#the rest would be (a) the answer of the Valar (which is the hard part — how do you convey 'Yes I'd like to help but the thing is your people

[edennill-archived]

So there he was, standing before the Powers of the World, breathlessly spilling the truth of his errand on the sand, word racing word, as if his breath could run out at any moment. Him, a mortal on this shore that he was forbidden to set foot on, who did not want to break that ancient law, unsure whether it was virtue or sin — he said that last part loud —and the words kept flowing, the incoherent ramblings of an older man, he guessed, but hoped it didn't matter. He had come with no prepared speech, or maybe he had tried and forgotten it all when the moment came, did Eärendil prepare his words, he wondered — and again he was speaking this loud, his thoughts rushing through his lips in the order that they came — and then one of the Lords; the Elder King he thought — and trembled, how could he be speaking to the Elder King — raised his hand, and Amandil felt rather than heard the command to cease, and so he did. With a last desparate effort he opened all the barriers of his mind, breathed rather than shouted "See!" and, exhausted, fell upon the ground.

He felt someone, he did not know who, brush over his mind, feather-light, and then he opened his eyes and saw the Lord of the West had crouched in front of him. It seemed incongruous. He did not have the strength of body and spirit to get up and change the tableau.

“Child.”

He was heard and answered.

~ part of a fic I will probably never finish that I found in my notes app

[legitimatesatanspawn]

What happened to Shelob's giant mother who bit the Devil so hard that the entire universe heard him scream? (Not that I blame him on that one, as I would also utter the most unholy shriek if a big spider bit me.)

Oh crap I thought I answered this. Geeze, it's been a while, sorry. Also same about being bit by a big spider. The guy is pretty damn big so the spider itself would be terrifyingly huge and that's before the "webs of unlight" and other fun powers. Y'all thought Mirkwood's were big? Nah, they're tiny compared to Ungoliant.

We have no idea where Ungoliant is from although it's assumed it's space but it's implied she's some kind of maia (angel/minorish god) that went off in her own particular rocker. She's basically a Primordial Hell Spider. We don't know where she went or and what became of her. Last we know, she was seen fighting and then just skittered off to parts unknown "southward" and was never seen again.

Knowing Dagor Dagorath, Ungoliant will probably show up at the end to help further that Ragnarok / End of Times setup. I mean after all, the Silmarils will be shattered there and the Sun and Moon will crash to the planet and you know she'd be hungry for that final feast of the Trees and their tofu/seitan imitations.

Although the fact that she dipped South makes me very worried about the people living south-ish past Gondor and Mordor. Like, what kind of unholy spider abominations do they get plagued with that teaming up with the evil "god" Sauron is a good idea, even with any Morgothian indoctrination at play? The Blue Wizards are late to that party but at least they can help shake things up over there.

Okay so to clarify for people who no idea: Shelob is the giant spider living in Sauron's mountain range nearish to the front gates. Ungoliant is her ancestor to an unknown degree (mother? grandmother? ungodly number of greats? who knows how long giant spiders live for in this setting) and is famously known for draining dry the giant magic trees that glowed brighter/dimmer in an about yearly cycle.

The trees, for the record, are the source of the Sun and Moon and also part of the inspiration for Feanor creating the Silmarils (specifically their light reflecting off of his niece Galadriel's hair). Telperion was planted first and then followed by Laurelin. The silver-leafed tree Telperion had flowers that dripped star-like dew, while Laurelin had clusters of golden fruit surrounded by golden glowing leaves. I mentioned before in another post about these trees and how the last flower and fruit were shotpucked into orbit on skyships. The moon's driver is apparently kinda shitty at sailing which is sometimes why the moon is larger. You'd think he'd get better but…

Anyway, the Trees' light stretched all the way from Valinor (basically heaven on earth) all the way to the known lands across Arda (including Middle Earth, which is charitably around the size of Europe compared to the rest of the landmass). Now it wasn't a perfect go and I forget at this moment when exactly the Two Pillars over on the continent Middle Earth is on were built to give that continent its own light source but Morgoth hates it when people have nice things so either he deliberately smashed them or a fight with the Valar got out of hand there and they got smashed in the fight. Because of this, the land got "ruined" by developing rocky mountain ranges, canyons, and so on so instead of being completely perfect it's wonderfully imperfect and varied. Similar way that Morgoth fighting with Ulmo - the Valar god-archangel-master of the Oceans - helped carve the shorelines and ocean-facing cliffs.

Ungoliant joined up with Morgoth with the promise that he'd offer her freely from his hands anything to satisfy her endless hunger. Using her webs as a ladder to breach Valinor's capital during a massive party since everyone would be busy, Morgoth struck down the trees with his giant spear weapon, and then she lapped up all the sap and her hunger and gluttony only got worse and Ungoliant grew larger and possibly more monstrous-seeming if she was able to scare Morgoth shitless.

They fled across the Grinding Ice, a jagged arctic wasteland (which is why the Noldor when led by Feanor went across that rather than any sensible path).

Ungoliant wasn't an idiot even if she was greedy. She knew that Morgoth broke promises when it suited him, so she demanded her goods. I am not sure how he had the time to do this but Morgoth looted Feanor's treasury along with swiping the three Silmarils. So the promise was demanded and she was fed all the gems held in his left hand… but he refused to open his right which contained the Silmarils (somehow, given that nothing evil can hold them).

Understandably pissed off, Ungoliant wrapped him up in her webs of unlight and tried to kill him. This created the echoes of Lammoth - the endless scream that would rattle forever until the area's destruction. This scream is what drew his minions' attention to the area and so Ungoliant exited the scene, pursued by Balrogs.

Yes, Balrogs. Plural. The Balrog of Moria was just the one and possibly a weak one at that.

Each Balrog is a fallen angel that was formerly working for others or could've been one of Melkor's had he stayed true (which was never gonna last given how he changed the Song and went Lucifer on God).

She wandered around, was known to have attempted to breach Doriath but was somehow successfully fended off by Luthien's mother Melian (told you she was a bamf), then had lots of spider babies in the ruins of Angband (Morgoth's Hell on Earth capital).

After that we have no idea where she went or what Ungoliant is up to beyond going "southward". Come the Fellowship's founding, it's been about 6458 years (not counting the exact date she was last seen in the Second Age) but if she was sniffing around for a Silmaril then that'd make the last possible sighting around 466 First Age so…6583 years.

That's a long time to lose track of a giant spider. Hope it doesn't literally bite them in the ass. Hopefully Pallando and Alatar (the "missing" two Wizards of the Istari Order) are handling things over there.

[lamemaster]

Subject of Faith

Pairing: Sauron x Human reader

Summary: It was not the cockiness of omnipotence, but a longing that lined your words. And Sauron knew that longing, for Ainur and Men shared it.

"Would you rather put all your faith in someone you can't see?"

"Like the music can't be seen and fragrance can't be held, faith is not a matter of seeing, it is subject to believing." Your answer frustrated Sauron.

A mere human dare talk back to him? A guard of the king of Numenor. A lowly guard whose entire life would be blink of an eye from Sauron.

Yet, Sauron could not stop speaking. Every passing second he poked at every aspect of your existence to find a weak spot. Anything that would quench his curiosity about you.

A distant part of his conscious warned him to restrain. To not reveal his plan and to play the part of a gullible repentant. He truly tried but failed.

You were nothing. A poor human who stood outside his cell for hours. A monotonous and taxing job. But no matter how hard Sauron tried he failed to find a crack.

"Don't you desire for an immortal life, likes of which is given to the elves?" He questioned you, settling back into the now familiar game of unravelling your mind. "How nice would it be to not leave your dear ones, to be with them forever and to not suffer the pain of old age."

You do not turn to face him. Your back does not relax at his honeyed words but you do answer him. You always do. You treat him with the fairness of any other being. Answering his questions while continuing your job. "Maybe it would be easy to accept the bliss of immortality and wish for a life I have never lived. However, how unfair would it be to dishonor a gift given by my creator. How can I a mere mortal know of his plans for me? I can only submit to the one who has given me the chance to see this world and hope for another mercy or another miracle to be revealed." Your voice rings loud in the desolate prison. "Furthermore, I really look forward to seeing my grandparents in whatever fate awaits me," the slight joy in your voice stuns Sauron.

It is not the cockiness of omnipotence but a longing that lines your words. And Sauron knows of that longing. Ainur and Men share it. A lingering remembrance of their true home. Elves, whose fate remains tied to Arda know little of it. A constant tug to overturn the world looking for that one place that promises some relief from the constant restlessness.

The same restlessness grows in Sauron's heart. After eons he finds himself thinking of not Utumno or Valinor but the Timeless Halls where he first came to be.

He resented you for doing that to him. He had heard imploring words of silver-tongued elven lords and forgiving speeches of the Valar who resided beyond seas, but none had bugged him like the simple words of the human who stood guarding him.

And so, the chained Maia rested his head on the cold unrelenting wall behind him. "I hope to see you the day you die. When death will look you in the eyes, I hope you manage to remain as sure as your sound right now."

Months later when Tar Mairon, the closest advisor of the king, finds himself in the same prison. His hands dipped in the warmth of your blood.

You lay on the cold ground that had once been the spot from where you answered his questions with your back facing him. In the past, he rarely saw your face but now as he looks at the peaceful look on your face he knows it to be you.

There is indeed no bitterness or fear in your death. It is acceptance that greets Sauron. Even in death you stay true to your words. Sauron marvels at the stubborn human who refuses to bow to him in life and death.

One day...one day he promises, you will meet again. That day he might force you to kneel or he might end up joining you. That day was too far but it would come after trials that awaited him.

In a twisted fate, he hopes in some salvation you await him. And when he finds you, he hopes to hear your voice and ask you questions that you reply to without a fail.

He will find you when he can't offer you the hoax of immortality or feed you falsehood of greed. You don't need that. You won't accept that.

So, Sauron awaits for his song's end. Maybe his end will guide him to you or some peaceful oblivion.

[errruvande]

Transition - Haldir x Reader

Words count: 2301

TW: Battle of Helm’s Deep (you know, right....)

Permanent tag list: @fucking-with-elves @bonjour-rainycity @jazzybug163

“Haldir, we’re going to see Fereweldir, he’s in the hospi — brother?”

Orophin made a step into his brother’s talan, boots crushing shards of glass with each step he took. Haldir was standing on his knees near the bed, footprints painted in red were circling around the room and leaded to his feet, he was standing above the travelling bag, packing clothes in in a rush. Orophin stood in the doorway, heart skipping a beat, seeing his brother in such a state: Haldir was… broken?

Making a beeline to Haldir, Orophin spotted some details that concerned him. The bowls with dinner. Two bowls. The sheds on the floor were of a cup he never used himself, the yellowish liquid on the floor near the table (obviously from the broken cup), another cup was standing still on the table near to the bowl. Left part of the bed was all cleaned and well-made. Orophin shedered, all suddenly the air became too thick to breathe, he sucked in the air with an effort.

“Brother? Not again, please…” Words took their time to climb from Orophin’s throat to the tip of his tongue, this type of conversation always made him feel miserable and helpless. So talking was a little too hard.

Haldir did not answer. He never did. All he did - pressed another piece of clothes to the bottom of his bag, silently, angerly. He was angered at himself, mostly, so his hand was flying back and forth, taking new things from the bedside and packing it neatly into the bag. His eyes, dove gray by birth were bloody red, burning the whole in the pile of clothes he was looking at, without checking on what he was stuffing his bag with.

“Haldir…” Overlooking the room again, lingering on all these details from the past, Orophin spoke softly, though his voice was as thin as the morning frost on the leaves. “Y/N is gone, please, stop tormenting yourself.” But the only answer he received was watered eyes of his older brother looking at him in despair. The stare he and Rumil feared most. It was cold, yet burning, carving the patterned picture of a grieve on the back of Orophin’s eyes. Orophin cleared his throat to win himself some time. Valar, he hated awkward silence, especially when he hadn’t had the words for his brothers. So, taking a seat on the bedside, he stared at Haldir’s hands, a grey-green cloak in it. “Why are you packing?” he breathed out, shakely, mostly to himself, since he didn’t think Haldir would answer.

Haldir left a desperate sigh, letting his hands rest on his knees.

“Going to Helm’s Deep”

“To Helm’s De — what? We don’t have to, lady wants us here! Why?” Orophin was startled, he panted out and gripped his brother’s hand. “You won’t disobey Lady’s orders, will you?”

Shaking off Orophin’s hands, the ghost of a crooked smile appeared on Haldir’s face. He sucked in the air, making sure to have direct eye contact with Orophin. “Don’t say a word, I beg of you, I’ve made my mind.”

“You weren’t yourself while making it!” Orophin rose to his feet, screaming almost in panic. “We can’t go there, not against the lady’s wish.”

“We will not come, I will” Haldir stood up, lifting his bag and bounced it in the air to check how heavy it became. “You will stay here, as Lady wishes, you don’t have to go with me.” He made a step towards the door but Orophin stopped him. “I’m gonna leave now, I’m already running out of time.”

Orophin ran to the doorway, blocking it with his body. He was serious in his doing, he would not let Haldir pass.

