to fit the Blue pilot. His name should be swapped with Tin. The malleability and rigidity of stone and water aligns better, especially if one accounts for pewter.”

“I agree,” Findis said. “Blue is a natural second-in-command instead of a leader, once he matures, but his style of leadership aligns him with Arno Silver-arm, and his growth into a support and balance for Gold will be mirrored in how Silver-arm leads the warriors on behalf of their princess.”

As Heledir crossed on the name on the paper marked with the piece of yellow seal wax, Findis elaborated on one of her bullet points. “He’s our chef. Sir Iron with the yellow lion ship. As part of his nurturing personality and to give him an interest outside of combat. Blacksmith and chef.”

“Is he a good chef?”

“Yes. But since they are traveling to new locations constantly, he must confront unfamiliar foodstuffs and learn to make edible meals.”

Heledir added the culinary notes. “Another good thread to run through the story. Each new meal will have a more outlandish name and appearance, yet still be appetizing. Thus the readers’ anticipation: will Sir Iron ever be defeated by a new plant or meat?”

“Was the fried silkworm pupae a practical joke that the Sindar played on you, or did they really eat that in Doriath?”

When Heledir looked up at Findis as she asked the question, the princess was cupping her chin in her hand, the corner of her smile curling into her fingers like a shy child hiding behind a curtain. The uppermost golden bracelet around her arm sparkled, and he felt an almost magpie-like urge to snatch it to inspect the design around the band and read the words engraved on the inside. It looked like a gift. Heledir wondered from whom.

“It was delicious. Crispy, with this spicy sauce or a bit of salt. They made something similar in Brithomber using tiny clams; Círdan snacked on them during meetings.” Heledir sighed. “No, the disgusting thing was the mortals and their mushrooms. Oh, and raw milk.”

Findis’s shudder in response was satisfyingly expressive.

“What other characters must we devise for this preliminary round?”

Heledir stretched his arms and reclined back, resting his elbows atop the folded carpet. The left elbow hit the concealed belt-knife, and Heledir grappled with the realization that he was almost comfortable in a room without a weapon. Carrying a sword and dagger had been second nature to the former commander of Nargothrond’s army. Strange to be in a city once more where few wore sword belts, yet Heledir read their imprint in the lopsided gait of fellow pedestrians. Scratching his side -and inadvertently staining his linen undershirt with the black charcoal from his fingers- he mused. “The princess’s loyal retainer, the steward of the castle. Older man, comedic. Give him facial hair; there are plenty of mortal designs I could draw from, variations on mustaches. And more villains - monsters for the flying lions to fight against. Giant beasts like dragons and the great wolf. Uzuneth creates a new one each time that one is defeated, more terrible than the last, for steady plot progression.”

“Should there be other survivors with the princess in the castle? Or does she wake from her centuries of slumber to the tragedy of only the two survivors?”

Slumping further back, now Heledir was prone on his back on the floor, his head supported by the carpet, staring up at the ceiling of the bookroom. The plasterwork molding applied a latticework of vines and geometric shapes across the surface, reminding him of the stone reliefs that decorated the surface of every tunnel in Nargothrond. “Add a nursemaid, perhaps. She might be superfluous with the mustached steward. And some cute animals. Not a pet, just something that also got trapped in the castle when the enchantment fell upon them to hide the castle away. Princess Elanor adopts it. Mice? Yes, make four of them. A little team. And the witch has a cat.”

“Some of her people survive, captured as thralls by the dark kingdom. A late reveal, and a way to add another female character to the cast for balance, when she is rescued. Princess Elanoratya.”

Heledir groaned. “Princess Pirnë, at least. Please avoid the numbers.”

“Pirnë, fine. She can form a secondary couple with one of the other knights.”

Findis sighed. “I worry about the simplicity of motivation to support the characters and plot. Can the lion pilots return to their home island before defeating Gabiltur? Copper-wencë and Gold have the hunts for their families, Arno is a veteran soldier and leader and has the history of his imprisonment as well as his sense of duty, but for Iron and Tin, the desire to return to their families must be dealt with unless we explain away why the ships cannot go back to their home island. They have no Ban. Eventually the story must, for it will no longer be hidden from the dark kingdom once the story proper begins, and the core tenet is that only the lion-ships are powerful enough to fight back against Gabiltur’s forces.” Findis tapped her fingers against her cheek. “Iron initially will be most reluctant to pledge to Princess Elanor, the most afraid of fighting and most eager to return to his family, but one of the first star islands that they liberate will be home to starving thralls -not Pirnë’s people!- to whom Iron shall bond with. Earth. A dwarf-like people. Maybe stone-men, actual stones. Iron’s kind heart will lead him to courage. That leaves Tin-blue. He can bond with Princess Elanor’s servants, initially in his amorously-motivated attempts to learn about her people. Good to have the two clowns play off another. Then, hmm, an attack on the castle. Tin-blue notices a sign of the infiltrators but disregards his suspicions because he is so homesick.” Findis began to write, her pen racing after her spoken narration in a vain pursuit. “He turns back just in time to rescue a near fatal blow on Elatan-Mustache and is injured in the process. Sir Gold will fight off the lead attacker - ah, the lieutenant of Gabiltar with a replacement metal arm- to save Bl..no, wait, Arno fights him first but then they are both captured, defeated by his own traumatic memories resurfacing, the rematch later after this bout of weakness. No, the lieutenant is always Gold’s final enemy because that’s the true parallel, as Arno’s opposite is Gabiltur the Dark King himself. Blue pulls himself out of unconsciousness to fire an arbalest bolt -no, just a stone, too concussed for more and too unrealistic for prisoners to grab a weapon- just in time to distract the enemy and save Gold as he duels Mace-armed Lieutenant. ‘We make a good team.’ Yes. And, wait, not the steward. Old Nursemaid, not Elatan-Mustache. She’s the one that gets injured as well in the attack, enough so that she spends most of the series convalescing. This alleviates the character role redundancy. But Tin-blue’s guilt towards her shall help to drive him forward and thus in battle he shall always be watching for surprise attacks and trying to cover his companions’ backs, to atone for his perceived failure.”

“Mention his mortal grandmother. They tended to live longer than the men, and most mortal families that I knew were ruled over by these matriarchs,” Heledir added. “That the chieftain could be overruled by a tottering old woman with no teeth and more wrinkles than a dried plum was an old joke among all three Edain tribes, and when a saying is that universal you know that it is no longer a joke. Tin-blue has a grandmother, several aunts and uncles, and a large number of cousins. Large for a moral. Did you know there were families with more than ten children? More than once I was introduced to an Edain woman who had given birth to fourteen, though most aimed for a more modest number.”

Findis wheezed. “By the stars!”

#my fic #the meta fan findis stuff #silm fic #findis stumbles onto the fandom gold that is gay pining #findis does not foresee the shipwar she is about to create #this is not a crack fic .....somehow

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (2)

Part Two, Part One

...

Eyes bright with excitement, Heledir accepted the outstretched pen. “What ideas have you had so far, Princess Findis?”

Findis offered one of her small genuine smiles. “I missed having your assistance. Mother and Nerdanel play audience for me when they can, but I do not feel comfortable sharing my ideas with them when the stories are naught but wet clay unshaped and unfired.” Taking a deep breath as if to steady herself for a strenuous physical task, Findis began to outline her thoughts. “A story for young people to be sold in Valmar, Tirion, Alqualondë, and beyond. To be serialized in multiple volumes and fully illustrated. Something with a sweet ending, for I cannot abide to write a tragedy, and had anyone a desire for unhappy endings, there is yet another edition out of Narn i Chîn Húrin. A group of companions fighting against evil forces off in some imaginary place- you would think our appetite for that had waned, but public taste is what it is. Surely you’ve also noticed how popular those imaginary tales of the hero with the bat-fell are both across the sea and here in Valinor? Not that I don’t also greatly enjoy those stories and the new block-prints created using the original author’s stories and chalk drawings from Balar as inspiration.”

Quenta Quildarecáno, as the name was translated for the audience in Valinor, began as entertainment for mortal refugee children during the final decades of the First Age. Leber, an apprentice of Dírhavel, based the imaginary dark city as a combination of the magnificent hidden metropolises of Menegroth and Gondolin but also the world that his small audience knew, of an island isolated from hope and a world overrun by evil, and the orphan hero trying, perhaps futilely, to save it. In Leber’s stories the hero always defeated the dastardly but comedically incompetent villains. The tales were not as light-hearted as the ones with the talking cat and disguised scullion, but the seriousness of threats and the tormented psyche of the bat-fell disguised hero fluctuated over the course of the war. The Númenorean settlers carried their childhood fantastical tale with them to their new home and expanded on Leber’s original ad hoc adventures, adding new colorful villains and allies. Like many mortal imports, the elves of Valinor adored the Bat-man, and there were frequent dispatches to pick up the new releases from the port of Andúnië.