“You don’t have to do this, it’s just a momentary breakdown, we will help you, as we always did!” Orophin gestured vaguely, almost tearing up. “Y/N is gone, Haldir, you’ll not help it by vanishing in a battle which is an obvious losing game. Think of Rúmil at least!”

Speaking of the devil, Rúmil has appeared, making his lightless steps up and up the circular stare of the Mallorn Haldir’s talan was built on. His pasture was light as a wind and he was in a good state of mind, usual Rúmil. Singing and laughing, he had something to tell both Haldir and Orophin, but his smile disappeared as he saw the aware and anxious figure of Orophin in the doorway.

“W-what is it?” Tapping his shoulder he asked Orophin, still unable to see Haldir. Rúmil moved his brother and tried to squeeze in the arch of the door and froze. “Is he? Again?” Rúmil faced his brother, breath quickened - Orophin nodded.

“I’m still here, stop talking about me as if I’m not…”

“Where are you going? Doubt that on a walk, your bow and sword and why are you wearing your armour?” He was scanning Haldir’s body with a quirky eye. He twisted his neck to face Orophin again, feeling a bit of anxiety “don’t tell me he’s going to join the army?”

«This is exactly where I am going, thanks for asking me directly, Rúmil…” Even though his eyes were aching, he gave his brothers a rolling eyes, pushing elves slightly sideways and making his steps to exit through them.

“You’re not going anyway! Not now, not in that state!” Rúmil snatched the bag from Haldir’s hands and turned to Orophin hastily. “Stall him, I’m gonna visit lady and lord!”

Running all the way from Haldir’s talan to the tallest mallorn that grew in Lothlorien, then hundreds and hundreds steps up to face his Lord and Lady, Rúmil slipped past the guard-elves and nearly fell to Galadriel’s feet.

“Lady Galadriel, please, let me speak!” He panted, chest inflating. Galadriel waved him to speak his mind and turn on the uprising figure of Celeborm, who was caught off guard by this arrival.

He waited for a few seconds, making his heartbeat rest a bit. “My Lady, Haldir is trying to sneak to join the army! Make him stay, please!” The terror in the young elf’s eyes was scarry, still standing on his knees, not yet able to put his strength together and lift yourself from the floor.

Galadriel did not say a word, she looked into Rúmil’s eyes with a soft smile. “Haldir is not sneaking,” she said after a while, making her way to the edge of the talan. “I let him”. Her eyes were scanning the golden crowns of Mallorns, spotting the glimpses of elves going to the camp, their armor reflected the harsh sun.

Rúmil’s jaw dropped, for a second he forgot how to breathe. What did she mean she let him? Let him go and die? Is she finally gone ma… “Why, Lady?” Rúmil’s head was aching from the storm of thoughts, so he didn’t manage to construct anything more complicated than just ‘why?’ He was absolutely appalled.

“How could I refuse him? It is for his sake, for his own good.”

“How is it for his own good? How can it help him? How can it help anybody?” When Rúmil’s voice turned to a higher key, lord Celeborn made himself clear by coughing loudly and reminding the young elf to keep his place, but the lady of the woods looked at Rúmil softly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You do not understand, but it will be a time when you’ll realise.” She looked at Rumil, warmth from her smile enveloping him whole, and then she bent her head slightly, locking her gaze on Celeborn “We live in a dark time and making Haldir waging battle within himself with powers nobody, even I myself, can not defeat will only make him worse.” Seeing the reaction that was written on Rúmil’s face, Galadriel added softly. “Even worse than he is now”

The weight of the words fell hard into Rumil’s stomach, twisting and turning everything inside the tiny body of the elf. For the one on rare occasions, Rumil felt sick, sick to the edge of vomiting. He clenched into the fence with the dead man's grip and put his other hand to his chest, feeling the cold water running down his back. It felt… unusual. He lifted his gaze slowly, darting Lady’s eyes with his. “So you just let my brother die?”

“I bring word from Lord Elrond of Rivendell. An Alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago we fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance.” Haldir said, but in truth, it wasn’t the reason why he was there, why he marched all the way from green Lothlorien to the grey-yellow Rohan. Haldir was there to find her. Haldir will face her, he will welcome her and then embrace her. After all this time in loneliness, he will finally meet her. He will fight, fight fiercely, as he always had and as he promised to his friends, his lord and lady, but when the time will come, he will let the blade to slash his armour, to go through his chest, cutting his flash and spilling his blood on the ground. And so, he will meet her.

Breathing was tough, thinking was even tougher. His heart was bouncing in the chest slowly, pushing blood through the veins. Haldir’s ears become plugged, the horrid beating sound recosheting inside his head one after another brough every sound of the battle at the very back of his mind. The air became thin and greasy, salty and breathing it was as hard as forcing himself to stand steady on his feet. Suddenly, everything’s changed. The shadows of the people, elves and even orcs were circling over Haldir as there was no battle, elven cloaks were floating in the air, shimmering.

Haldir was standing in the warm grass, foot stamping on fallen golden leaves. Smile on his face was brighter than the moonlight that night, all eyes were focused on him, but the only eyes dared to him were yours, and he locked his gaze on them, while you were dancing, twirling in circles around Haldir, your dress tangled over his legs. The music got his body waving leisurely, feeling your hands and chest pressing to his back. In fact, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t your hands- it was Aragorn, finding Haldir standing on his knees, breathing his last breaths, and it wasn’t your chest that pressed to Haldir’s back - it was cold ground Aragorn had laid him on.

The gentle hand of yours took Haldir’s chin and bent his head to the side, caressing his lips with your thumb. His face was burning with fire and, even though your hand had changed its place to his palm, tugging him with you carefully, Haldir still was feeling the presence of your fingers on his chin. You were leading him out of the reach of anybody else, and Haldir followed, playing with the thin skin of your palm with his fingers. He felt the wind glided over his chest and arm as you walked, enveloping him in the unbreakable, invisible shield. He was tired, dancing all night in your embrace. Haldir let you tug him after you, since his feet were less and less strong with each step he made.

Suddenly, Haldir found himself lying in the grass with no mallorn’s crowns arching above his eyes. His body felt heavy, as he was made out of the solid rock and water. The skin on his forehead was warm from the light touches you were giving him, lying beside, leaning on an elbow, caressing Haldir’s hairline. In his subconscious Haldir knew that you were only the trick his mind played to soothe his pain, while his body was lying cold on the ground at Helm’s Deep. But for the first time in years he felt happy and loved.

The stars were brighter than at any other night, was it you, or was it his tired mind hanging on any beautiful and lively thing it could reach? Haldir was too busy staring at the starry sky, the whole sky dome got pressed to the back of his eyes, Haldir stared at this depthless picture for so long he could make a name for each stars that was alight that night above his head, he didn’t realise you weren’t beside him, but standing in the lake, water up to your knees, fingers making patterns on the surface.

“Meleth nin?” you glanced at his uprising figure, unstable but still strong enough to stand and come to you. Usually your heart would skip a beat, seeing him making his steps to you, tired but still happy, but then you only smiled at him and straightened a hand, so Haldir could follow your exact steps into the warm water. “Will you join me?”

Water was coming up Haldir’s feet, taking away the pain and tiredness, and one step later, Haldir forgot how tired he was, and how heavy his heart felt, the lake carried his weariness away from him, until Haldir could not reach a bottom with his toes. You were floating in front of him, letting the water drag you down into the deep.

“Late the water take you…” is it possible to hear your voice underwater? Haldir didn’t know if it was possible, but he’d heard you and he drowned into the bottomless like the rock, throuned to the river. Your fair face was the only thing he could see in the dark of the water, but it was everything he needed.

Levitating in the dark of thick water, looking at your face shining like a moon in the night sky, he could not control himself, admiring you, so words rolled off his lips without him realising it.

“I’m coming, Y/N…”

And so Haldir met Death.

The words were tough, tougher than usually, with a palm pressed to Haldir's bloody chest Aragorn let the phrase roll off his lips in wishper. "Navaer, mellon nin...". And there he left him staring into the night sky.

And so Haldir met her.

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hope you liked it, and if so, hope you'll reblog it (let's spread love)🥰

[jengajives]

Part four Caranthir is a dick

Part one

Part two

Part three

Up close, Daeron noticed that the Fëanorian dinner table was smaller than he’d imagined; granted, he had been imagining a cartoon rich-person table with about fifty seats at it, and it was big, to be sure, just not as big. There were maybe fifteen chairs pulled up, each of them carved of twisting metal and dark wood to match the elegance of the dining table. A stream of red silk ran down the middle. No food was set out yet, and now that Daeron thought about it, he couldn’t imagine any of these people making their own meal. He’d seen Maglor attempt to cook before, and it had not gone well; judging by the established patterns of behavior, the rest of his family would be much worse. The help would probably bring the food out once it was all done.

What a bizarre thought to pass through his mind.

Five of the chairs were occupied, all at the nearest half of the table. Two redheads sat talking back and forth, apparently blind to their surroundings and dressed in almost identical, expensive-looking sweatshirts; a frowning man with deepset eyes and hair of the deepest auburn, so dark it was almost indistinguishable from black, dressed in a silken suit that gleamed violet in the sunlight (Curufin took Celebrimbor from Daeron and took a seat at his side, looking smug); a tired red-haired woman who sat with her arms folded, a drawn scowl on her face; and, of course, the one Daeron assumed to be Fëanor himself, comfortably seated at the head of the table and weighing Daeron with his silver gaze. The family resemblance hit Daeron hard. Fëanor’s face was almost identical to Curufin’s, but he had Celegorm’s sharp jaw and Maglor’s eyes. He also saw the compact build on the red-haired twins, and there was something in the brow that Fëanor shared with the man in the suit. A bit of every son present there, except for Maedhros, who seemed to take after his mother. Unlike his boys- indeed, unlike almost any Noldo Daeron had ever met- Fëanor wore his black hair cropped short and close to the skull, without braiding of any kind. He didn’t look like a particularly nice man.

“Maglor,” he said, and a smile crossed his face that did nothing to put Daeron at ease. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, dewdrop.” The woman smiled, too, but Daeron liked the look of hers. He got the impression he was going to like Nerdanel. Her skin was brushed with dark freckles, and her nose was crooked, but she had a warmth to her where Fëanor had only intensity and heat.

Maglor put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Daeron. Daeron, this is my mom and dad, Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras.”

One of the redheads rolled his eyes. “Last again.”

“I was hoping you all wouldn’t mind speaking Sindarin tonight?” Maglor seemed to be staring at Caranthir as he spoke. “Switch it up a little.”

Nerdanel looked like she was about to say something when Caranthir interrupted.

Just hearing his voice, Daeron got a bad feeling about him. Too calculated and much too smooth.

“Why should all of us have to speak a lower language just to cater to him?” He glanced at Daeron and there was a dismissive flash in his inky grey eyes.

Maglor took a step forward before Daeron even had time to process how offensive that was, and put an arm protectively in front of him, apparently on instinct.

“That’s pretty rude,” he said. His voice was calm but the glare he gave his brother certainly was not. “We all speak Sindarin. It’s not a big deal.”

“Can your friend not speak Quenya?” Caranthir glared right back. “I thought the Dark Elves had finally picked that up, but maybe that’s an overestimation on my part.”

“Lay off, Caranthir, seriously-“

“I just don’t see why he can’t use our language if we’re his hosts.”

“My Quenya is fine,” Daeron butted in, though of course he knew his accent was all off. He understood it a lot better than he actually spoke it; he just didn’t want to cause a fight over this. Maglor was too staunch a defender. Daeron didn’t want him to feud with a brother over this.

“Fine might be too generous a word,” Caranthir said. He looked mad. Daeron couldn’t fathom what had possibly set him off.

“That’s too far,” chided Nerdanel; her use of Sindarin didn’t go amiss. Her son grumbled and flicked out his phone instead, and Maglor’s fists somewhat relaxed.

“We’re happy to have you, Daeron.” Fëanor had a very good voice, and his Sindarin was flawless. Daeron suddenly began to understand this man’s popularity; he might not look friendly, but he sounded like an ally. Simple as that. “We don’t get Grey Elves very often. And since your Quenya needs improvement, we are all happy to share your language. It’s no difficulty, is it, boys?”

No one answered him. The twins were whispering to each other, checked out, Curufin had a stupid, knowing grin on his face, and Caranthir was still pouting.

“Quenya needs improvement.” He should be grateful I even bothered learning this much. Stupid language.

“Thank you,” Maglor said shortly, glaring at his brothers.

He pulled out a chair and motioned for Daeron to take it, which he did, rather hesitantly. Caranthir was still staring at him, and it felt as if Fëanor was trying to pick him apart with his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably as Maglor sat down beside him.

“Food is almost ready- where’s Nelyo?” Fëanor looked at Maglor like he thought he was hiding Mae in his pocket somewhere. Mags only shrugged.

“Upstairs, I think.”

“Got another mysterious phone call, did he?” Curufin smiled smugly. “Any clue who his secret lover is yet, Mags?”

“I didn’t realize I was supposing to be investigating.”

“Course you are. You’re his favorite.”

“Mae is entitled to his privacy.”

“Sure, sure. You think it’s one of the Valar again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fëanor spoke firmly, putting an end to any speculation. “Nelyo knows better than to tangle with that lot.”

“One of them would be better than a Sindar,” Caranthir said. It was quiet, but not quiet enough; he’d meant for Daeron to hear it.

Maglor had really neglected to mention how much of a dick this one was.

“Did the Sindar do something to you?” Daeron asked as politely as he could manage, ignoring the way Maglor gripped his thigh in a clear signal not to engage. “If we did, I’m sorry, but there’s no need to generalize like that.”

Caranthir met his gaze, cool but undeniably angry. There was a slightly purple tint to his storm-colored eyes.

“Don’t like Dark Elves,” he said in a particularly chilling voice. “Bad for business.”

“That’s good, because I’m not a Dark Elf.”

If this smug little bastard wanted a fight, Daeron would give it to him.

“Babe…” Maglor said, tugging at his arm.

Caranthir looked like he was about to stand up and start laying into him, so Daeron braced to get to his feet, but the boiling tensions were somewhat lessened when Maedhros came into the dining room. Initially, it looked like he was out of breath from taking the stairs too fast, but his face was also a bit flushed, and a strand of hair that had been up a few minutes ago was loose and clung to a line of sweat on his forehead.

“Sorry. Am I the last one here? Didn’t mean to keep anyone waiting.”

“Celegorm is still outside,” Maglor offered. “Daeron and I can go get him.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m already up.” Mae flashed his tired smile and vanished again; Maglor looked very worried about it. He knew Daeron was close to chewing his brother out at the dinner table during his very first family visit, and that wouldn’t exactly be a good look, but before he could think of another excuse to relieve tensions, his mother did it for him.

“Caranthir, stop glaring and leave our guest alone. We’ve agreed to leave politics away from the dinner table, yes?”

“Like we ever do that,” he grumbled.

“Shape up. You’re a grown man and more than capable of putting on a courteous front for a few hours.” Nerdanel folded her arms, and Daeron was stricken by how muscular she was. The biceps strained against her sleeves- it was a miracle she even fit them in at all.

Caranthir looked like a scolded puppy, but still he whined, “But I-“

“No. You owe Daeron an apology.”

A long silence. Caranthir looked like he’d rather kill Daeron then apologize to him, but his mother kept him locked in a death stare, so eventually he caved in and grumbled, “Sorry.” It was not very convincing.

“It’s fine,” said Daeron in a clipped voice. It wasn’t fine, but he would rather Maglor’s family not hate him, so he could pretend. It seemed to put Mags more at ease, at the very least.

The skittering off claws on hardwood indicated the arrival of Huan and his master, and as Maedhros and Celegorm took seats on either side of their mother, Fëanor said something about eating, and the smell of something fragrant with herbs drifted in along with the small herd of cooks and servers. It smelled a bit too much like poultry for Daeron’s tastes. He got the feeling the Fëanorians would not approve of his not eating meat.

This whole thing was starting to feel like a really bad idea.

[theserpentsadvocate]

@iceberg-hootenanny I tried to save your ask as a draft and tumblr deleted it instead, but if I recall correctly you said 4, 5, 17 for any Silmarillion character, so! (Insert joke about ‘ha, you think YOU took a long time to answer’.)

4. Has the character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them?

I go back and forth on whether Handir was even at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad (depending on which source you use, as few as three of the Haladin’s warriors returned, so his odds of survival are not good, and we know he did survive past that) – but if we assume that he didn’t remain behind as interim leader and he didn’t choose to stay because his son was badly injured (my preferred reason), then he would have been there.

Of course, the Nirnaeth is an experience, more than just a single event he witnessed, but my personal headcanon is that Handir saw his father killed. Witnessing it had a profound affect on him, being unable to recover the body had a profound affect on him, returning home with his men absolutely decimated had a profound affect on him – it’s hard to separate these things from each other, but the visceral blow of seeing his father cut down contributed tremendously to the near-despair he was mired in during his first years as Chieftain. Between that and watching his mother just hopelessly waste away immediately afterward, it took him along time to recover. (It didn’t help that he had to focus all of his attention on getting his people through the ensuing difficulties, and what extra strength he had he spent trying to be present and steadfast for his family, rather than on processing his grief. It’s not that his priorities are wrong, there are just no good choices here.)

Losing his cousins in the fighting at the Fords of Brithiach also had a profound affect on him (no less so because they miraculously popped up alive a year later), but in that case the fact that he didn’t witness it, was fighting in another area entirely and only found out afterwards that they were gone, was the really traumatic part, and it took quite some time before he could really believe that Hurin and Huor even were alive in Dor-lomin. It just juxtaposes really interestingly to me.

5. What have they got in their pocketses?

Knives, or string, precious!

…You know, it’s actually a decent bet that most characters I’m interested in would have at least one of the above. Except for the Valar, I guess.

Knives: Haleth, Nienor, Mablung, probably Fingolfin, decent odds any random member of the Haladin will have at least an eating knife

String: Beldis (well, thread, anyway), Niniel, maybe Idril actually?

Both: Brandir for sure

17. What was the character’s favourite childhood toy?

Handir likes to whittle, and he made Brandir a lot of little animals when he was young. I don’t know that there was one specific one that he preferred over the rest, although I’m sure he was very attached to various ones at different times, but having some wooden figurine his father made for him to play with was a staple of his childhood. He takes it up himself after his father’s death as a way to feel closer to him, although he’s not as good at it as Handir was and always feels slightly like he’s coming up wanting once he’s finished. In that way it mirrors his feelings about being Chieftain.

[theelvenhaven]

Hello there! I've just binge-read literally everything on Vanifinwë (she's so great I utterly adore her) and feel free to ignore me but I have a question. If, somehow, the Valar allowed everyone in House Fëanor to be reborn in Valinor. Would she try to make amends with her father and brothers? I personally would not recover if my own father and brother looked me in the eye and said I'm no daughter/sister of theirs, AND they basically disowned her over three rocks, I would run crying to mama Nerdanel and let her handle it haha.

03.03.2021

Okay for starts your question is well appreciated and I am so excited to answer it!! 🤩 As well as:

Because you love Vanie and you asked about her 😭💖this literally has made my whole entire day. I’m so so so happy to hear that omg 😭💖 I love to talk about her!

Secondly you will be very pleased to know I am working on part 3 for the Reunions of Arda on and off right now. As well as I have a small alternate universe series I am trying to write as well where she took the oath. As was requested by an anon.

But if the Valar permitted for Fëanaro and her brothers to be reborn, when Vanie sails and comes back to Valinor it really depends on which brother scorned her for what.

In Fëanaro’s case she never forgives him, not for disowning her, for leaving her and Nolo and his people to cross the ice, not for what happened to Amrod and Maedhros, and not for what he bound her brothers too and having to watch them rip Beleriand apart. Even if in an AU and she were to end up in the Halls I just can’t picture her ever reconciling with him.

She’d meet with him solely to tell him unfettered how she felt. It would be vicious, she’d have enough resentment built in her at that point to be far from afraid of him. She’d make sure that if he wasn’t aware already, just what his oath had done to everyone and how much she hated him.

Atyarussa and Minyarussa, they’d be the very first she’d reconcile with and spend her time with in Valinor before she considered meeting with the rest of her brothers. And she’d do it on an individual basis, again depending on who it was.

In Maedhros and Maglors case she’s a little more forgiving, as neither disowned her- Maglor especially. He’s very much in her corner and against Curvo’s verbal assaults and Tyelko’s complicity and antagonistic behavior towards the situation. She’d be able to forgive them for what they’d done in the name of the Oath knowing that their hands were tied to things out of the realm of their control as were the rest of her brothers.

For Celegorm she’d probably sit on the fence about reconciling. She knows he cares about her- he and Caranthir would be the solid wall of “no DONT do that” if she hypothetically wanted to run out into danger. But at the same time Celegorm wouldn’t be able to resist picking at the more vulnerable parts of her and antagonize tensions between her and Curufin. As for his part in Nargothrond it would go over very poorly.

With Caranthir I think most definitely like Maedhros and Maglor she could forgive him and see the good he did in Beleriand and how hard he worked. Even if he was more defensive about Fëanaro’s death and her arrival to Beleriand. He’d be least likely to antagonize any further unless she prompted him to do so.

With Curvo, I don’t think she could forgive him. She’d see him as someone who tried to force his way into their Atar’s shoes. Who was uncaring of the consequences and had no issue berating her every chance he got for her “betrayal” to Fëanaro. The way she spoke of Fëanaro and her refusal to take the Oath to their faces I think is something, during their time in Beleriand, is just something he’d never be able to get over while there. He’d also not be so forgiving of her not forgiving Fëanaro post the Halls would not go over as well either. They’d be right back at each other’s throats.

What happened to Finrod and the news reaching her would go as poorly as you could imagine when she finds out. As their level of betrayal and just how low their willing to sink would just make the relationship plummet permanently.

With him she’d not even give him the time of day or a second thought. Not for Nerdanel or Celebrimbor. She’d let Nerdanel handle it and that would be the end of that.

[ambarto]

You ever get like five different ideas from angst but none of them is long enough to stand on its own and so you just make Frankenangst? Yeah

Warnings: character death, description of injuries

----

Arakano thought once he took down the chief of these creatures they would slow down. Grow fearful, perhaps, run from him.

He should have known better. It seemed the monsters were braver than Arakano had hoped. They had laughed as he took on their commander, sneered in a circle around them, sure Arakano would have lost. Arakano won, and now they were angered.

He couldn’t take them all on. His sword fell left and right, slicing heads and arms that their armors didn’t cover well enough. Where were the others of the Noldor? Arakano couldn’t see anyone past the hordes of enemies coming for him. His sword was growing heavy in his hand. His father had not been far behind him.

With a shout, Arakano killed another enemy. His breath was beginning to come short. He couldn’t hold out on his own much longer. Everything was starting to blur together-

Arakano shouted when something hit his knee. A mace he hadn’t been able to avoid. Even over the sounds of battle he heard the crack. His leg gave out beneath him, unable to support his weight.

He wasn’t getting out of here. He had pushed on too far. His father wouldn’t be able to get to him.

The one who bent over him clearly thought Arakano was already gone. It had its guard open, and Arakano thrust his sword forward, burying it right in its neck. His hand wasn’t able to keep gripping it, and it was wrenched from him.

They jumped on him as wolves on a deer. They crowded on him, covering the light.

Arakano was a warrior. Arakano had fought his way through ice and hunger. Arakano was a Prince of the house of Finwe, and if he could not win, then at least he would drag as many of these things with himself as possible. Fear barely had time to grip his heart before he lounged.

He kicked and punched and bit like an animal. A creature squealed when Arakano sunk his teeth in its dirty skin, ripping it. He swung his arms blindly, trying to hit anything around him, not even feeling the pain of his fists hitting metal armor, only satisfied that he had indeed hit something.

They grabbed him, held him down into the mud. Briefly, Arakano had time to think that his siblings would cry. Findekano for sure. Turukano and Irisse always pretended they were too strong to have feelings, but Arakano knew them better. At least, he hoped, they would be proud of him.

Then, he only had not thoughts but to scream.

They cried, when they learnt what happened to their youngest brother. Just not upon his body. Nolofinwe was the one who found him, and he did not let his other children see him. The sight, he knew, would never leave him. He did not want his children to forever see what was left of their brother in their dreams.

-

They found some refuge in the south, near the foot of the mountains. It was not a place anyone liked, but it seemed the fire from the north had momentarily forgotten about it. There was no other place to go, right now. Armies to the east and to the west, going for the Pass of Sirion and for Feanorian lands alike. There was nothing they could do but wait.

They also didn’t know who to ask for what to do.

Someone had managed to drag Lord Angrod off the battle field. The healers crowded around him, but any hope for him had been lost.

So much of his body was covered in burns it was horrific to watch. His flesh was exposed and blackened. In some places, his very bones could be seen. How was he even still alive was beyond anyone. Lord Angrod had always been known as stubborn. Too much.

He groaned something that could have been his son’s name. The healers did not answer him. There were no news yet from Minas Tirith. Under the black smoke that still covered the sky, it was hard to hold out any hope for them.

“’Ik... ro...” he groaned. Cough shook his chest, the same cough that plagued everyone, their lungs too full of ash. A rag had been laid upon his eyes, if only to spare the healers the sight of what the fire had done to them. Not that the rest of his face was a less gruesome sight.

“The Lord Aegnor is surely alright,” an healer told him, once she understood the sounds were an attempt to saying Aikanaro’s name.

Another healer glared at her. They all knew what had happened to their Lord’s brother. She shook his glare off. She was a healer. Her job was to ease suffering. There was nothing but death that could ease Lord Angrod’s agony, but at least she could comfort his spirit.

He would see his brother soon enough, anyways. With luck, he would not pass the night.

-

Turin would come.

That was what Finduilas kept repeating herself. He’d come. He’d save them. She had to cling to that thought. He would find them. He would-

The Orcs were getting restless. Finduilas didn’t understand their horrid language, but she saw how unsettled they were. They kept looking behind themselves, as if expecting something to jump them.

Finduilas wasn’t sure where they were. They seemed to be by a river, but she could not be entirely sure of which one. The Taeglin, perhaps? They had been taking detours through the forests, she was entirely lost. She tried to think of who lived in these lands - mortals, mainly, if some of them were hunting the Orcs it would explain their nervousness.