Heledir shrugged. “Aglar’s siblings are fans. Craban sends copies in his letters to his sister, and Amanië collects the porcelain figurines. I find the tales amusing, though the use of a magical bat cloak for a hero ...it is difficult for me to imagine, for I was dead before Princess Lúthien used the skin of dread Thuringwethil or took the bats under her protection in Tol Galen. In my memories the bats are still the spies of Morgoth.”

“A point of those stories is how the hero co-opts those symbols of darkness to turn those weapons against evil. Colindiel has written a dissertation of the subject. Anyways,” Findis said airily, “that’s why his bright squires are more popular. There’s a poll in a letter exchange group. My favorite is the female thief with the cat theme.” Heledir almost interrupted her with surprise that the hero with the bat-fell had more than one squire, unsettled by how out-of-touch he was with the plot developments of a series that he did not read the monthly updates from Númenor, but Findis continued her impromptu lecture. “Without the thief-robin, the stories would not have been remembered after the war. And Leber’s stories are an inspiration for the manner of tale I have been commissioned to write. Brightly costumed fighters coming together to have adventures and fight evil forces, prevailing with great triumph and only a little heartache. Stories that make exciting cartoon prints. Centering on mortals - or at least protagonists that seem mortal. For that I shall need your input most of all. The ‘valiant knights with companion steeds’ is still a popular trend, especially with riders sharing with their steeds at least some form of an ósanwë bond. But I admit that I have grown tired of writing about white horses.”

“Wait,” Heledir interrupted, “those are yours?”

“Under a new false name. They are quick to churn out, and lucrative for some ‘pin money’, I believe the term is. Speaking of which, I gave that series to your friend Tacholdir to continue. He wishes to try his hand at editing fiction and has students who might excel if given the opportunity. I am bereft of fresh ideas for that series.” Findis cleared her throat, having rushed her explanation in a swift embarrassment of words.

“For this new work I need another animal, or something besides an animal to be ridden,” Findis continued. “I was thinking of a ship, perhaps, but animate, as if the swan-prows could have actually spoken. Living ships.”

“And why not?” Heledir asked, picking up on the undercurrent of her words, that the idea displeased her and that she was hoping that he could provide a suitable alternative.

“I know little of sailing,” Findis admitted, “and unlike my brother have little interest in spending a summer in Alqualondë collecting the necessary research while reeking of oysters and seaweed.”

“So no to talking ships.”

Findis hesitated. “I did have a notion. About Vingilótë, and the vessels of stone and metal and materials impossible for aught but the Ainur to shape in which were built to bear aloft the last fruits of Laurelin and Telperion. You would have enjoyed the chaos and excitement involved in their drafting and launch into the upper airs, had you been with us.”

Heledir squashed the impulse to wince at her words. “Aye, I missed that, for I followed Prince Finrod and his uncle.” His tone was more defensive than he wished, and only years of discipline steeled his body posture to face her open and unguarded.

“It was your own choice, and theirs,” Findis snapped, then smoothed her facial expression into one of detachment. “It is my turn for apologies, Heledir. I promised myself to let that old resentment rest. For too many centuries I had nursed these dark feelings, and you are not the intended target of all my ire.”

“Only a token portion,” Heledir teased.

“I will greet my brother with more than just bitterness to give when he is restored to life,” Findis said. “Though to address him as Fingolfin...it is a most inelegant name; you must concur with me, Heledir. You were fortunate that the Sindarin version of your name retained a similar pleasant mouth-sound.”

The re-embodied veteran of Beleriand bowed his head in acknowledgement and forgiveness, then leaned forward. “Back to this story,” he said eagerly, “Flying vessels, crafted of some rare and especially strong metal in the shape of an animal and with some form of sentience - a holy source of power perhaps, or just infused with some of their creator’s will, as with the swords Anguirel and Anglachel?”

“Ah yes!” Findis exclaimed, “The ore that fell from the upper airs like a falling star. Thematically it is perfect, for that iron ore was stronger than any sword forged from the substances of Arda, and since it came from Ilmen, or even the outer reaches of Vaiya that envelop everything from the Void, the readers shall not question the premise of the vessels flying through the airs and upper atmosphere. Islands that float up in the sea of stars, and there the story can escape the mundane for new lands of absurdities. There shall our heroes traverse in metal ships that are not shaped like ships. Why shouldn’t star-ore fly? For simplicity’s sake, though, the star-ore should contain the holy sentience. Nerdanel often speaks of how she can feel a sculpture inside the rock she carves, and that she is freeing and assisting the fëa to manifest the refined form of its hröa. So let it be that in this universe, their Ainur could not enter Eä without difficulty, that they had to enter with souls tied to physical material, as inert ore, and needed the hands of mortals to give them a body that can move and fight against evil. And without a pilot they cannot move, as Anar and Ithil need Arien and Tilion. When the characters pilot the vessels they have a weak connection to the mind of the holy one. Full conversations would be too easy and complicated.” Of the popular genre focused on the ósanwë-connected valiant steed and elven companion, that such tales devolved into little more than the bonded pair conversing back and forth and all other character interactions rendered secondary and lacking was a pitfall that Findis was keen to avoid and had warned Tachildor to beware.

Heledir twirled the pen in his fingers. “If there is to be more than one vessel-spirit, does that require multiple falling ores? Or did they enter the world as one mass? And was it then when they were divided into bullion that the fëar separated?”

“One ore, I think. As for the fëar, I do not know. One as many, one into many. As even the Valar began as thoughts of the One, the distinction is minor, and I write this as entertainment for children, not philosophy and contemplation on the full meaning of the Song. Anyways, this is not our Eä.” Findis waved a hand, banishing the invisible conundrum.

“So we have our holy spirit ships - built in the forms of birds? Mechanical eagles instead of just prows with a bird’s head.”

“Of course, a full body, like those dwarven toys. The pilot shall sit inside and steer with the eyes of the vessel-beast. And eagles, the audience in Valmar shall embrace a story with riders of giant eagles or hawks, for the animals beloved most by Manwë are the most popular of the Vanyar, second only to lions. Surely you noticed how often their motifs appear in the architecture of the city, in all those garish colors that you so disdain?”

The pen held in Heledir’s fingers had stilled, and he sat facing Findis with a quivering tension. She stared at his bright eyes with a dawning understanding. “No.”

“Lions!”

“No,” she groaned, but Heledir’s excited was undaunted.

“Flying lions, Findis! Imagine it!”

“I am, and it is ridiculous.” Yet as she said this, the small honest smile returned to her face.

#my fic #silm fic #the meta fan findis stuff #second age valinor #edain fangirls of valinor is a HC you will never take from me

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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Grumpily entered yet another level of linguistic conlag fan-fic hell when I decided that Findis is going to name characters (and this is a lampshade on the problem of naming characters for stories in general and also Tolkien fic) using not Quenya or Sindarin but going full mortal and giving her characters names in Khuzdul. Maybe. The dwarves of the first age don’t seem to have the same secrecy around their native tongue. Whatever. I need 5 metals and something that means pretty or star.

And ugh, there’s not the easy-to-use sites for that like there is Q/S. Maybe I go old Norse instead...

#working on silm fic #the meta fan findis stuff #am about three seconds away from swapping over to the sort of sequel that focuses on the (fictional) tragic gay dads and their idiot orc son

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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on one hand, i am getting kudos and some small number of hits on the crazy Findis fusion fic- on the other hand if there was ever a fic i craved comments on, it’s that crazy one. Readers, are you here just because it has my name on it? what are you getting out of this insanely self-indulgent thing?

#writing woes #the meta fan findis stuff

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (9)

Part 9, Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part Three, Part Two, Part One

...

Heledir pushed himself back up into a sitting position, an action that informed him of how stiff his muscles had become. Tomorrow he vowed to go riding out to visit Fân and Indolen Dondwen to enjoy the atmosphere outside the city and the strain of a few hours in the saddle. Aereth and Bân were visiting his family down south in the Plains of Yavanna, making visits to them inconvenient. Heledir longed for the ease of Nargothrond when his men were gathered in a singular barracks wing. Perhaps he could cajole Arodreth to join him on tomorrow’s ride outside of Tirion. Old Father Bull ran errands to fetch plants, tools, and new fertilizers for his gardens constantly and would not object to company. He need not avail himself to the services of the gymnasium that Tacholdir’s fiancée frequented just yet. Angell swore that their bathhouse was worth the membership, though.

“Your thoughts have wandered from my presence again,” Findis chided.

“Forgive me, Dear Princess,” Heledir said. “I am here as your humble literary servant.”