Would Turin know anyone here? Finduilas knew very little of his past before Nargothrond. Perhaps he had friends. Perhaps soon they would reach them. Finduilas tried to strain herself, but she heard nothing. She could not even turn properly to look, bound as she was.

An Orc - a sentinel - burst through the trees, shouting. Whatever he said, it put all the other Orcs on edge immediately. They got up, hands to their weapons.

The other prisoners looked at them with terrified eyes.

“Worry not,” Finduilas whispered. “I think someone is chasing us. We may yet be saved.”

“What are you yapping about?” an Orc shouted. She stood in front of Finduilas, baring her fangs to her.

Finduilas kept silent. She looked at her in the eyes, and said nothing.

“The prisoners are slowing us down,” another Orc said.

There was a general agreement between them. Finduilas’s heart jumped. Then they were being chased, after all. There still was hope.

“She is the princess, is she not?” an Orc asked, pointing at her.

Grunts of agreement.

Suddenly, Finduilas was grabbed and dragged to her feet. Fear cursed through her, but she repressed it. She could not let herself be afraid. She would keep hoping.

She did not quite feel pain. Only a strange, bizarre pressure to her chest. The Orc had moved so fast. She had not expected him to raise his spear. Even as she looked down and saw it embedded in her chest, she struggled to understand its presence.

Perhaps there would be a way to take it out.

Perhaps Finduilas should be named Princess of Futile Hopes.

-

Feet moved around in his field of vision. Caranthir’s eyes stared ahead, fixed on the silver hair just some paces ahead of him.

He pressed his own hand to his throat. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. That was how Caranthir had been told to treat open wounds. Never had he thought he would be doing it to his own neck, trying to keep himself from bleeding out on the floor of Menegroth.

He had reached the throne room just in time to see Celegorm fall. Caranthir had attempted to make his way to him, and everything he had gotten in exchange was a sword he was not able to avoid. All he could do now was bleed out, as Celegorm without doubt already had. Useless.

Given the way his ears were ringing, he wasn’t being too good about keeping his blood in.

Someone stumbled on his legs. Caranthir hoped they were a Sinda. He hated them all, right now. He had not hated them when he had come here, ready to force Dior’s hand. Now he did. Celegorm was right in front of him, lying face down, fallen by a Sinda’s sword.

He couldn’t say Celegorm had ever been his favorite brother. But he was Caranthir’s brother nonetheless. His big brother. Who used to pick Caranthir up as a child and put him on his shoulders. Who was stubborn, and reckless, and impulsive, and somehow had always seemed impossible to harm.

Tears pooled in Caranthir’s eyes. Usually, he would rather be caught dead than seen crying. He had a reputation to uphold. Now he did not have the strength to hold it back.

He was losing the struggle to stay awake. He clung to awareness, but it was sleeping between his fingers together with his blood.

Where were Maedhros and Maglor? Were they not heading here too?

Tears pooled under his face. He wanted to see them. He didn’t want the last things his eyes saw to be Celegorm’s body.

He wanted his big brothers to hold him, and lie to him, tell him everything would be fine.

What a foolish, useless wish.

-

Were the Valar merciful, a stone would have struck Turgon’s head, and killed him immediately.

The Valar, it seemed, were not. Or perhaps it was Turgon who was being given special treatment.

It would not be long. He did not feel anything in his lower body. He could not seem to draw his breath in. Part of what had once been his tower was pressing heavy on his chest. Was this gurgling sound his blood in his lungs?

What a fool he’d been, hoping that Gondolin may hold. He should have listened to Ulmo.

So many things he should have done. He should have protected his sister better. He should have been closer to his nephew, help him through whatever led him to this. There were so many things he wished he could have told his daughter, his son-in-law. His grandson, and may Eru make it so that the child was saved.

Such a great King, such a great kingdom. And now, in the end, only him and his regrets.

As his fea was squeezed from his body, he wondered if this was what it felt like to drown. Buried in rock and not water, but was the principle of the thing not the same? Darkness, no air, and no one to comfort you as you died.

Perhaps this was his penance for not having been faster in saving Elenwe.

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 2

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Chapter 1

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

Notes: Listen to Medieval Pagan Music, Runestones when reading this chapter.

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

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

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

When I said I hated reality, I didn't mean I wanted to be ripped from it without my family.

How they'd healed you so efficiently was beyond your comprehension, and nobody came to visit you. You couldn't bring yourself to eat much of what they brought you. To think you'd finally gotten your wish, you'd finally, somehow gotten sucked into some alternate reality where fiction was fact and what you'd known and lived in for your entire life was nonexistent... It was amazing. Surreal.

But you couldn't stay here. Not without your family. Not without your mom, not without [B/N], not without [S/N]. [F/N]... You wished you could've at least said goodbye to him. Life without the only people you'd ever had seemed unreal, incomprehensible, and too nightmarish. Too... Alone. You couldn't lose them.

For hours, you waited, pacing the ten-by-ten cell furiously. You had to find some way to get out, some way to find whatever portal you'd triggered... A sound at the barred door made you freeze in place, whipping around like a meerkat. It was Blue-Eyes, and some of his guards, one of which was unlocking the door. "Are you letting me go?"

Blue-Eyes stared at you as if trying to figure out whether or not you were desperate or stupid. Finally, he shook his head, probably deciding it was most likely both in your case. Well, screw him. "My father wishes to see you."

You glanced to each of the guards that came to grip either of your arms. "Is that... Bad?"

Blue-Eyes smirked. "It depends on his mood."

You glared at him as the other two Elves ushered you out of the door, onto the precariously thin ledge just outside of the cell. "You're trying to freak me out, aren't you?"

Blue-Eyes didn't answer, but took up the rear of the procession. They lead you to a platform overlooking all of the mazelike bridge-sets of the dungeons, and opened a pair of elaborately crafted doors. You balked, your jaw fell, your eyes widened as far as they'd go, stunned by the view.

The building you'd thought was surrounded by trees? It was a palace-city, which stretched back from the front wall as far as you could see. And it was made entirely of trees. Bridges of wood, twisting trunks, curling pillars of wood holding up a vaultrf ceiling which opened up to the orange-gold canopy, and beyond, the cloudless blue sky. Huge, arched windows with stained glass of amber filled the front wall, framed in wood, every few dozen feet, letting in a golden light that made the entire place seem more surreal than it already was. Leaves fell too slowly here, as if afraid that touching the ground would destroy their fabulousness. Elves inhabited every floor, sailing gracefully around like gorgeous swans that glared down at the sudden ugly duckling in their midst.

You felt tiny.

"This is your home?" You breathed in amazement, going where the guards took you on autopilot as you drank in the magnificent sight. "It's bigger than the town I live in!"

"This is just a small portion of it," Blue-Eyes had a hint of pride in his voice. You glanced over your shoulder to see him taking in the view with a faint smile on his face. "This part is my father's palace. Only nobles and militia reside here."

"It's beautiful..." You surveyed the palace in awe. I'm here. I'm really here! This is where I'm supposed to be! "Do you all have different floors? Is it flameproof? What happens if there's a forest fire? Can you even get forest fires here?"

"Why would you like to know?" Blue-Eyes demanded sharply, all kindness gone just as suddenly as it'd arrived, replaced with obvious suspicion and disdain.

You sighed, and dropped the subject. You wouldn't be finding anything out about this place today. The guards lead you up a short flight of stairs, which stopped at a huge circular pavilion, lined with a different type of guard in silver armor and navy-blue masks covering their lower faces. They stood almost impossibly still, and each carried a deadly spear.

More stairs, curving upward from each side of the pavilion, lead to a massive throne of carved wood. A regal Elf lounged on it, holding a curled wooden staff. He wore silver robes lined on the inside with a deep crimson, and a crown of thin branches styled like an elk's antlers --or maybe a thornbush-- sat atop his head of snow-white hair. Piercing blue eyes watched you from underneath strangely dark (And thick.) brows, but his catlike face was drawn into an unreadable expression.

Blue-Eyes stepped before you and the guards, and put his right arm over his chest, fist resting over his heart, as he bowed at the waist. "My king, we have brought the prisoner."

Inwardly, you winced. What kind of father forced his son to call him 'my king'?

The Elvenking flicked his fingers toward the guards on either side of you. "Leave us."

As they left with barely a clink of armor, Blue-Eyes grabbed you roughly by the shoulder, forcing you to your knees. His grip was like iron. He leaned down to snarl in your ear, "Show respect. His majesty has shown you a great kindness in allowing you to live."

Aw, fuck. You forgot that these guys had healed you. If Lord Fabulous over there had decided that by even so much as breathing near his lands you didn't deserve for your wounds to be healed, you'd be dead right now. "O-oh..." You quickly fixed your position, and even bowed your head with an arm over your chest, like Blue-Eyes had done. "Sorry..."

"My son tells me he found you trying to escape from warg-bound orcs on our northern border," Elvenking drawled slowly. Wargs... Those big dogs... Why does that sound familiar? Were they in a book? Mythology? A game? You couldn't remember, and Elvenking didn't give you time to. "You were found near-death, and without any apparent recollection of how you came to be there. Is that correct?"

You weren't sure how to adress him. "Yes, sir. My lord. Your majesty. I'm sorry."

Elvenking continued. "Would you like to elaborate on what you do remember?"

His tone wasn't kind. It was "Tell me bitch or I will throw you off into the chasms below."

And there were lots of chasms.

"You won't believe me," You started, and risked a glance; Blue-Eyes and Elvenking watched you warily. You could easily say you were from this world, but you didn't know anything about it. You couldn't lie believably. And even if you could, Elves can sense lies. You figured you'd get some extra points if you were totally honest. "But I'll tell you anyway." So you started out with your explanation of coming from a place called Earth, and that you'd been having a battle against some pretty fake boars played by unconvincing actors in Live Action Roleplay, when you'd fallen out of a tree, banged yourself up, and knocked yourself out. You then proceeded to explain about the big dogs and the orcs.

Elvenking lifted his chin slightly for the sole purpose of glowering at you. "Tell me more of this... Earth." You told him all you could. About cars and trains and jets and phones, then on to TVs and movies, and the huge skyscrapers, and how modern slang was different from what it had been, and how where you came from, Elves and orcs and dragons were all part of a genre known as fantasy. You even tried, for a brief period of time, to explain the subject of eMail and social sites like Tumblr and Twitter, but you gave up at their odd looks as they tried to comprehend the concept. You told them about all seven continents, presidents, world leaders, endless wars, hunger, trashing the planet and all other shit that was wrong with Earth.

You could've been there for hours explaining it all. When you were finished, Elvenking regarded you like he'd just came to the conclusion that you just weren't normal. "It seems, [Y/N], that your world is poisoned."

"It is!" You agreed excitedly. "Nobody cares about it anymore! It's why I grew up to be so... Un-normal, by my world's standards."

"I see..." Elvenking blinked slowly. "Then you are, since you are a spawn of this Earth, equal poison to this world, are you not?"

All the blood drained from your face. "What?"

He looked to Blue-Eyes. "Kill them."

Blue-Eyes gripped you by the back of the head, and your hands flew to his wrist as he yanked your head back. With a flourish, he drew one of his ivory-handled knives and pressed it to your throat. "Wait!" You screamed, and Elvenking raised a hand.

"Last words?" Blue-Eyes sneered.

"I don't know where I am," You choked out quickly; the cool steel of the blade was digging into your neck, cutting a fine line. "I don't know how I got here, but usually when stuff like this happens in movies, there's always a portal. Let me find it-- send an escort if you want! Take me back to where you found me, and I'll find the portal and go home. You'll never see me again!"

Elvenking dropped his hand, and your heart jumped, expecting your head to go with it. "Do you really think that is wise? I sense no dishonesty from you, but you could very well be a spy from your world, which seems so intent on conquering and destroying peace. I will not let this world, much less my own land, fall prey to yours."

"I won't tell anyone about you, or this place, I promise! I don't even know where this is!" Tears of frustration pricked the corners of your eyes. "I'm not a damn spy! I don't even know how I got here! Give me a couple of days to find the portal. Then I'll leave. What if there was a way for you to know I'll keep my word? Like a blood-oath, or something!"

"And if asked where you had gone?" Blue-Eyes countered, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'll tell them I went to Narnia, dammit! They never take me seriously anyway!" Your eyes widened. "This isn't Narnia, is it? Narnia didn't have Elves!"

"No, this is not... Narnia." Elvenking replied. "And you will not know the name of this land. You have three days to find your portal. You will be accompanied by a small assembly of my best warriors. If you do not find the door to your world within the given three days... I will give the order to kill you."

You swallowed hard. The steel dragged across your throat painfully. "Th-that sounds fair." It didn't, but, you just rolled with it.

"Legolas, you will go with them," Elvenking said; something clicked in your mind. You knew that name... You knew that name. But... Why?

Blue-Eyes-- Legolas-- nodded and finally removed the blade from your throat. Lord Fabulous inclined his head once, and you vaguely thanked him, too concerned with how you knew Blue-Eyes's name. He kept a tight, painful grip on your arm, actually digging his fingers in until you were pretty sure he cut off most of your circulation.

When you reached your cell, he thrust you in roughly, making you stumble forward. You whipped around to glare at him. "Could you be careful, Blue-Eyes?"

He paused in locking the door. Confused, he brought his sapphire eyes to meet your [e/c] ones. "What did you just call me?"

"Blue-Eyes," You suddenly felt a little embarassed about picking a nickname for him. Shit, you'd never let that bother you before. He could screw off. "I didn't know your name until a few minutes ago, so... I just picked something to call you."

He raised an eyebrow incredulously. "And you chose to call me after my eyes." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

You flushed a little, glancing to the side with only your eyes nervously, then back to him. "Uh... Yeah. That's pretty much it."

He rolled his eyes and walked away. Before you even realized what you were doing, you'd ran to the bars and grabbed hold of them, pressing your cheek up against them to watch him walk away. "Blue-Eyes!" He stopped, but didn't turn around. "Your name... Legolas. I think I've heard it before."

He turned his head slightly, like he might be interested, but your hopes fell through the floor when he just continued walking. You immediately wished you'd've said something to get his attention, so he'd come talk to you. Like, Hey, I'm really a spy for Earth, MWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Ok, maybe not that drastic...

But you did wish he'd stayed to talk to you. Even if he'd tried to kill you. Legolas... You slid down the bars, sitting on the floor. Your knees came up to your chest of their own accord. Legolas... What do your Elf eyes see? You knew that you knew his name, but where did you know it from?

They're taking...

Aw, damn. It was right on the tip of your brain. Lord Fabulous looked really familiar, too. He reminded you of Ronan the Accuser from Marvel. Why couldn't you remember? Was it a side-effect of being tossed to another reality? What else did you not remember...?

You sat there for hours, until one of the guards brought you some food. You picked at the meal, as a tune got stuck in your head that you couldn't quite place...

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

Here, the song fizzed out like a radio signal, then you got another bit of it...

All shall fade..

All shall...

...Fade...

~ominous time skip~

You, Blue-Eyes, and a team of Elvish warriors like the ones who'd helped you escape the dogs and orcs set out at dawn, which was way too early for someone used to getting up at noon most of the time. All the Elves showed off their glowy perfect selves by leaping gracefully to pebble to pebble like the regal shits they were, including Blue-Eyes.

Actually, scratch that. Blue-Eyes was the fucking king of being a show-off.

They moved fast, and you were surprisingly able to keep up with them. Not one of the Elves wanted to speak to you; they seemed to consider you an abomination.

You kinda seen what they were getting at, though. You were still in your bright white, blue, and black sci-fi Elf outfit from yesterday, complete with the latex ears and bright blue faux-hawk, which had become much less faux-hawk-y after sleep. You were covered in dried blood, dirt, and parts of your outfit were ripped. You'd tried to clean up as best as you could when you were woken up by using the water from the cup you'd been given to scrub your face and arms with the stunningly clean sheets on your cot.

In other words, you stuck out like a bright blue flower in a field of dark grass. You didn't know the way back to the river, so most of the Elves surrounded you discreetly while Blue-Eyes took the lead. Every one of them had a bow or sword or knife out and ready, so one wrong sniff and you were dead.

You traveled for about an hour before anyone spoke. It was Blue-Eyes, to your surprise. "Why is your hair blue?"

"Huh?" Of all possible questions, that one hadn't been expected. Though, that was kind of dumb of you, to just assume they wouldn't eventually wonder if everybody from your world had crazy hair colors.

"Your hair," Blue-Eyes specified, sounding condescending, like his hair was much better than yours because it was long and perfect and almost white. "Why is it blue?"

"Oh," You cleared your throat. "It's dye. My real color is [h/c]. Lots of people do it where I come from. You can dye it a natural color, or an unnatural color, like so. Some keep their natural color and just add streaks that aren't their natural colors. Some dye their full hair, like me, for the sole purpose of cosplay--uh, dressing up as made-up characters for events--and others dye it just for fun. Or to stand out, I guess. But I wouldn't advise it. It ruins your hair. I just don't care, though."

"Why would anyone want to do that?" One Elf asked in horror, then sneered at you. "I suppose those of your world simply do not appreciate the naturalities of the body."

You shrugged. You should see the LGTBQ+ community... But you didn't feel like explaining any of that to these people right now. Especially when they obviously looked down on stuff like that.

"And what character are you meant to be?" Blue-Eyes asked in a challenging tone.

You flushed. "... A sci-fi Elf."

"...Sci-Fi?" A different Elf asked. "What is that?"

"Science fiction," You specified. "Basically, I'm supposed to be an Elf from another planet. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Is that why you have pointed ears?" Blue-Eyes questioned, and you nodded.

"Yeah. They're latex-- a kind of rubber. Wait, do you even have rubber here?" You waved a hand. "Nevermind. They can come off pretty easily, though. Speaking of which, I'd better take them off before they cause damage..." You reached up to one of your ears, despite the looks the Elves gave you.

Blue-Eyes stopped for a minute, halting the whole group. He looked at you like you were crazy. "Whyever would you put something on your body that could cause damage?"

You blinked. "That is a very good question, Blue-Eyes, and one I don't exactly have an answer for. Almost everybody does it at some point." You felt for the flap of latex, but you couldn't find it. Hell, you couldn't even find the edge of the prosthetic. "Oh shit..." You breathed.

"What is it?" Legolas huffed, and turned around impatiently.

Your eyes widened; you couldn't let them think you were panicking, but, well, you were, and shortly after, you did. "I-I can't get it off."

Blue-Eyes's brow furrowed. "Will it cause permanent damage if they are not removed?"

"Maybe? Yes? My skin goes red and itchy and starts to swell up if I touch latex for too long, so, I'm gonna go with a definitely on this one. Just keep walking. I should have them off by the time we get to the river."

But you didn't. There was no flap, no edge of the latex. If it weren't for the fact that you did put latex ears on, you wouldn't have known you had latex ears on. A suspicion grew in your core, so you grabbed hold of the pointed tip, and pinched down with your nails hard and fast. "Ow!"

Every Elf turned to look at you as you pulled your hand away. Some blood was on the tips of your fingers. "Why, in the name of the Valar, would you hurt yourself?" Legolas sighed like a parent lecturing a child, but you were staring at your fingertips in shock. Valar...

"I'm an Elf..."

"I beg your pardon?" Apparently the mere thought of being the same race as you was too much for Blue-Eyes to handle. It was fucking offensive.

"I'm an Elf!" You shouted, and snatched your hand to your chest. "The ears won't come off! They bled and hurt when I pinched them! I'm a damn Elf! When I fell through that portal, I was a normal human! Now I'm an Elf! I don't know whether I should be freaking out or excited!"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "It won't be permanent. Obviously, here you're an Elf. There, you're not. When we get you through the portal, you'll be a human again."

"But..." I don't want to be human... Yet, you were also trying desperately to get back to your family, on pain of death and loss of cool fantasy land. If only you'd wake up to learn you were in some kind of damn coma...

You waved your hands. "Ok. Alright, fine. Is this where you found me?"

Legolas gestured to a particular rock. "The exact spot. Do you think you could find your way from here?"

You smirked; you'd always been good at knowing your way. "Please. I was born with an innate sense of direction. Now how the fuck do we get over this damn river?"

Legolas grinned. "You're an eldar now, aren't you? See if you can get across it yourself." Eldar... That had to mean an Elf of some sort, right?

You stared him down for a second, hands on your hips. He smirked cockily back, pure smugness on his expression. "Ok. Sure. What's life without risk?"

So you took a deep breath, and headed for the opposite bank.

You and your siblings had this special hiking trail in a park, and on this trail was a creek slash pond area. Several of them. You'd always cross the creek carefully, each step placed just so, and quietly, too, so that you could see the frogs-- it was a frog hunt without actually killing said frogs. The exercise gave you all good balance and a know-how for shit not that rock.

But this river was much different than the creek back home. It was clear, and clean, and strong as fuck, so one wrong move and you'd be whooshed away, with Blue-Eyes giving Lord Fabulous the excuse of "Oh they died in the river tragically oops..."

The rocks were unstable. The river swelled over them every so often to make them slippery. Your rubber boots were less than zero help. But you were an Elf now, right? So that had to make you unfairly agile. You took another deep inhale, then took what you hoped was a graceful leaping step, only for you to slip and nearly bust your ass. Elvish powers have to be learned. Noted.

When you finally got to the other side of the bank, you were stiff, and your heart was pounding. Behind you, the Elves sneered and jeered and all kinds of other "eers". You whipped around, and flipped them off. They looked somewhere between shocked, offended, and terrified. You realized they might not know the symbolism of it, and might think you were cursing them. When they reached you, Blue-Eyes was the first to demand what that was all about. "What was that all about?!"

You panicked under pressure. "U-uh... I-it's a minor insult where I come from. Very minor. We use it frequently as a joke among close friends. A friendly insult. Yeah. Sorry. Won't happen again." He totally didn't believe you. So you quickly changed the subject. "O-oh, uh, this way!"

Scenery seen at night was harder to recognize during the day, and vise versa, but you knew you hadn't gone too far up the river when you came across some massive paw prints and scrape marks from where you'd skidded down the bank. Another bonus clue was the scrap of bright blue fabric, from your skirt/tunic thing, hanging precariously from a branch.

It took you the better part of an hour to find the tree you'd woken up at. "Okay, this it it."

"Are you certain?" Blue-Eyes asked you.

"Wait." You laid down, and yep, everything was the same, except in daylight. Legolas frowned at you as you stood, probably ashamed to even breathe the same air as you. "Yeah, this is it."

Blue-Eyes ordered something in Elvish, jerking his head. The Elves immediately set about making camp. "So, in your world, you fell from the highest branches of an oak, yes?"

"Yep, breaking several things in the process."

"And you lost consciousness after you hit the forest floor?"

"Yep."

Legolas hummed and looked up into the canopy. "Then by all means... The portal should be where you laid."

You glanced down at your feet before bouncing up and down a little. "Nope. Nothing."

Legolas huffed. "You may have to try climbing this tree and falling into this spot."

A deranged laugh escaped your throat, which you quickly stifled. "I'm sorry, but are you crazy? What if I die? We don't have the same healing stuff as you guys unless you can pay for it up front, and I'm very poor. So is all of my family. We can't afford that shit. So if I die, what's the point in going back?"

Legolas glared at you. "I didn't mean from very high. Just high enough to hopefully send you through, but not high enough to kill you. Your healers will mend broken bones, will they not?"

You scoffed dejectedly. "Yeah, but for a pretty hefty bill..." You threw your hands up. "Whatever. I'll die anyway if I don't try. Might as well." With Legolas watching you carefully to make sure you didn't try to jump from tree to tree, you started to climb.

Was it really only yesterday that you'd been having a fun, standard LARPing day with your family and [F/N]? The real world seemed like fantasy, now. This felt real. This felt like where you should be. But if your family weren't here, you wouldn't be able to enjoy it. You'd always feel as if you abandoned them. You wondered, did time pass differently? Did it go faster there, and slower here? Or was it the other way around? Would you find the portal, and return to the real world to find your family long gone and the year a thousand into the future? Then you'd wish you'd never left this place. Or would you find not a moment had passed, and to them, it was still the terrifying moment of not knowing if you were dead or alive, to find you unharmed? Would you then be able to convince them to fall through, even on the chance that the portal could only be used a handful of times, and if it did work, would a millenia had passed here? Even Blue-Eyes would've aged by that point, however slightly.

Once you'd reached a suitable height, you braced yourself against the trunk. "How's this?"

Legolas nodded. "Fine. Jump when you're ready.”

You took a minute... Ah... Better get this over with. One does not simply... Damn, what was that meme? "Ok, ready when you are."

Legolas stepped back, and waited; you hesitated, then jumped, and you felt deja vu as you barreled toward the ground, landing flat on your back. The impact knocked the wind out of you, and you felt a painful snap in your right ribcage. You kept your eyes closed; you heard nothing aside from the birds in the trees. You hoped, then hoped some more, expecting at any moment to hear the frantic footfalls of your family rushing to help you...

"Well, I see I was entirely wrong on the matter," Blue-Eyes stated simply, and you frowned. Fuck...

"Ya think? I'm still seeing priss-ass Elves in a goddamn forest that isn't the one I fell in. Fuck you, Blue-Eyes, for having me break a rib for no good damned reason." You glared at him as you tried to sit up, barely making it halfway before Legolas helped you, albeit roughly.

"Watch your tongue," Blue-Eyes snapped. "If it were not for us, you would be dead."

You pursed your lips. "You're gonna kill me anyway just for breathing on your trees, so why didn't you just let me die?"

For a second, Legolas seemed to feel pity for you. "I am sorry. Truly, I am. Perhaps if we fail to locate your way home, I could convince my father to refrain from executing you."

You huffed, wincing as the action hurt your broken-on-some-level ribs. "Why? So I can live the rest of my suddenly immortal life in a dark cell, underground, just for existing? Hell no. I'd rather die."

"Perhaps you could have another use," Legolas offered, and you shook your head.

"Never in my life have I been considered useful." You eyed Blue-Eyes disdainfully. "Ever. By anybody. If you can find a place for somebody like me that doesn't involve imprisonment, fine. But I won't be able to live with myself if I can't find a way back to Earth. I need my family. They're all I ever had."