“Blue’s mortal large family is why I asked for your input and novel experience. This is why truly great art is not crafted in isolation.” The rebuking edge to Findis’s declaration was only in Heledir’s imagination because he knew of her antagonistic history with her half-brother and the cruel words that Fëanor had not successfully refrained from slamming onto a young girl’s weakened self-worth. Findis buried the hurt towards the distant half-brother who had challenged Findis’s right to exist, let alone her worth or skills, had mocked and disparaged her mother and siblings, had threatened to murder her brother, and had murdered some many of her dearest friends. A rich life grew like a garden above where that painful memory was consigned, and as Findis confessed the one time that Finrod had dared to breach the topic, no revenge would wound her half-brother more than irrelevance.

“Do we have enough notes?”

“For today,” Findis said. “I’ll take them to Handë’s publisher. The main artist has not been chosen, and for this style of continuously published pamphlet I will write the scripts for the first month or two, then the main narrative is handled by the dedicated team. They send me the final drafts for approval, but I am just Pitya-Eru. Elsewise the scope would exhaust me, and as charming as a crew of flying metal lion ships are, this is not the project I can give my full attention to. There is a concept that I have desired to grow into a full novel to which I shall dedicate my time - but I beg that you ask no details of that from me yet. It is but in its shell, too undeveloped to hatch into the light.”

“I will be your second eyes and your acoustics board when you do wish to share your next novel.” Heledir received a beatific smile for his offer. Warmth pooled in his abdomen. The sense of restoration balanced equally between the two occupants of this quiet bookroom in which many such offers to read over the drafts of Finvain’s novels had been offered and accepted. “I am a selfish man, I confess to you. You have not replaced me as a confidante, how joyous this makes me! My ego grows as vast as the great Belegaer.”

Findis giggled. “I will steal you from my nephew. Dress you my livery. Despair at the mud you track into my rooms from your random disappearing acts to go birdwatch or spy on our neighbors, for you are a cat writ large, Heledir, with all its arrogance and freedom.”

“Shall I pledge to you right now? Give me your badge and I shall wear it!”

Findis’s giggles deepened into her delightfully husky laugh. “No, Heledir! I don’t want you underfoot. Charming menace that you are, I could not stand your daily company.”

The rejection of an offer made in jest could still sting, but Findis’s laughter was his aim. Heledir basked in his victory.

“We face no hurry on the drafts; Handë’s publication will not be out until after the High Feast, and the story about the monkey and his companions traveling to the Halls of Nienna on the Westernmost Coast has not yet concluded. My commission is for the replacement of that adventurous yarn.” As she gathered the sketches with their scribbles of notes, Findis reread the profiles. The skim was to ensure that she had not made herself a liar. “Finrod’s assistance with the names will help to kiln-bake the cast, and afterwards we shall review. The exact nature of the villains defeated at the end of each chapter are best left up to the artists, and it is folly to try to plan everyone and how the weave of the tale unfolds from the start.” Findis paused in her shuffle and placed one of the papers on the writing desk and reached for her pen. A v of tiny wrinkles appeared between her brows, the spark of concentration. She added another character skill to Copper-wencë, that of language acquisition. “Your experience in Beleriand proves the necessity of that talent.”

“Division of skill is key,” Heledir stated.

“For this manner of story, exactly,” Findis said, pointing at him with the pen. She twirled it around her fingers with a flourish and placed it on the small writing desk. “We are done for today. Mother and Nerdanel have yet to return from their date, but I crave food and shall pester the cook for something refreshing. Figs are in season. You may join if you wish, Heledir.”

“Though I would love to mooch off of the royal largesse, I have commitments this evening.”

“Such as?”

“Taking the volumes to Edrahil. His opinion is as keen as mine for soundness of plot and mysteries, and Maiwë likes the frothier romances.”

Findis smiled as she reached to pull Heledir from the floor, the opportunity that he needed to slide his hand up her arm to grasp the golden bracelet and pull it off her wrist. Findis snorted as Heledir held the circle close to his face to read the tengwar inscription on the inside: a date that he could not place the significance of. “It was a gift from Cousin Netyarë.”

“What is the date? That’s the old Tree Years.”

“The anniversary of the publication of First Impressions. It was a congratulations.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “What prompted this?”

Heledir slid the bracelet back onto her wrist. “No suspicion, just curiosity.” Jealousy had spurred the thought of Uilon’s connection to the bracelet somehow, which Heledir would do his best to banish from any further thoughts and never admit to Findis. His deflection did not fool Findis, but the older woman did not press.

“I will ask Netyarë which goldsmith she commissioned the piece from when I visit Valmar, if the craftsmanship intrigues you.”

Hiding behind a wide fake smile, he replied, “The craftsman probably died in Beleriand. My lord showers me with jewelry as it is.”

Findis squeezed his fingers. “It would not harm you to dress finely, as your friends do. Tacholdir can help you with the trends that will suit your features and sensibilities. And between my nephew, his father, Edrahil, and Lord Aclar Herenvarnion, you can afford the clothing of your station and connections.”

“Does this bother you?” Heledir asked as he pulled on his doublet, wondering why the cuff had already begun fraying on a garment that he had not owned for more than a few months.

“Only that I would invite you to join me to the ballet in a few weeks, and we shall be gossip fodder if you dress meanly.”

“Which one?”

“The Raven and the Swan. Quáwen has a solo. Invite your cadre of friends to join us; the performance will be held in Alqualondë so the ones that live on Tol Eressëa like Faron can join us. Galuven and Edrahil have seats promised.”

Heledir smiled. “Until our next planning session.”

Findis fluttered her hands over the white cotton of her high-waisted gown, patting away wrinkles in an involuntary mirroring to Heledir’s futile efforts to straighten his own clothing back into presentability. He could read the desire on her face to take a motherly hand to him and take over his lacing, as if he was a toddler unable to fasten his own garments. As Heledir was completely sober, such assistance was unnecessary - and would have still been unnecessary had he been as drunk as Gadwar at his first Hadorin party. “At the end of the week. Tell my nephew to join us. I need those names.”

#my fic #silm fic #the meta fan findis stuff #yes i added a nod to Journey to the West at the last second #also yes that is another mention of the Princess Tutu fusion #Quáwen is Ahiru

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (6)

Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part Three, Part Two, Part One

“Do I call the rider of the yellow lion ��Gold’ or save it for the second in command?”

Heledir looked at the four squares. “Tin. He’s the leg on Green’s side.”

“And a source of stability,” Findis added. “The cautious character, the physically strong one with the careful and timid personality, who will learn to have boldness. When my plan was to make them ships, I thought that he would be their ship’s carpenter, the one to repair the vessels after storms. Well, even magical metal beasts built like puppets need smiths that can repair them, or at least someone who knows how to maintain and clean metal. Tin-man’s hobby is cooking. He’ll provide the food and bond with the new people at the various locations through the sharing of good meals.”

The face and body that Heledir sketched resembled an unbearded dwarf, an impossibility, but in whose broad and rounded features he attempted to invoke memories of long-dead friends and acquaintances. Heledir added a headband and gave him the shoulder-length hairstyle of Hadorian men, but shaded the features to look more Bëorian. Findis critiqued the sketch: a more bulbous nose and to raise the mouth and redo the chin; no one had three points. She also demanded a note that Tin should be the second tallest of the pilots as befitting his archetype and to not have him read as one of the dwarves, despite the planned entomology of his finalized name. “Still not cute enough,” she repeated as Heledir redrew lines and eventually turned the paper over to re-sketch the yellow pilot-knight to her satisfaction.

“He shall summon shields, as his element is the Earth. That is to say, the Valar inside his lion would be the equivalent of Aulë, and inside the green is Yavanna.”

“And blue is water and red is fire,” Heledir continued. “Summoning a longbow and a flaming sword respectively.”

“A flaming sword?” Findis exclaimed, giving her younger male companion an aghast look.

“I think it would be exciting,” Heledir said. “It was no fun that the balrogs had flaming whips.”

“Fun,” Findis said in the flattest of tones that she could possibly reach, attempting to leech her voice of all outward display of emotion to convey the extent of her displeasure.

Heledir shrugged once more. “The coating of light on the swords to warn of orcs nearby did create this glowing after-image as if the metal was a bar of flame when in motion, but the glow was faint and cold-blue. It was a desire of mine to have a sword that had a hot bright glow, as if it were a pillar of flame as the balrogs wield, even if such a weapon would be impractical to wield for any but a demon of shadow and flame. So, if this is to be an amusing children’s tale with such impracticalities as flying metal lion ships, then I want a flaming giant sword.”

Eyes bright with delight, “Flaming giant sword it is,” Findis said.

“What is the black lion’s power?” Heledir asked.

“Spirit, like the Fëanturi.”

Rather than ask for clarification, Heledir handed Findis the redesign of Sir Tin and re-sketched the fanciful armor, aiming to simplify the overlapping plates that somehow still left the belly unprotected, ignoring the veteran soldier inside his memories that was screaming about the uselessness of such protective ‘armor’ and listening only to the artist’s eye. Next to the figure he drew a shield, sword, and bow. “Green?”

Findis shrugged. “What would you suggest?”

“Utility tool. Growing plants …rope and grappling hook. Lasso. Maybe a secondary transformation into the bolos used by the North Sindarin herdsmen.” He handed Findis the drawings, and she wrote out the weapons and their associated pilot in the top corner with a second note to space out the revelation of each weapon over the course of the story, tied preferably to an epiphany of character that strengthened their teamwork.

Heledir looked at the diagram of five, pondering the metaphor of a unified body and the idea of unlocking weapons summoned by metal constructs inhabited by Powers, and of fanciful armor. The inspiration puddled like half-baked gelatin, too formless to be grasped. Instead, Heledir picked up the first blank paper on the left side. “Third knight.”

Findis waved a hand. “You decide his look, since I have been so difficult with Sir Tin.” She smiled. “I confess, he is the one that I have given the least thought to so far. The most leeway to play with, if we frame kindly.”

“Boring,” Heledir replied cheekily. For the red pilot, Heledir drew an average face and long dark hair. His clothing was equally non-inspired, except for a pair of gloves as Heledir outlined a path. “If this is the character with the least preliminary plans, then his character as a foil to the others is best. A hot temperament and reckless courage. The loner. Difficult to obey orders, standoffish. Not out of a conflict of goals, as with Copper-wencë, but because his personality ill suits a soldier. But also tied closely to Arno. His ward, younger brother-in-arm. Yes. The story proper begins when Arno, temporarily bereft of memory and ignorant of the outlaw faction that has assisted his escape, stumbles back to their home shore, and Red defies orders to help him out of trust and loyalty.”

Findis nodded. “The other three will be friends, hm, apprentice midshipmen together. Blue and Yellow will be the close friends, childhood companions, to contrast the newer bonds between everyone else as the story develops. I have not been commissioned to write a school story, but such a setting for our young pilot-knights to explain their baseline skill should be fine. Regular ships, not the fancy flying lions. Or maybe this world has flying ships aplenty? The setting is an ocean of floating islands, but our lions can transverse the regular oceans and dive into the depths as seabirds do, opening all locations to our plot. Students. All four, but Red left or was dismissed for his temper. Arno’s no longer there to intervene for his young ward.” Findis tapped the drawing held down by the green wax stick. “The two do not know that Pidgeon is Copper-wencë. When she shall also learn of Arno’s return, she plans to spring him out of interrogative custody, aiming to question Arno about her father and brother, and her two friends agree to help her without knowing why. Thus they collide with …is Red to be our Gold or Iron?”

“Gold,” Heledir said. “The one that Arno wants to take over as leader if something happens to him, but who does not have the leadership skill and ease with other people. His arc is to learn to work as a team, to come out of his isolation, and for his leader to see that Gold will be ill-suited as a direct heir. To be the arm and not head. And Gold will struggle to express that his reluctance to accept leadership is a growing self-knowledge as much as it is refusal to entertain the possibility of Arno’s death, for he admires Arno as an older brother after his father died and is his only remaining bond until Gold learns to become a true teammate.”

“A perfect arc for both,” Findis said. “You must write your own tale one day. One adventure must be where Arno and Gold get separated, Arno injured, and Sir Gold must pilot the Black Lion to save them both. Arno will take this as a sign that Gold can lead if he falls in battle - a reckless duel or three shall be in store for Silver-arm, maybe even a temporary recapture- whereas Gold cannot fathom the glare without his older brother’s shadow to shield him and inspire him to feats of great strength.”

“What of his mother?” Heledir began to ask, then clicked his tongue against his mouth. “An idea, if we are to lean into Gold’s abandonment issues and isolation. Make his mother one of the outlaws. A heroic romance between the two kindreds. She was scouting for the hidden lions or hiding from the evil kingdom’s patrols and lands on the shore of our hero’s land, stumbles onto the homestead of a simple farmer. They fall in love and have a child -Gold will look like his father to hide the reveal until at least several arcs into the story- but then she fears that her presence will be discovered and leads the enemy away until years later when Arno and Copper-atar’s vessel is found. Sir Gold’s uncle will be the leader of the outlaws.”

“Naturally,” Findis said. “It is a good plot, the lovers and mixed heritage and the uncle. There will be conflict between Sir Gold and the rest of the group, especially Princess Elanor. And the contrast between him and Arno Silver-arm, the inborn connection versus that foisted on by captivity of their ties to the dark kingdom. A dramatic reunion with his mother.”

“Does the mother die?”

“No,” Findis snapped. At the forcefulness of her response, both elves laughed. “It is a cliche, isn’t it?”

“In the stories from Númenor and the other mortal tales that I have learned over the years, yes,” Heledir admitted. “A distressingly frequent number of dead mothers, in both their imaginary tales and true histories. But if you knew the Second-born and their bodies’ frailty, it is not so odd. Childbirth is peculiarly dangerous for them, saps their strength and leaves them open to illnesses. I do not think the tainted nature of Middle-earth alone can explain how readily they accepted the fate of Míriel, how utterly unremarkable it was to them.”

“Death is unremarkable to them,” Princess Findis of Valinor, whose foot had never stepped off the Blessed Realm, said gently.

“And thus the popularity of the mortal stories and those that emulate them,” Heledir added in an equally solemn voice.

“The safety of stories,” Findis said, “and the deeper truths in their freedoms.”

#the meta fan findis stuff #my fic #silm fic #heledir was disappointed with the blue glow on noldor swords and wanted to steal balrog whips #i'm not sure how funny this fic is #the absurdity of it normalized years ago

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (5)

Part 5, Part 4, Part Three, Part Two, Part One

...

Findis laughed. “I have the story planned for Gabiltur and Uzuneth. Oh, yes, those are nice names. I shall miss them when Finrod gives us more correct ones. At first they would be stock villains, but as I think about it and the tale progresses, they become dark mirrors for our Princess Elanor and Arno Silver-arm. Gabiltur was the original pilot knight of the lead lion. The star-ore falls to the earth and the original five kings forge the ore into five giant mechanical beasts so that the powers inside can communicate and move. There are dark Valar in this universe who are trying to break in, through meteors of evil. Gabiltur and Elanor’s father-”

“King Elatan,” Heledir interjected.

“Yes, Elatantur. And Uzuneth was originally of Elatanur’s kingdom, their most gifted smith, the one that designed the ships, and she and Gabiltur fell in love and married. Elatantur is another pilot, the first one to hear the voice of the inert Powers inside the fallen ore, and he called his fellow kings together to create the alliance- but not the leader. Gabiltur was the first pilot of the lead ship, the black one. A strong king, noble, daring. The five kings fight against villains of the past, some imbued with dark metal. Good prequel material. Seemingly banished, these past enemies, and an easy way to power up opponents in later arcs. But then Uzuneth grows ill. Gabiltur is desperate to save her. He uses the star-lions to fly into the void governed by the Valar of Unlight, searching for more power to save her. He reinvigorates her spirit, but her song has been twisted by the Unlight, and she no longer remembers her husband or the child she bore him. Is about to bear him. Must figure out my timeline. There’s a son, raised by his cruel parents, and this prince is ambitious to betray and usurp them. He will present himself as an ally to our heroes, but has treachery in his heart.”

“Wants to marry Princess Elanor for the powerful alliance and to gain control of the lions?”

“Of course.”

Heledir tapped his fingers. “Ah! The treacherous prince is for later villainous plots, the Gorthaur to his father’s Morgoth - and thus defeated by the princess and cravenly flees the narrative. A seed of possible repentance, perhaps, carried in his heart. Or is he to succeed in murdering his father, thus giving our heroes hope of victory before revealing that he is just as grasping and cruel but more dangerous in his cunning and knowledge of their secrets?”

“I do not know yet,” Findis said. “That will depend on how successful this series shall be for Anairë and Handë’s families. A few volumes need but one villain, but I leave the threads open for a longer weaving. And if both Gabiltur and his son are defeated and there still requires more story to be told, then the Valar of Unlight will be waiting.”