Legolas knelt beside you. "You... Seem to be very close with them. You love this..." He looked off into the trees, searching for the word. "...Life, so much, and have wished for it for so long, but you'd give it up, to be with them in a world that does not want you... You have a brave heart."

You took the compliment. "Thanks. Now let's find this damn portal, shall we? I've got a couple more ribs to bust."

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​

@taurlel​ @hauntedsiriel​

[theemightypen]

I have no self control so here’s a sneak peek at the daemon AU I have planned haha someone stop me

The room is tense. Between the low, angry murmurs of Eomer’s riders and their daemons’ accompanying agitated noises, it is a cacophony of sound. Lothiriel cannot blame them--the reports of coordinated Orc attacks on the towns at the Gondor-Rohan border is a dire one, especially with winter rapidly approaching. 

“We should send to Aragorn for aid,” says Eothain, his red setter quivering at his feet. “We do not know how many of them there are, or who or what is leading them--”

“Must we turn to Gondor for every skirmish now? We eorlingas have defended ourselves perfectly well for generations. These are Orcs--mindless creatures. Likely starving. Why else would they attack the granary first?” Argues Ordlac. “Let us send the Third Marshall and his eored.” 

Round and round the arguments go and from where she sits, Lothiriel can see that Eomer’s back is ramrod straight. 

It is not her place, but oh, how she wishes she could go to him, put a hand between his shoulder blades and remind him that he is not alone in this, that there is more to life than fighting enemies and guarding the innocent, more to life than constant battle and strife--

An agitated clack behind her makes her flinch. A falcon’s beak is no gentle thing, after all. 

“I am sorry,” she whispers. “Am I being too obvious?”

“Just to me, I think,” Astor murmurs back. 

Her daemon is a familiar and comforting presence at her back and she is glad of him--one piece of home and family amongst so much uncertainty. She tries to turn her attention back to her letter from Faramir. Gondor has born witness to no such attacks, that much is clear, and most of her cousin’s writing is focused on his newly-married life. She is glad for him, and for Eowyn, though she cannot help but wish that they and Himmeth and Baldmund were here. 

--you must come to Ithillien when you return home, Loth. Eowyn would love to see you again, and soon, for I suspect we may have happy news to share with you.

Lothiriel blinks in surprise at Faramir’s thinly veiled message. Eowyn and Faramir, parents! Oh, but that is such wonderful news. Part of her wants to shoot to her feet, stride across the floor, and interrupt the tedious discussion of battle preparation to tell Eomer, if only to see his happiness and surprise. Things she likes much better on his face than care and worry. 

There is another ruffle of feathers from behind her and Lothiriel sighs. She is so tired of having to hide how she feels. Valar knows Astor is even more tired of having to remind her to do so. He has always been the more sensible, the more cautious, of the two of them, and usually she is grateful for it. 

“I am sorry,” she says again, reaching behind her with her face still turned towards the letter. “I know you tire of it, Astor--”

His feathers are as soft as ever under the tips of her fingers, but there is something off about the sensation. 

A sudden sharp intake of breath from across the room has her looking up, only to find--

Everyone, human and daemon alike, staring at her. 

She blinks in confusion. “My lords?”

“Lothiriel,” comes Astor’s voice, tinged with urgency, “lift your hand--”

“What?”

And she turns to face him, her fingers curling into his feathers of their own accord--

No. Not his feathers. Aethel’s feathers.

It is her turn to gasp. Oh, Valar, she cannot have done this! To touch another’s daemon breaks every code of decency, every ounce of propriety. And that it is Eomer’s daemon is even worse--

Eomer’s great golden eagle blinks her bright yellow eyes and then pushes her head further into Lothiriel’s palm.

There is another sharp intake of breath from behind her, but Lothiriel dare not turn to look and see the source. 

“Out!” Comes Eothain’s voice. “Out, everyone out, stop your gawping!” 

There is a shuffle of feet, wings, and paws, but mercifully, no one protests. 

Gently as she can, she lifts her hand from Aethel’s head. The eagle makes a plaintive noise as she does so and Lothiriel feels as if her heart might crack open; what if she has hurt her? Hurt Eomer?

“I am sorry,” she says, feeling foolish, unhelpful tears rapidly rising, “I--I thought she was Astor, I did not know she was there--”

“It’s alright,” Eomer answers, sounding much closer--Lothiriel cannot tell in truth, for she dares not lift her eyes from the floor. “There’s---there’s no harm done.”

That does make her look at him in shock. Eomer is known for his honesty. To lie so blatantly, and to her, about so important a thing, stings. 

“You need not soften it,” she fires back, comforted slightly by the familiar sensation of Astor’s talons coming to rest on her shoulder. “I have done wrong, unintentionally or not. If I hurt you--either of you--I would know it.”

Eomer’s eyes are dark, darker than usual, in his handsome face and he swallows thickly, once, twice, before answering. “You did not,” he says, holding out his arm so that Aethel might come and perch on it, “hurt us.” 

“I--I don’t understand--”

Aethel turns her bright, piercing eyes towards her once more. Calmly, she says, “You could never hurt us,” as if it is the most simple thing in the world.

Astor gives a startled screech right next to Lothiriel’s ear, but she barely hears it over the sudden thud of her own pulse.

You did not hurt us, you could never hurt us, you did not--

“Oh,” she whispers, reaching up to grasp desperately at Astor’s talons. “Why--why on earth didn’t you say anything?” 

Eomer swallows again, running a hand over Aethel’s side. “You are here on a diplomatic mission. It hardly felt right to...mention such a thing.”

She cannot fault him--that had been a portion of the reason she had worked so hard to conceal her own feelings. But it was not the whole reason, for her, and she suspects it is not for him either. 

“And if I told you it did not matter?”

At once, Lothiriel can see he has misunderstood, for Aethel shuffles closer on his forearm to tuck her head into the curve of his neck and Eomer--well, he nearly folds in on himself, unsure in a way she has never seen before, and certainly doesn’t like. 

“I would understand. I am not so foolish to assume that you would return my--our--affection--”

Astor interrupts him with another pointed screech, one that has Lothiriel shooting to her feet. “You would be foolish to do anything than assume otherwise!”

Now it is Eomer’s turn to gawk at her, with Aethel looking as gobsmacked as possible for a gold eagle to be. “What?”

Brave, I must be brave if I am to be happy, she thinks before stepping forward to take one of her hands between hers. “Eomer. I cannot tell you how many times I have wished that I were here on a betrothal tour rather than a diplomatic one.”

He swallows again, fingers nearly crushing hers. “Lothiriel, please, speak plainly--”

“I love you. I have loved you for weeks, now--”

He kisses her into silence before she can finish her confession. Both of their daemons screech in half-hearted protest when their arms come around one another, but Lothiriel cannot bring herself to care--how can she care for anything else than Eomer and the feel of him, warm and alive and hers, under her hands?

“I told you,” comes Aethel’s voice, wry with amusement, “worth the risk.”

“I knew you’d be smug,” answers Astor, fondly. 

“Oh, aye, but you also knew I’d be right. Just like I knew Lothiriel’s nails would feel much nicer than Eomer’s--”

Lothiriel starts to giggle into the kiss and Eomer pulls back to glare at his daemon. “You two planned this?”

“Well, Bema knows you two weren’t going to get there on your own--”

Lothiriel is too content to care, and nestles further into Eomer’s chest as he bickers with Aethel. Astor nips at her ear, and then Eomer’s too for good measure, which stuns him into silence.

“See,” she says, “it seems you cannot hurt us either.” 

Eomer’s expression softens back into joy and Lothiriel thinks it reason enough to kiss him again. It proves just as pleasant the second time as it had been the first.

[justallamaimaginingthings]

Braavos [Jaqen H’Ghar x Stark!Reader]

A/n: I was rewatching old GoT scenes while trying to find something for a request and this came to my mind. Enjoy!

Words: 1000ish  || GoT Masterlist

Being held captive by the Lannister army had been nothing but pure hell on earth. Seeing innocent northerners being tortured and slaughtered this way hurt you deeply. Knowing there was nothing you could do to help them was ever worse and you couldn’t help a feeling of guilt overtaking you. You had to get out of there and you had to do that soon. Luckily, your sister, Arya had managed to talk Jaqen into helping all of you out of Harrenhall. You couldn't wait to leave this horrible place but you were worried at the same time. 

What if you were caught? What if Jaqen was caught?  

Over your time in the fort you had developed some kind of friendship with the strange man from Braavos. Being completely honest, you should admit the bond the two of you shared was something more than a friendship and you both seemed to know it, even though you didn’t dare address the subject in fear of having misread the other’s intentions. But deep down you knew. Friends did not spend so much time sitting together is silence. Friends did not stare at each other’s lips while they were talking. And most of all, friends did not fall asleep thinking how it would be to wake up next to the other.

"And that's all he said?" you asked Arya for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. No matter how many times she explained what the red haired man had said, you couldn’t find it in yourself not to stress about it.

"We have to be at the gate at midnight, that's all he said. You opened your mouth to form another question but she beat you to it "No, I haven't seen or talked to him since then. Just stop worrying about it, you've seen what he can do" You sighted and nodded but your thoughts just couldn't strain from him.

Time seemed to go by in an agonizingly slow pace but after a lot of anxious waiting it was finally time to head for the gate. Upon finally reaching the much awaited destination the four of you froze. You looked at each other and quickly came to your senses as you rushed to hide behind an abandoned carriage.

"There are soldiers up there" Gendry half whispered half yelled, fear being clearly evident on his voice.

"But Jaqen said…"

"I don't know what your friend told you but I'm not risking that" Hot Pie interrupted Arya nodding towards the guards. Your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest as your brain struggled to find a logical explanation behind this. Jaquen had promised he’d do that and you knew he was a man of his word.

"I know this looks bad, but I trust Jaqen and so does Arya" you said after getting over the initial shock, hoping that if you remained calm the others would follow your example.

"There are two Lannister soldiers out there. This doesn't look bad, this is bad" Arya deadpanned

"It is our only choice. I don't know about you, but I'm not going back there. They are going to kill us and even in the exceptionally impossible case when they don't I will not stay here and stand by as the Lannisters torture innocent people" you insisted, emphasizing on the fact that no matter what it took to escape, it was a risk you were willing to take.

"How much do you trust this friend of yours?" Gendry asked

"With my life" you replied before getting up and walking straight to the gate. You expected the soldiers to yell at you but no reaction came. Arya and the boys were holding their breaths while they watched you nearing the solders. As you walked closer you realized they were all dead, but their bodies had been placed in natural stances so that no one would suspect something was wrong. You let a breath you didn't know you were holding and motioned to the others to come with you. The four of you ran out of the fort never looking back. You continued running until the sun came up.

Suddenly the shadow of a person appeared on a hill next to the path. Being unable to make out any features, you attempted to approached the dark cloaked figure, but before you had the chance to reach close enough he disappeared.

"What are you doing here?" you heard Arya ask, but you were too far behind to see whom she was talking to

"Waiting for you" The moment you heard Jaqen's voice you rushed past the two boys and Arya and almost knocked the redhead down. At first he was surprised by your actions but he soon relaxed into the hug and even held you closer.

"Thank the gods you're still alive" you whispered drawing a light chuckle from him. Hearing the relief in your tone was enough to make a warm feeling flood his chest as an unusual sense of joy and protectiveness got the best of him.

"It takes more than two solders to kill a man" he noted causing an equally wide smile to light up your features. You couldn't help but miss the feeling of his arms wrapped around you the moment he let go. For a second your eyes met and Jaqen could swear his heart skipped a beat. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be no one and that meant no attatchments.

"How did you know we'd come this way?" Arya asked again, interrupting the sweet moment the two of you shared.

"After all the things you have seen, this is your question?" Jaqen replied trying to appear nonchalant by keeping his poker face.

"How did you kill those guards? Was it hard?" the young Stark insisted. Your sister had always been the stubborn type and you knew she was able to achieve whatever came to her mind.

"No harder than taking a new name, if you know the way" Jaqen explained calmly which only served to intruige you as well. The way he talked about it was almost magical and you couldn’t resist wanting to know more.

"Can you teach me how?" it was your turn to ask causing his eyes to snap back at you as he observed the genuine curiosity in your eyes that seemed to be mixed with admiration and a hint of something else, he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

"If you would learn, you must come with me" he secretly hoped you'd take him up on that offer because even though he knew he shouldn't, somehow he had fallen in love with you over the short period of time he had known you.

"Where?"

"Far away across the Narrow Sea to Braavos" he answered as a sad smile formed on your face. No matter how much you wished there was a way you could go with him, you couldn't leave Arya behind. She was your sister whom you loved dearly and had sworn to protect.

"I want to… but I can't. I just can't leave Arya behind. I made a promise to father to keep her safe" you explained hoping he would understand your reasons, no matter how much saying goodbye hurt.

"Then we must part" For the first time you caught a glimpse of emotion in his eyes though you couldn't really recognize what it was "Take this" he said giving you a silver coin. The moment your fingers touched an electrifying shock travelled up and down your spine.

"What is it?" you asked observing it closely, not aware of the burning stare Jaqen was giving you in an attempt to memorise your beautiful features and warm smile.

"A coin of great value. If the day comes when you must find me again, just give that coin to any man from Braavos and say these words to him, Valar Morghulis" he started walking away but you gripped his arm making him turn around

"Please don't go" you said, the almost begging tone of your voice surprising the both of you. Since the moment Jaqen had met you had never begged for anything, always keeping your head up high proving how much of a Stark you truly were.

"A man has duties" It took every ounce of strength in him to remember his duties since the only thing he wanted at that point was to hold you as close as possible and ignore the world around him 

You stayed like that for what seemed like hours, just staring into each other's eyes. The tension was getting thicker and thicker with every passing moment, full of unspoken words. You didn't want to let go of his arm, afraid that if you did he'd disappear from your life in the same sudden way he had come into it.

"Jaqen-" he silenced you by placing his lips on your pulling you into a passionate kiss. Your body reacted before your mind could even realize what was happening and you let your hands wonder in his chest and finally rest on his shoulders, pulling him even closer. You felt like sparks were running down your spine as his lips molded perfectly with yours lighting up a fire deep inside you. He pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, eyes still closed.

"Come to Braavos" he whispered and turned around. Not once did he look back, knowing that if he saw you one more time he'd completely forget about his duties. You stayed there watching him walking away. Your hand moved to your lips and you smiled. The moment you knew Arya was safe you'd take the first ship to Braavos. You heard footsteps behind you and saw her running to catch up with you

"Where is Jaqen?" she asked

"He had somewhere to go. I don't think we'll see him again soon… Now tell your friends to hurry up. We made it this far, we can't get caught now"

[arcticdementor]

You pose an interesting question. To answer it, we first need to delve more deeply into why we are seeing these changes to begin with. For staterts, women have, as a group, begun a process of emancipating themselves from individual men by a statemandated redistribution of wealth; in Sweden, roughly one million kronor (100,000 dollars) are resdistributed from the average man to the average women in a lifetime. Make no mistake though, from a purely economical standpoint, women need men, and they have always needed men; it's men who make the carousel of redistribution go round. Before the rise of the welfare state and sexual liberation, this simple fact (which, by the way, likely stems from women's innately higher rates of neuroticism and sickliness, and also the harsh, unforgiving burden of pregnancy) resulted in either a) most women choosing men who were kind and hard-working, or b), even further back, fathers choosing hard-working, honest men for their daughters. However, these are not the men women would have chosen, had their choice been unconstrained. Indeed, research shows women have a significant preference for men that score highly in dark triad traits, and I don't even need to link to the multitude of studies which prove women are just as, if not more, concious of "shallow" traits such as physical attractiveness, and height as men are. On average, women prefer hot psychopaths to the average working Joe. So, with that said, what does the idea of friendzoning mean for the future of the male gender role? The rise of friendzoning (and incels too for that matter) are, which I believe one can conclude from the facts presented above, merely portents of a sexual marketplace in which women's deeply toxic sexuality has finally been given free reign. Women are rational, which is something a lot of guys miss. If women are allowed access to the resources of unattractive men while still being able to freely fuck attractive men, they will obviously take the oppurtunity. The "friendzoned" men are thus playing the role of the hard-working, tax-paying man, but on a micro scale; providing women with labour while getting nothing in return. In my experience, there are really only two ways such a "friendship" might end. Either the man spends the rest of his days slaving for a women who doesn't give a damn about him - for if she gave a damn, she would herself immediately end the obviously destructive relation - or he breaks free from the spell and leaves the woman to fend for herself; which she will do well, because there's always another chump willing to play the part. Nota bene. Breaking free is only possible on the micro-scale. On the macro-scale, there is no easy legal opt-out. Taxes are mandatory. Valar Dohaeris - all men must serve.

“DoctorGlas”

[kingofthereunitedkingdom]

All right my dudes, let’s talk about this Amazon LOTR series. (Aka, the two cents that no one asked for ever. Seriously, all opinions are valid, I’m not here to fight, this is just what I think. Anyways.) Please read til the end.

I for one was initially very very upset. Because I don’t trust Amazon, okay? Peter Jackson’s LOTR trilogy was a once in a lifetime miracle. Him and Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens poured their heart and souls into making the best possible adaptation of Tolkien’s masterpiece that they could. Everyone on that production, from Weta to the stunt people to the cast to Howard Shore were committed to bringing Tolkien’s vision to life. Was it perfect? No. Was it as close to perfect as we’re gonna get? Yes! There’s a reason it got all the Oscars. People who think that Peter Jackson’s LOTR wasn’t faithful enough are so deluded that it boggles my mind. It’s like people think he could just snap his fingers and turn the book page by page into exactly what you envisioned in your head when you read it. Modern day filmmaking has so many constrictions it’s not even funny. Producers, lawyers, marketers, auditors, people giving the project money who in return are in it for the money. And these are the people that Jackson had to work with in order to get the film made on the scale it was, rather than a home movie shot on a camcorder in his backyard. With this in mind, it’s a miracle that the films were as amazing as they were. You should actually all go watch the behind the scenes appendices footage on the extended edition DVDs. If you can’t get your hands on the DVDs, a lot of it is actually up on YouTube. The part where they talk about the process of converting book to script is very fascinating and explains a lot. Tolkien did not write these books with a movie in mind. The pacing is a screenwriter’s nightmare, he spends a lot of time on details we don’t necessarily need, and the time frame is positively loopy. You say Frodo was thirty three when he received the ring and fifty when he left the Shire, I say did we need to see Frodo moping around in the Shire for seventeen years? You say that the Fellowship’s travels were rushed, I ask if anyone ever wished they could spend a month in Lothlorien while absolutely nothing happens except resting and crying about Gandalf? I love the books, I truly do. But even I admit that a shot-for-shot adaptation would be awkward and at times difficult to watch.

Now, as for the show in question, do I think that Amazon read the Silmarillion and said ‘wow, let’s spend billions of dollars to make a faithful and heartfelt adaptation!’? Um, no. Somebody in a highrise read that Game of Thrones was ending and realized that now there’s gonna be an open market for that genre of show. Now, who else can think of a series that checks the boxes of fantasy, long and complicated af, pre-existing fan base, and minimal barriers when it comes to obtaining rights? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Tolkien is the million dollar answer (or billion, in Amazon’s case). What gives me hope is (now this might be hearsay, don’t take my word for it because I cannot confirm) that apparently they only have the rights to events that take place before The Hobbit and LOTR. Which is essentially just the Silmarillion and/or the appendices. Now, this could be interesting. The Silmarillion doesn’t have a screen adaptation, so whatever they did would be groundbreaking. There would be nothing to compare it to. But what I’m afraid of is that Amazon would be afraid of it. The Silmarillion is a lot to chew. It’s wordy, the characters would be hard to adapt on screen, and it would be really hard to market it because the concept of the Silmarillion has (unfortunately, but truthfully) long been associated with ultimate geekdom.

This is why Amazon is probably going to pick the lower-hanging fruit and reinvent popular characters we already love. I’ve been hearing a lot about how they’re doing it as a young Aragorn prequel. Which, for surface level selfish reasons depresses the heck out of me because Viggo Mortensen is and always will be my Aragorn. If this was happening years ago and they got Viggo to be the character again in a TV show, I’d be all for it. But unfortunately Viggo cannot age in reverse and if they were gonna use him they’d have to use a shit-ton of CGI a la Carrie Fisher in Rogue One which… *shudders* *war flashbacks*. But then again, Viggo has aged remarkably well. Did you see Captain Fantastic? Maybe with some heavy makeup and nice camera angles- Ah, it’s all just a pipe dream anyways. As long as they don’t bring back Stuart Townsend. Cue more shuddering. But I wish Amazon would understand that they’re investing their money in the wrong horse! We don’t want to see Aragorn reinvented! We’re happy with what we have!

Think about it realistically for a minute, in the hypothetical event that this is a young Aragorn TV show. Amazon is a studio giant, trying to establish themselves among other streaming services known for their original TV shows such as Netflix, Hulu, HBO, etc. We, as Tolkien fans, understand that Aragorn’s history prior to the events of LOTR is pretty straightforward. He grows up in Rivendell, is informed that he’s Isildur’s heir, goes into the wild to become a Ranger, fights for Rohan, fights for Gondor, falls in love with Arwen, etc. There’s a sixty year block of time between his childhood in Rivendell and the War of the Ring. That can’t possibly all be covered in one show, as hard as they try. They won’t be able to resolve his storyline, because his storyline and character arc get resolved during the War of the Ring. They would have to establish the fact that he’s the heir to the throne of Gondor, establish the fact that he’s conflicted about his destiny, establish the fact that he goes into self-inflicted exile as a Ranger, and then end the show without ever showing the resolution that he eventually does reclaim his throne and his destiny. Unless they were to just bite the bullet and remake the original trilogy. And then there’s the matter of a love interest. Arwen is his first and only love. Their courtship is fast-paced and they go long blocks of time without seeing each other. Noooot very marketable for a mainstream audience. So how are they gonna spice it up? Give Aragorn another love interest? That would literally completely ruin his character. How about no. Make it seem like a lot more happened between Arwen and Aragorn before the War of the Ring? I mean maybe, but how!? They still wouldn’t be able to complete a story arc, because the meat of the changes in their relationship take place during the original trilogy: Him lowkey wanting her to go to Valar and not die for him, her refusing because she believes in their love, their ultimately getting married and her being crowned Queen of Gondor. Again, you can’t give us any of that without remaking the original trilogy! Cue all the annoyed Aragorn faces.

So, that was a lot of negativity. Maybe this is too little too late, but: I remain hopeful. All is not lost. There is still some good in this world, Mr. Frodo! And maybe Amazon will prove me wrong. There may yet be light at the end of this tunnel. We may yet prevail, and get a thoughtful, heartfelt adaptation. Because done right, we could all use with some fresh LOTR content so we can stop rewatching the original trilogy. Tolkien wrote a lot, and the current screen adaptations have barely scratched the surface. As a fandom (and I most definitely include myself in this), we get very protective over our material. I think this is because we are one of the rare few whose material has remained untarnished and stayed behind the line of corporate greed and terrible adaptations (The Hobbit trilogy walked that line like a tight rope but even it managed to escape the true jaws of the beast.) Maybe, just maybe, this Amazon series can be a chance for us all to take a risk. Because if it pays off, you can all call me a fool of a Took and we can grab popcorn and watch a kickass LOTR TV show. And what would be more awesome than that?

So, in conclusion, I have a lot of feelings about this Amazon show. If you made it this far, thanks for bearing with me. We’ve got a wild ride ahead.

[heartofoshun]

Silmarillion Questions: Tagged by @jane-ways

 – thanks for thinking of me!

How do you think the Oath worked practically? I like to write it as magic—it sleeps and then awakens under certain in-world pressures and then it is all but impossible to resist. I think Tolkien wrote it under the influence of belief systems in the Northern tradition which considered one’s sworn oath to be sacred—to break it was the lowest thing a warrior could do. For him, it makes a great story conflict—absolute fealty to a sworn oath even if it will lead to one’s doom. He makes us love the Noldor (he does!!) and then rips our hearts out. Incomparable storytelling. But the guy is filled with contradictions. His modern, Catholic-self thought that the oath could and should be broken if in contradiction to other moral issues. (It’s a long discussion. Too long to have here.) I ask myself, how come the good characters in The Silmarillion are not nearly as appealing and attractive as the ones Tolkien wants us to judge? Accidental or intentional? Were the Valar in the right to bring the Elves to Valinor? No. The One/Eru never intended the Secondborn (Men) be left alone in Middle-earth to face Morgoth and without the aid of the Firstborn (Elves). I do not doubt the good intentions of the Valar, but they did not consider the implications of their action. And they did not consider that not all of the Elves would appreciate the trade of freedom for a gilded cage. They claimed the Noldor were free to leave, but then cursed them—leave and you can’t come back, no help from us, and unnumbered tears you shall shed—wow, harsh!