“He died, Gabiltur,” Heledir added. “Make the mirror reflection truly dark and terrible. Gabiltur asks his four companions on a quest to save his beloved, and willingly sacrifices them one by one. Elatantur rejects his best friend before the end, is able to wrestle control of the lions and send them off to all the hidden islands, before he is slain. Gabiltur dies as Uzuneth is restored to life, and she uses the powers of the Valar of Unlight to keep his body alive, to rechain his fëa to his hroä. As the oldest orcs are. Tormented and tainted. And that is why Gabiltar is so strong and so full of madness and cruelty. Why no mortal blow works against him. And Uzuneth’s act of great love destroys her memory of Gabiltur, only so she remembers her loyalty to him. Gabiltur is too heartbroken to call her wife, for she no longer remembers their bonds of affection. And he cannot stand the sight of his infant son, for the prince is the reminder of his mother who is no longer dying, but still lost to him. But he cannot stand against his son, despite the later acts of treachery, for this last tie to their love.”

“You skillfully perceive my thoughts,” Findis said.

“Readers shall bawl in pity for them,” Heledir proclaimed. With a fresh sheet he sketched out the pair, using the flat of the charcoal to map out broad swathes of black and shadow. A hooded woman, crooked and bent like an elderly mortal crone, spider-like in the curves of her hands, face concealed by the hood of her cloak, the only decoration a belt of silver across her hips. Melian wore a belt of silver and jet medallions, and Heledir copied the accessory, changing the dragonfly into a spider. The towering armored king he veered away from faithfully recreating a balrog or other lieutenant of Morgoth, though the design was similar enough to be unescapable. Not adding horns or spikes to the helmet helped. With the bulk of the shoulder and the overall shape of the face Heledir invoked a bear. The Haladim told stories of bears that could walk and talk like men, of she-bears that pretended to be human women, tragic love stories. Longer fangs on the lower jaw to emphasize the chin. Pointed cat ears instead of a bear’s round half-circles. Blank eyes.

“I like the furred look,” Findis said. “Makes them distinct from orcs. I do not want all to be evil. Instead, oh, like the non-Edain mortals, the men that were loyal to Morgoth out of fear and misplaced loyalty. Some will betray Gabiltur, ally with Princess Elanor and the lion-pilots, be the secret saboteurs and outlaws within the dark kingdom working to undermine its evil. A hidden city of them, perhaps,” Findis said with a sly smile. “That shall be how Arno escapes captivity after the sorceress marks him for her schemes.” Findis paused again. “His left arm will be amputated, lost in one of the unwilling tournaments or through torture, and replaced by a mechanical one. A piece of dark craft, a mystery to be later revealed that Uzuneth could track the team through its call. Somewhere in the second story arc, after the first one where they locate and recover all of the lion ships, Arno will duel a loyal captain of Gabiltar who has a similar mechanical arm. Gabiltar’s enforcer, the strongest rival for the treacherous prince. Maybe the arm transforms into a blade or a mace?”

Heledir did not ask who inspired the missing arm, be it Beren or Gwindor or even Maedhros. The face that he drew was distinctly handsome and shared features with Mablung in the strong jaw and long nose and monolid eyes, the broad chest with tucked waist. The features -and the backstory of captivity- also lent the character a vague similarity to Heledir’s friend, Faron. To lessen the similarity, Heledir drew the lines of the mouth in a serious straight frown and thick eyebrows that lacked the lopsided smile that never fully disappeared from Faron’s face. Dissatisfied, Heledir returned to the narrow eyes and added a swooping line to the outer eye. Faron had long lashes. A long tuff of trauma-induced white hair in the front, short cropped black hair for the rest, and now Arno Silver-arm looked enough like both Mablung of the Heavy Hand and Faron Mithmeren to be neither elf. Round ears. “He needs a facial scar,” Heledir murmured, knowing that the character would be depicted in armor for most illustrations. He added a wide line across the bridge of the character’s nose, nearly bisecting his face.

“Cute,” Findis said, peering over Heledir’s shoulder. “Properly handsome for a leading man.”

“Espouses the princess at the end of the story?” Heledir asked, though he doubted that he needed the answer.

“Well, the other options are the red or blue pilot,” Findis said, unable to keep the laughter from her voice. “Or the misbegotten prince - how often have I complained of readers who decide that the heroine should have given the wrong man her affection when the point of his character is to contrast how ill-suited he is as an equal and respectful partner compared to the hero? Readers demanding that I upend my work to please their misreadings. I have letters from those that cannot understand why Elnissë chose Tarassion, as if they did not read beyond the chapter with the failed proposal.”

“I love that scene.”

“Everyone loves that scene.”

Heledir returned to the task of sketching out the main pilot leads. Faces were good, but he also needed to design their main combat outfit. Impractical armor in overlapping curved plates, a large v-shape on the upper breastplate. To the side he sketched a helmet, toying with the idea of leaving the back open to allow hair to flow, as impractical as that would be for actual protection. He wondered how much of the visor he could eliminate to allow for clarity of illustrations. That would be the actual artist’s problem to solve, Heledir decided. “So Arno escapes with the help of the outlaws to return to the home island…”

“But he is too bewildered by his captivity and the escape, rendered insensate by the experience, and when he is found and recovered, cannot at first speak of his experiences. His memory will be patchy; he will not recall at first how he escaped, will not trust it or himself, thinking perhaps it is some ploy of the enemy.”

Heledir nodded, this scenario being one painfully familiar to him. “Copper-wencë shall immediately recognize him and wish for information about her missing family, to know if they are even alive. Arno Silver-arm shall remember up until they were separated, and vow to help her, and keep her secret.” Heledir finished the sketch of the black pilot and returned to the one marked with the green wax stick.

“She was trying to find information about the disastrous journey from her lords and the harbormasters, and her persistence and willingness to snoop through their confidential records bans her from their manors and dockyards. Hence a false name and disguise when she befriends the other boys. Young sailors, other midshipmen in training.”

“Pigeon,” Heledir stated. “To keep the bird theme for the secondary names. Her disguise name is Pigeon.” In the corner of the page marked with the blob of green wax he redrew the owl-eyed young face with long hair and an open smile, writing a note beneath the face ‘pre-disguise’.

#my fic #silm fic #the meta fan findis stuff #findis does not foresee the shipwar she is about to create #the oddest part is that this is early 2nd Age so it's pre Annatar

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (4)

Part 4, Part Three, Part Two, Part One

...

Heledir’s face twisted through a parade of displeased contortions. “That name does not suit her. And one day you must keep the name Elanor for your female lead. That quirk of yours is so peculiar.”

“When you must create names for as many characters as I, having wax-mold names is a most useful tool. Elanor-enna, Elanor-atya. Elatan-kano, Elatan-dur,” she rattled off. Elanor and Elatan were her temporary-names, as was Arocho for any horse that needed to be named in a story. Findis’s self-created term for these placeholders referenced the use of wax sculptures for creating die cast metal molds, a hobby of her father and a skill in which the princess of the Noldor never dabbled in. Finding the perfect mouth-sounds for new characters was her least favorite task, another element that she gladly outsourced to her nephew and his friends when the curious boys began to invade her library. Heledir was privy to her various first drafts and had seen an Elanor the Twenty-fifth. One day the copy editor would overlook an Elanor or Elatan. Or Heledir would bribe them.

Findis raised another eyebrow at Heledir. “Fine,” she said in a snit, “what’s our suggestion?”

“Use one of the mortal languages to name the characters,” he suggested. “That is what is popular, and the exotic new names shall delight readers.”

“Which one, then?”

Heledir shrugged. “Dwarven, if we want to be truly exotic, and that which our readers will be unfamiliar with. Only my k-Felagund and a few others know the language. Well, many of the old Sindar, though I doubt that they shall be the audience for this work.”

“And what Dwarven do you know?”

Heledir was loath to admit his ignorance but knew himself caught. He was no scholar of language like Finrod or Tacholdir. “‘Khuzdul’ is what they called their own tongue, and they spoke the language of other people when outside their mountain strongholds. Unless one was a trusted friend of a dwarf, acquaintances were offered epessës in Sindarin and human tongues. And the dwarves were unwilling to teach untrusted friends more than a few words of their tongue. We could stick to Taliska; that vocabulary I know well.”

“But not Khuz-dul?”

“Kibil is silver; that I do remember. But maybe that referred to the color of the metal and not the metal itself? Or there’s a term for the ore? I do remember something that my lord said in passing about the exactness of their vocabulary.” Heledir’s thoughts drifted off into idle musing, and a slippered foot reached out to nudge him gently to the focus of their conversation.

“Why silver? Or metals?”

Heledir smiled. “Another easy gimmick. Name the five pilots after five metals. The eldest is silver, then gold, copper, tin, and iron. We won’t need to associate the metal and characters with their colors or lion-ships, but it is a quick way to mold our names.”

“If,” Findis stressed, “you could but recall the vocabulary.”

“We,” Heledir stressed, grinning like thieving fox on the fence next to the pigeon coop, “shall cheat and enlist the knowledge of my former king, your nephew, our dear prince who is most unoccupied and willing to render aid to friends because he is languishing in boredom in his father’s court. One Felagund, Friend of Dwarves. And if we are fortunate and bribe him with a first print copy, we could probably convince him to write a song for this series.”

Findis sighed. “Wax-mold names then. Princess Elanor, Sir Silver, Sirs Iron and Gold, Copper and Tin. Lady Copper, perhaps. I should make one of the five a maiden.”

Heledir hummed a wordless note of inquiry. Findis shrugged. “It is an idea I have toyed with, when creating a cast of new questers for a fighting series. Some women are like my nieces, equal to feats of arms, and the popular section of the Narn i Chîn Húrin where Nienor disguises herself as a Marchwarden compels an excellent story beat. Our youngest pilot-knight is searching for her missing family -captured by the enemy- and disguises herself as a boy to sneak away after she is barred from trying to hunt after them. Father or brother. Hm, both. The story will be relatable for far too many of my readers in Valinor, who shall see themselves in Copper-wencë and the wish fulfillment.” Findis’s later romances reflected the reality of Tirion during the Years of the Sun before the War of Wrath, a setting as alien to Heledir as Nargothrond and the Long Siege was to Findis. A city of empty houses, of widows and estranged wives, of youngest sons and daughters who longed for the family who had abandoned them, of splintered families and loves. Of heartbroken maidens bitterly angry at false promises of ambition and glory.

Heledir wrote the word ‘copper’ on the sheet with the green wax and began to draw a small face with short poufy hair like a mushroom cap as Findis narrated. “She will be our clever one, the loremaster’s prodigy, who joins because the forces of the evil king have captured her father and brother, and she is focused on discovering where they are being held and rescuing them. This shall place her in conflict with her companions: first that she is hiding her true identity and mission, then that she will choose her kin over the greater war effort. To trust others shall be the overarching lesson for many of our characters.”

“Do any of her companions know of her deception?”

Findis smiled, for this was the plot thread that she had clearest in her mind. “Their leader, Sir Silver. Ar-Kibal. Though I did want to perhaps name him for the eagle or hawk.”

“Narak,” Heledir interrupted, “Or something that sounds like that. Or maybe that was the word for eagles in the language of the Hadorim? Oh, Arni! That was the name of this old Haladim woman, frightfully skilled with a battle axe, could shave the wings off of a fly, her aim with the axe was as good as Beleg with a bow - her name meant a type of eagle. That piece of vocabulary I do remember.”

Findis rolled the name around her mouth as if it were a piece of sugared fruit. “It sounds noble, but too feminine. Arno.The name that only his closest companions call him, the personal name. He was the bodyguard for Copper’s father and brother as they explored beyond their home island, unaware that on the distant floating mainland -chain of other islands? The map need not be detailed and extensive, though we should create a map; the readers of this genre of story loves to have a map- is the empire of our dark villain, the evil king who was once boon companion and allied king to Princess Elanor’s father. Their small party is captured at sea, sent to labor as thralls. Made to fight in a mockery of the Valmar sports competitions, a tournament of the unwilling.”

“Set against wild beasts to duel without weapons,” Heledir added, and the princess reached out to clasp the meat of his shoulder, squeezing his flesh. His thin shirt could not block the heat of her hand nor the pressure of her fingers. He focused on that touch to drown out the feeling of his own body’s involuntary trembling. The hand traveled up to cup the back of his neck as Findis pulled Heledir’s face to touch her own, their foreheads meeting in a delicate press. Heledir closed his eyes. Soft lips ghosted across his brow as the hand released him. Findis leaned back. The kiss had soothed him like a mother waking a child from a nightmare. Heledir opened his eyes, his mask of joviality firmly reattached.

“Sir Silver rises as a champion in these cruel tournaments, protecting his fellow thralls, including Copper-atar and Copper-háno, until his skill and the inspirational effect that he wields among his fellow prisoners catches the interest of the witch. The evil king needs a main henchman, and the good contrast would be to have a sorceress. A user of cunning and schemes to his might.”

“Gamil-no, Gabil is the word for great or might. Gabil-tur for our wax-name, until we can corral Finrod to write out a proper name that does not mangle vocabulary and word structure. And Uz,” Heledir sibilated, “z..uz..un? Consonants, I remember that Khuzdul was very exact in its consonants and their ordering and that I could not shape my mouth to match the tone. Those hairy little men laughed at my attempts. Which, yes, does distress me to this day, for I rightfully pride myself in my excellent skill with mimicry of voices and sounds, but they had these puffs for how they pronounced some of the sounds, these odd stresses and stops. Uzuneth. Dim, dark woman. Finrod will rename her. And then we shall rework the names anyway to make them easier for our readers to pronounce.”

#my fic #silm fic #the meta fan findis stuff #meta silliness here

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (1)

Part One

...

Heledir stretched out on the plush carpet of the bookroom, shifting so that the fabric of his linen undershirt rode up and he could feel the thick carpet beneath the muscles of his stomach. Head nestled in the crook of his arm, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of leather, fine-pulp paper, and ink. Also discernible if he concentrated was a faint perfume worn by the other occupant of the room, the eldest Noldor princess. Findis, firstborn daughter of High King Finwë and Queen Indis, reclined in a padded chair near the window, watching as Heledir lay prone before her. If he opened his eyes and tilted her head up, he could see her shoes and the hem of her gown. It was one of those new style gowns of pale cotton belted high just below the bust-line with narrow sleeves and a low neckline, mimicking the styles of lost Beleriand. Findis’s gown had a decorative trim along the hem, and Heledir amused himself by trying to decode which pattern had been reproduced. Imitation Haladim, he decided, with the stylized acorns and oak leaves and the diagonal motifs. Heledir wondered what the odds were on if Findis herself had embroidered the hem. Fashion in Valmar was keen to mimic the mortal Edain these days, and some of the trends baffled Heledir. Powdering gray and white streaks into one’s hair was just as obnoxious and pretentious as the former fad in Tirion of bleaching hair blonde. He had yet to see anyone wearing false beards, though he and Edrahil had a good laugh over reports of such. Findis’s slipper-clad foot shifted forward, and Heledir chuckled and rolled over. “Apologies, Princess. It is so quiet here. This peacefulness is a delight after the press of the city.” “That is why this sanctuary was built,” Findis replied, her voice husky and deep for a woman. Heledir found it pleasing. “Now do you wish to assist me today, or lounge around like an oversized cat? If I wanted their companionship, I would go to the library of Vairë across the street.” Bands of colored light from the stained glass window played across Heledir’s face as he grinned. “I am awake, Princess. I was awake for hours last night. Still pouring through the backlist of your publications since we last visited; I think I have solved which one of the plays was based on your work, though I wish it was not such a hassle to find transcriptions of the performances. It has been too long since I have attended a play. And it has been a delight to read new words from you. I have missed them.” “Yes, there would have been much for you to read. Since you left for Beleriand with my brothers, sister, and nephews and then got all of yourselves killed.” Findis sighed. “I was not as productive during that period as I could have been, especially during the deployment buildup, but during the fifty years of the War of Wrath I admit that I needed something to distract me.” “Those romances were well-written,” Heledir said. “The rich matchmaker, and the one about the couple reuniting years after being persuaded by family to call off the betrothal.” The identity of the anonymous lady who authored many popular romantic novels had been a great mystery to delight Tirion during Heledir’s childhood, and the reveal of a name, Finvain, for the second print circulation of the most popular romance -and that said name was a kilmessë to hide the authoress from public acclaim- inflamed her eager and expanding audience. Before the Darkening, few knew that Finvain was Princess Findis or that she had several other pen names to hide just how prolific and varied her story-telling output was. Had Heledir not been privy to the royal household through his friendship with Prince Arafinwë’s eldest, he might have never learned of Findis’s double life. Finvain was an open secret under the light of the Sun, yet even in the fourth or fifth reprints of her prose epics and light-hearted comedies Findis did not sign her father-name to them, preferring to attribute the novels to Finvain. It was a name that she allowed no one to address her aloud. A strange mask, Heledir found it, that Findis would not allow this distance to be bridged even now, nor did she reveal to any but family and a few confidants that there were other hidden names. Or how fond she was of collaboration on tales. “I think your writing has improved, but I understand why neither are as popular as the one you wrote when I was a boy, the couple who misunderstood each other and that disastrous first proposal.” Findis arched an eyebrow at him. “I find it peculiar how you enjoy the love stories best of all.” “Naturally,” Heledir said, waving his other hand up in the air where the colored light transformed his hand into a solid red, including the thin ring he wore on his first finger. “I am a champion for lovers.”

Princess Findis laughed at this, shaking the small writing desk beside her chair and knocking a blank sheet of paper to float across the room and land on the carpet. Heledir smiled and lowered his hand, waiting for Findis to lean back into her chair. The single blue gem of the thin golden tiara in her black hair glinted like a star in the night sky. Princess Findis was a comely woman instead of a great beauty, but her wit and strength made her Heledir’s favorite of the older generation of Finwions.

The favoritism was mutual, for Heledir was one of the trusted few to know all of Princess Findis’s anonymous works and pen names, to know that her hand and clever mind created more than just the romances and societal comedies to which she (as Finvain) was praised. At least three libertos for popular ballets and more than a dozen plays had her words or at least outlines of character and plot provided by Findis, though her talent as a lyricist remained mediocre. “Your next series is to be illustrated for children?” “Yes, a commission from my good-sister’s family. Another imaginary adventure tale, plenty of fights and memorable characters. I am playing Pitya-Eru again,” Findis explained, using her sacrilegious self-made term for when she provided the rough outline of a plot and descriptions of characters and premise parameters for other artists to fill in the details, as Ilúvatar set forth the Songs for the Ainur to sing but whose vision was not fully realized until the Ainur entered the confines of Arda. “With full cartoon drawings, hence my request for your deft hand at designing characters as well as your advice for the story. Something colorful to take advantage of their dyes. The Handions take pride in those.” Anairë’s family employed a veritable army of scribes in Tirion, their workshops the most established, respected, and busiest. The main business partner of Anairë’s family was Handë, who used his extensive connections among his fellow Vanyar to provide talented artists and calligraphers. His daughter marrying Fingolfin’s second son had only strengthened the family alliance. Their monopoly on government-related publications continued unchallenged from when Finwë was alive, but their shops also specialized in musical notations and fictional works. “They’re Vanyar; they love brightly colored illustrations. Couldn’t care less about the synthetic jewels, but when Aulë’s students created bright dyes to paint their houses...” “Homesick for Tirion’s plain white buildings already, Halatir?” Findis teased. Heledir sighed. “When people describe Valmar, they draw attention to the hundreds of bells. They speak as if that is the city’s most prominent feature. They speak not of the colors. Colors that do not belong together on the exterior of one house, next to other colors that clash both individually and in the collective whole. Street after street of monstrous color.” “Is not one of your companions a painter of rooms and houses, when he is not riding across all of Valinor delivering packages and messages? I have seen the inn that he lives in.” “Fân?” “Yes, Fánawë. Fân. It is still strange to remember to call you by your Sindarin names. Forgive my lapses.” Heledir smiled fondly. “It is impossible to resent you, Princess.” “Many did,” Findis said, “and deeply so. And must I remind you that I gave you permission long ago to address me as Findis and not my title? You were not so formal as a child, Heledir, when you and Finrod fetched books and gossip for me back in Tirion.” She stressed their Sindarin names as she spoke, and her foot tapped against the floor in an unconscious gesture that spoke of her agitation. “Fân has a Vanyar mother, and thus he plasters colors on his lodgings instead of what he wears. Still, he could not rival Egalmoth’s ostentation if he tried. Or the eyesores of Valmar.” Princess Findis, Daughter of Finwë and Indis, gave her companion a look with an eyebrow arched stronger than before. “Get off the floor, Heledir, or at least sit up while I speak with you. And where is your doublet?” Lagourishly the elf stretched and rolled into a sitting position, then reached for the errant piece of paper. “I draped it over the back of the bench by the other window with my cloak and boots. Over a year and I still have not readjusted to the heat. Beleriand was a colder clime.” Findis huffed and slid off her chair, tucking the skirt of her thin cotton gown demurely around her feet. “I shall not loom over you as we talk, Heledir. If you are to be my assistant, I desire a collaborator and not a sycophant. Now help me with the new series.”

#my fic #silm fic #the final version the link replacing is going to be a pain #depending on if i separate Breadroll into a sequel fic this thing is already 10 chapters because i'm trying to be reasonable on wordcount #Finvain exists as a pen-name #the meta fan findis stuff #there’s a lot of plot but the plot is Heledir sketching and Findis creating a story’s canon bible

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (7)

Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part Three, Part Two, Part One

...

Heledir studied the older woman’s face, the familiar blue eyes and wide nose, the high cheekbones and tiny chin. There were fine lines around those eyes, a crease around the brows that had existed before but had not seemed as pronounced. Heledir knew her face as well as he did the face of his own mother and sister. Even if he had an imperfect memory like that of mortal men that allowed details to fade over time, he would know every line of her face, the exact shade of dark blue of her irises, the turn of her eyelids, the slope of her nose in profile. She had not been static, any more than Valinor had, in the years between Heledir leaving for Middle-earth and his rebirth, but there was a soothing continuity of her face and the informal posture that she relaxed into when alone with him, as if nothing had changed between their last session but the style of her dress. Princess Findis did not have the beauty of her mother or younger sister. A throaty laugh that was rarer to summon, a low-pitched voice, a guarded heart that was too easily mistaken for haughtiness. A loneliness that she had grown into like a trellis for her soul - the pain of that childhood lingered in those hairline creases around her eyes. Even with practice, Heledir doubted that his pen would ever faithfully recreate that face.

“If you said anything insipid, I will whack you,” Findis threatened.

The bait was too tempting. “Oh, but your sparkling eyes are as blue as the sapphire that you wear, Princess.”

“Insufferable. Disappear for another six centuries, return to me only when you have replaced your personality.”

“Why are my dearest friends so cruel to me?” Heledir wailed. “Edrahil is equally mean to me.”

“Because we have known you since you were toddling after your mother in Arafinwë’s wings of the palace, before he moved to the little palace on the outskirts of the city and the secondary residence at Alqualondë.” Findis pursed her lips. “And Edrahil is a natural scold.”

“Stars above, he is!”

They laughed at the expense of the former steward of Nargothrond, and only when the mirth was spent did the pair return to final character to outline.

“Our pilot-knight of water,” Findis said. “The other leg, the other flavor of support. His adaptability. He who tries to excel in the strengths of others and does not see his own. An excellent archer, empathetic to others but hides from himself in a delusion of unearned confidence. Flirts outrageously. His pursuit of the princess will be the lighthearted running gag, and he shall fall prey to every attractive henchwoman and bystander.”

“Basing this on someone?” Heledir asked.

Findis’s quick answer killed his grin.

“Yes.”

Mindful of the seriousness of Findis’s abrupt answer, Heledir asked who.

“Uilon, my childhood friend. The second of Eärwen’s older brothers. You would have known him from the family visits, but he was not as close to his sister as Elentulwë. Uilon was the tall one with narrow eyes who loved to joke around.”

“He was the son of Olwë who was given a father-name to honor Elu Singollo, wasn’t he?”

Findis nodded. “His death during the Kinslaying was seen by the Teleri as the clearest omen that any talk from the Exiles about a motivation to save their left-behind kin was the self-serving lies that they knew it to be.”

“We did,” Heledir stammered, “we did help.”

Findis tilted her head, mouth flat and blue eyes softening to dispassion instead of enraged disgust. “Some of you, yes. Some of my kin. But no resident of Alqualondë was the least surprised at the accounts that Lady Elwing shared of the second and third acts of Kinslaying.”

“I did not know that you and Uilon were close,” Heledir said.

Findis laughed. “He proposed to me, you know.”

“What!”

Forcing giggles into her hand, Findis basked in Heledir’s outrage. “A terrible flirt, I told you. And we were of similar age and social background. As if my third and fourth decade was not awkward enough, though he was not pushy. Just persistent. And the compliments were a nurturing novelty, even if I doubted their sincerity. His feelings for me came from the infatuation of wanting to be in love bolstered by our mutual friendship, and this was before I knew that my heart would not turn in desire for marriage with anyone else.”

“Was he disappointed?” Heledir asked.

Findis shrugged. “Once he understood that my rejection was not a rejection of him. That I was like Ulmo, that I sought no spouse. Uilon handled rejection gracefully, I think because he always anticipated it. The shadow of impressive siblings. And confidence in his ability to read other people and how comforting and loyal he was as a friend.” Findis laughed a final time, soft and short. “Uilon spent most of the conversation reassuring me of my own heart and allaying my fears that I had disappointed everyone. He was the one most overjoyed when Eärwen began courting my brother, you know. Mastermind behind their first year of dating. In some ways,” Findis began to say, staring at Heledir, then restarted her sentence. “He has returned from the Halls, and the three of us must have an outing together soon, for he is wonderfully funny, and your sense of humor is compatible. So alike, the two of you. My sister would say that I have a type. When you next plan to visit Edrahil and Maiwë, we shall call on him.”

“I remember his visit,” Heledir said, smiling. “Was he a terrible artist or just trying to amuse his nephews?”

“Uilon? By the stars, no. Did he really attempt one of his famous landscapes again?”

“It was …a young child with finger paints could do better. The rainbow was a ..creative touch.”

“Lalwen framed his portrait of her favorite horse. That’s what the brown blob in her music room is.”

“I always thought that was one of Aunt Nerdanel’s strange abstract studies, one of those incomprehensible representations of a quality of sound. Some deeply philosophical statement that only a Vanya studying the intricacies of the Song would understand.”

“Nope. Uilon’s best effort at portraying Lalwen’s prize jumper.”

Heledir winced. “The ..thing had nine legs. Maybe, if those were supposed to be legs.”

Findis sighed. “I would ask you to give him pointers, but no amount of instruction could rehabilitate that drawing…talent. I dared him to show Fëanor his painting method once, just to see the temper tantrum. I think what most offended him was that Uilon had a keen eye and could understand diagrams and complicated tools. Uilon designed the improvements for the stern-mounted rudder that the Falmari ships use.”

“Quick at poetry, too, wasn’t he?”

“Had King Olwë’s taste for wretched puns.”

Heledir smirked. “I am astonished that you have not conscripted him into your writing endeavors as well. He could cover your deficits as a lyricist.”

“Never interested,” Findis said. “I can drag him to watch dances and plays, but he refuses to engage beyond. Pleads boredom. After his re-embodiment, he did go with me to the premiere of Ahyaro’s latest comedy.”

“Which one?”

“The two friends that swap the same epessë and the tangle of misunderstandings when all their acquaintances converge. I adapted the premise to include the returning Noldor and arriving Sindar and new names and chances of unwitting duplication, but the central dilemma of the two young women thinking that the same man has both proposed to them is retained.”

“The clever wordplay one. It had the mark of Ahyaro’s style, so I knew it was not yours.”

Findis’s flat look skewered Heledir.

“Peace, Sweet Lady!”

#my fic #silm fic #the meta fan findis stuff #poor Elunyarë you'll get the serious fic where you meet Elwing #this is my Ace Rep fic #the alluded to play is The Importance of Being Ernest

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squirrelwrangler · 3 years ago

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The Fandoms of Princess Findis (3)

Part Three, Part Two, Part One

...

Encouraged by that smile Heledir cajoled, “Lions are easier to draw than hawks, and easier to describe their body movement and expression. You shall have more options to write their expressions if you have four limbs and a tail. And the novelty shall easily capture an audience.”

Findis nodded, her doubt overthrown by his enthusiasm and cunning. “You speak the truth. And it is easier to sew a soft toy cat or sculpt various poses. One must consider beyond the words themselves and give others opportunities to contribute their secondary creations. So it shall be: giant flying lions of fallen star-ore piloted by mortal companions.”

Heledir began to sketch a blocky lioness on his paper, segmenting the joints like the intricate shadow puppets that he saw in Menegroth. “How many lions and their pilot-knights?”

“Twelve or fourteen is far too many to keep track of and give each character enough attention and characterization. A smaller party is better.” Findis paused at the look on Heledir’s face. “I did not mean that as a personal judgment or indictment of you and your companions. Well, aside from the hassle that it is to have to find lodgings for all eleven of you including my nephew when you convene for a hunting trip or some other excursion, now that you have all been released from Mandos and the gardens of Lórien. I have listened to the woes of family and peers who have had to host your band. Yet three is too few a number. I was thinking no more than seven or nine, perhaps only five. What are your thoughts?”

Heledir paused from the second doodle on his paper, that of an armored figure. Tapping his pen against the sketch, he spoke. “Five is a good number. The leader, the head who makes decisions. Then his right hand and left, and two more dependable legs.”

Findis nodded. “Five colors is easy to remember. Black for the leader. Then red and blue, green and yellow. Paint the colors on both the armor and the lions themselves. Simple crest. The other important character shall be their princess, the one who gives them their vessels and rules over them outside of battle. And the chief villain, of course.”

“You have already given thought to them?” Heledir asked.

Findis shifted how she knelt on the floor, repositioning her folded legs into a more comfortable position, and handed Heledir a fresh sheet of paper. He swapped the pen for a stick of soft charcoal, and Findis idly wrote out the words ‘flying lion five’ across the sketch of the armored giant. Placing the paper behind her on the seat of the padded chair, Findis folded her hands on her lap and began to narrate.

“The knights need their lady to pledge and follow, a princess who survived the fall of her kingdom, rescued by a loyal retainer, sent away with the key to the hallowed vessels- their locations perhaps. She holds the map to where our,” and here Findis paused and snorted with indelicate laughter, “flying lion ships were hidden away to keep these mighty weapons out of enemy hands. Therefore the first arc shall be the recovery of the five lions. Naturally the villains had found and captured one of the vessels, so the first arc shall climax with a daring quest to steal it back. And doing so shall reveal that our princess is no longer hidden -oh, a magic sleep, perhaps- and has found worthy heroes to fight on her behalf. For the chief villain, king of the evil empire, had destroyed her home and seeks to claim -no, reclaim the vessels.”

Heledir quirked his mouth. “A familiar character.”

Findis nodded. “I know what delights my readers and where to draw on familiarity and parallels to reality.” Hidden kingdoms with their fair princesses - and that said princesses often had to flee fallen kingdoms with the last treasures that would hold the key to evil’s defeat - well, Findis fell back onto actual history when it came to shaping her tales of adventure, and played around with inventive tropes and subversions in composing her comedies of romance and manners.

“So should I not draw the princess with blonde hair?”

Findis hesitated. “Not black, either. White hair.”

Heledir deliberately sketched a face that did not share features to invoke either Lúthien or Eärwen. He detailed a pair of eyes and then worked out the rest of the face, reworking the eyebrows and swooping outlines of the hair into a high updo before adding long waves to change into a loose and youthful style. The chin was pointier than he meant to draw, but instead of erasing the lines Heledir decided to keep the jaw. It separated the princess from his similar designs and made her distinct from the real princesses of his acquaintance. The sunlit bookroom was quiet but for the sound of charcoal and pen against paper. Findis, waiting as Heledir sketched, twisted around to add a few more keywords to her note page, frowning at the giving surface of the chair cushion and eyeing her small writing desk longingly. Heledir moved onto shading in the skin tone instead of hair, making the princess as dark as Varda. On a whim, he added markings on her cheeks. Maiar of Nessa and Vána in particular were fond of ornamenting their elven forms with bright facial patterns, imitating the tattoos and markings of the oldest Vanyar and the facial designs on felines and birds. Heledir nodded to himself; the design impulse was sound. The heroes would look like the Second-born, their princess like the Ainur. “Does she have a name yet, or are you using the placeholder Elanor again?” he asked as he handed the drawing to Findis for approval.

Findis chuckled. “Perfect.” She pointed to crescents below the eyes. “Blue, green, or pink? She should have soft colors, spring. And stars and white for her motifs, of course.”

Heledir tapped the markings. “Pink. I have colors decided for the five pilot-knights.”

“Oh?” Findis asked, handing her collaborator more paper to draw their cast. Heledir splayed the pages across the floor in a square and then, reaching out on his hands and knees, crawled up and placed a fifth blank sheet above the two rows of two, folding the carpet for more floor space. His belt and sheathed knife, which he had unbuckled before stretching out on the sunspot of the floor, disappeared in the rolls of the carpet. Findis also shuffled back to give him room, tucking her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around her thighs. Her bracelets jangled as she moved. Heledir, still on his hands and knees, crawled over to pick up a box against the wall next to the window. Shards of colored light rippled across his lower back and shins. As he pulled the items out of the box and placed them like paperweights on the corner of each of the five blank papers, Findis recognized the items as sealing wax sticks. The top sheet had a glossy black crayon of wax, then a bright red for the upper left and a green the color of fresh leaves for the upper right. The wax stick for the lower right was a shade of yellow ochre and the blue was a deep sapphire. Heledir leaned over and replaced the last colored wax stick with a lighter shade of blue, then pushed off his hands to sit on his thighs. He spread his hands out to display his choices. Findis nodded in imperious approval. Reaching back into the box of sealing wax, Heledir pulled out a pale pink. He softened and pinched a fingernail sliver of the wax, affixing a tiny dot of color to the sketch of the princess. “Perfect,” Findis said, admiring the drawing. “And as for the name, if we are to make her the pink one, then perhaps I shall name her Orvalotë, after the apple blossoms.”

#my fic #silm fic #the invention of the five-man band #the meta fan findis stuff #it is the most self-indulgent and weirdly self-insert thing i write

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