Which Silm character do you find the most relatable personally and why? Probably Fingon. I love his loyalty and his courage. He is a real hero over and over, rescuing Maedhros alone, facing down the first dragon they encounter, acting as military commander-in-chief throughout his father’s reign. His extraordinary personal heroism and his epic friendship (or more) with Maedhros makes him incredibly attractive, but his political instincts and leadership qualities were sound also. He is said to have “resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war.” While he lived, he was able to hold the Noldor together, despite differences, after their reconciliation, which he, along with Maedhros, had engineered. If you could ask one character one question (to get clarification on their motives, to ask their opinion etc), who would you ask and what? Finrod.  I’d like a fully developed and detailed answer as to why he came to Middle-earth. I adore Finrod—what’s not to like—but there is not a clear enough motivation for leaving. An urge for travel and adventure? Intellectual curiosity? An attachment to his cousins? I’d like to hear it from his POV. Would you have gone with Fëanor, Fingolfin or Finarfin?I’d have follow Fëanor – the revolutionary who thought for himself and didn’t accept received-wisdom without reasoning. He fought for the rights of his people to make their own decisions and for their self-determination. By the time the Valar had released Morgoth, he had no reason to trust their judgment over his own. It’s canon that he did many things better than did them. I am inspired by Fëanor’s words, along with the 90 percent of the Noldor who left Aman: “We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and to this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.” I’m not nearly as moved by the motivations of the others or lack thereof. Fingolfin did what he saw as his duty: not to abandon the Noldor, to avenge his father, and, originally, with perhaps a bit of ambition to hang onto the crown. Finarfin withdrew to make his peace with the Valar (and his wife’s people, whom he loved; and his mother and her people whom he revered). I do not condemn Fëanor’s brothers’ motivations out of hand, but only say that for myself he would have been the one of the three who could have lit a fire under me. What do you think was the determining factor/reasoning behind the Doom of the Noldor? Does it hold for scrutiny in your opinion? It was a threat pure and simple. There should have been no punishment at all. Quite the contrary, they should have been willing to help them out in Middle-earth, early and often. One cannot offer aid only with precise and restrictive conditions that effectively take away one’s freedom to make decision (as much the Valar argued that was not their intention). Who is the scariest of Tolkien’s characters? That light-sucking spider who scared the shit out of Melkor himself. Any other versions of a story you prefer over the version published in the Silm? I tend to like the Silmarillion the best.  But I do like so many of the added details. The ones that add to backstory and flesh-out characterization. Things like Law and Customs Among the Eldar not so much. In my own stories, I had constructed an outline and written a novel and a couple of novellas before I ever encountered certain characters. So, I was not prepared to go back and re-write those. Favourite story of the legendarium and why? There are so many! I first was attracted to Fingon rescuing Maedhros and the two them reuniting the Noldor. I loved Fingolfin bringing so many of the peoples of Middle-earth together at the Mereth Aderthad, despite Thingol’s resistance. I love Fingon and Maedhros’ bromance/romance and their maintaining the military alliance that held back Morgoth for nearly 500 years. I love all of the sons of Fëanor (Curufin a little less than the rest—Sorry! I know he had a hard life—just like his father only not nearly as brilliant—poor guy!). I count Huan among the Family—what a hound! He’s the good part of the story of Beren and Lúthien—the rest is kind of a snooze for me (heresy, I know). I love Fëanor and Nerdanel—the power couple of the power people! OMG! I want to reunite them! I love Finarfin (despite him make the wrong choice about going into exile)—love his wife and his kids and his non-Noldorin preference for the Telerin names and customs. I adore Tuor—especially the part of coming to Gondor and running into Voronwë, the sea god, and the swans, and finding the armor (that’s awesome storytelling!). Of course I love Arehel and Galadriel! Dark and light. Impulse and cunning. Wonderful women, who should have had more space. I love Idril, getting her hands dirty as an engineer in Gondolin and saving so many, with a little help from Ecthelion and Glorfindel and her husband. I love Idril and Tuor’s baby Eärendil—so heartbreakingly cute—dipping into HoMe for that! I love Ecthelion and Glorfindel—the descriptions of those two alone would make me love them without their deeds.  Giving short shrift here to the Sindar—but I have plenty of crushes among them also: Daeron, Beleg, and Mablung. How about Húrin saying good-bye to his wife and kid and his brass balls at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears? And Azaghâl  at Unnumbered Tears: “the Dwarves raised up the body of Azaghâl and bore it away; and with slow steps they walked behind singing a dirge in deep voices.” I want to see that filmed. Last but not least, Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond, and Elros! There are so many more great storylines and so much delicious heartbreak! Almost forgot to mention how much I adore Finrod--so much so that he get’s a citation from the bio I wrote for him: “He is a brilliant, beautiful, golden icon, bigger-than-life, and shaped from the same heroic mold as all of his flame-eyed compatriots, those notorious and charismatic Noldorin Lords of the West. If that were not enough, Finrod is also a great wizard, a friend to Men and Dwarves, and loyal to his allies and closest kinsmen, even when faced with safeguarding their dirtiest secrets. While his virtues are extolled well beyond those of any of his cousins or brothers, Finrod remains just flawed enough to be sexy.” And non-Quenta Silmarillion stories? Well, there is that three-volume book about the Third Age and its outcome. Not to mention Númenor. Don’t make me chose! The latest thing you learned that made you reconsider or change your view on something in Tolkien’s world? Honestly, I do that constantly. I have to admit I get the most enlightenment from within the fandom and not from the voluminous works of Tolkien scholars I read when I am doing research for my own non-fiction ruminations. Thoughts on Fëanor not wanting to share the Silmarils after the Darkening? I have to agree with @jane-ways who said it felt “like it had more to do with his distrust of the Valar than selfishness.” And, not even Fëanor himself could replicate them for a part of his life force was spent in their creation. Nonetheless, the Valar insisted that he relinquish them. Only Aulë appeared to understand the breaking of the Silmarils would result in the destruction of Fëanor. He told his brethren: “We ask a greater thing than thou knowest. Let him have peace yet awhile.'” Of course, they ignored him, the one amongst them who understood Fëanor best.

I’m tagging @vefanyar, @himring, @nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui @lucifers-cuvette, @ignoblebard , @grundyscribbling   @imindhowwelayinjune anyone else who would like to answer!

[chibi-writings]

Mairon’s Solo

Pairing: Melkor/Mairon

Summary: After his master is first defeated by the Valar and brought to their lands for judgement, Mairon is left behind to rebuild in Melkor's absence and wait for his eventual return.

And when he does make his return, Mairon proves once more why he is the Dark Lord's most faithful and devoted servant.

Everything was so much quieter in Angband with Melkor gone. In nearly three hundred years Mairon had still not quite gotten used to it yet. Back in Utumno the wind howled ceaselessly for days and days on end, liable to drive someone mad if they didn't learn to tune the noise out. When he commanded Angband before the War for the Sake of Elves he only felt a fraction of the winds, but he could always tell when his master was approaching because they would become steadily louder as time passed, as if Melkor brought the maelstrom with him wherever he went. At first it had irritated Mairon, one could barely think with all of that shrieking going on outside, his only refuge was his forge nestled deep in the heart of the fortress, far enough that no sounds from the outside could penetrate its thick walls.

And now, with his master gone and the wind with him, Mairon had nothing but time to think and silence to think in.

He would have given anything, anything to have Melkor back with him. He missed the deep timber of his voice that would make the walls tremble with each syllable, missed the quake of his footsteps hunting for him, missed those eyes staring down at him shining with silver fire. He missed every single tiny thing Melkor did just to infuriate him; surprise him in the forge while he was working, mess with his tools and put them back in improper places until Mairon found them again, endlessly bother him with increasingly wild and unrealistic schemes of grandeur, drag him into an empty room where his hand would fist into Mairon's hair and his tongue would force its way past his lips...

He buried his face into his hands, his hair falling across all sides of his face like curtains of fire, and tried not to scream. He wanted it all back, Melkor, his touch, his taste, his annoying hovering, even the wind. He wanted the Vala back so much that it created an ache that gnawed endlessly at his heart, no matter how hard he tried to fight it off by immersing himself in work. Mairon bred the orcs, tended the forges and even began smithing himself, countless armors and blades pouring from his forge. He repaired the fortress and took care of Draugluin, fixed all of the rooms and bedchambers.

All under the pretense of getting everything back in order, he told himself. Except for that one, wakened part of himself that whispered he was only doing this in the hopes that Melkor would come back and everything would go back to normal.

In the silences between his work, his heart ached with its wounds.

Before Melkor had been dragged away in chains, Mairon had occasionally commanded Angband with his physical presence, leaving the Vala behind in Utumno. They were never separate for long, and Mairon could have easily had his master right there with him by lifting his voice into song like he did when he created the world with the Ainur. The voice of the Maia would roll over the northern plains of Middle-earth, unfurling like clouds of smoke and light as he sang for a duet and waited hopefully for his master to answer. When the Dark Lord's own song reached back to him, oily and rolling across the air like poison, it always filled his heart.

But now...Melkor was silent. Melkor had been silent for three hundreds years, but that never stopped Mairon's feet from finding their way to the top of the fortress to overlook their icy surroundings that stretched as far as the eye could see. And he would still lift up his voice and sing, sing desperately, every note tinged with misery as he called and called for a lord that would not answer.

All of northern Middle-earth could hear his lamentations on the rocks. The air was tinged with notes of his suffering. And yet he sang again and again, hoping beyond hope his master would one day join in and recreate their duet anew. The years dragged on and on, dragging Mairon's hope with it on days which seemed the darkest, only to be burned away by the Maia's pure devotion to his absent master each time, his spirits rising and dying and rising again like a phoenix from its ashes. Each time his voice would become louder, more bold to reach Aman and reveal his presence, more desolate as if it could draw Melkor to him like a beacon. But the world was empty, the sky hollow, and Melkor's voice was silent. The Vala did not return.

Until one day, he did.

Sauron had not even been expecting it. He had been nowhere near the roof or window where he usually sang, instead preoccupied with some other altogether trivial task that was nonetheless vital to keeping Angband running. Busy work to keep his heart and mind from gnawing themselves to pieces and away from the thought that Melkor was not here with him.

It hit then, a sound more terrible and overwhelming than anything Mairon could have ever even dreamed of, tearing through the air like a forgotten echo coming back to its origin a hundredfold stronger. It shook the bones of the earth and nearly threw him flat on his face with the force of it, the walls cracking under the strain of the noise, and filled his heart with fear. He knew that voice; he had never, ever heard it so loud in anything other than a shout of rage, but the timber and pitch were utterly unmistakable.

Melkor. Melkor was free, he had returned. But something terrible was happening, something incomprehensibly terrible. That was no cry of victory, or of summons, or of wrath, or of any of the things Mairon was familiar with from his master. It was pain, it was a terror so deep that it sank into the heart of every stone of the land. Melkor was in grave danger.

The Valar? Elves? It did not matter, Mairon barely gave it more than a momentary thought, his master was in trouble and he would sooner see himself destroyed defending him than to live with the rest of his short life knowing he had failed to do everything in his power to protect him.

The echoes of Melkor's scream were still racing across the fortress when he shoved himself to his feet, his light and brilliance blazing forth from his body in a way that had not been lit for the past three hundred years. It scorched the hall, blackening the stones and leaving the scent of ash in the air. Fury propelled him and he reached out his thoughts, burrowing his will and awareness into the tunnels deep below Angband where the balrogs slumbered, awaiting their master's return. They were awake now, roused into action by the scream they heard as well.

They would fly to help, but Sauron would not stand idle when they could move faster. "Useless whelps!" he screamed with both his mind and his voice, adding a counterpoint of trembling to Angband with Melkor's scream still an undertone. "Do you not hear our master is in danger?! Do you not hear him call? WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!"

The ground beneath his feet shook and he threw himself from the window, his form shifting into a strange being of light and flame that soared above the fortress on blazing wings. Taking on a specific form would require too much time and thought and Mairon found that much more vague forms did a far better job of inspiring awe and fear than anything else. Below he saw flame belch from the doors and entrances to Angband as the balrogs poured from its depths, smoke and angered fire that took flight on dreaded wings, leaving smoldering ashes in their wake. And Mairon turned, leading the charge, and propelled himself in the direction he had felt the scream coming from: west.

He saw the thing long before he actually came close enough to touch it. A horrid, bloated evil that oozed such a darkness that not even Mairon could see into its depths, all of it taking the shape of a spider. It could easily crush half of Angband if it wanted too, but its attention seemed focused on something in particular. Mairon followed it with his eyes as he approached, sharper, smaller details coming to his attention, such as the ink-black webs the spider spun and the tiny, writhing thing she was busy wrapping in them. He could see a light, a brilliant speck that even from this distance hurt his eyes, and the black fingers clutched around it. He followed the fingers up to an arm, to a form so wrapped in armor and webs he could not see clearly, but the flash of dark hair, the color of a stormy night ocean, he could recognize anywhere.

A scream of rage erupted from him and he dove down, a speck taking on a mountain, but he did not care. It had his master, he was in pain and—heat rushed by him from the whip of a balrog as the beasts descended upon the spider, hoardes of their smoke and fire choking the air as they surrounded the creature, lashing it with their whips until it screamed in pain and reared. Mairon knew they would handle the thing, only the Valar could stand up to an army of balrogs and survive. Instead he flew down in a blaze of glory, taking his normal shape only when the ground came rushing to meet him, stumbling forward on unsteady, half-formed legs as he rushed to Melkor's side.

"Master!" his voice came out far too hoarse and quiet as he beheld the sight of his Vala, so trapped in webs and unable to move, the darkness strangling him. "Hold on, my Lord, I shall free you." He drew his sword, hands barely trembling, and set it aflame with a thought. Then he cut the webs around Melkor's throat, taking the greatest care not to accidentally strike his master.

Thankfully the webs burned and parted at the touch of his blade, for Mairon had absolutely no clue what he had been going to do if they provided to be resilient to such measures. The moment he heard Melkor gasp in the air that had been robbed from his lungs he went to work on the rest of him, hacking away the other restraints on his body and ripping away leftover strands that dissolved into soot in his hands. The spider was retreating, he was dimly aware, fleeing from the balrogs and their burning flame and the light that the flames brought. Perhaps they could kill it before it got too far? It would make a spectacular trophy—

"To me, my balrogs," he felt the air shake again from Melkor's voice, its bass reaching deep into his bones and shaking him to his core in that way he missed with all of his soul. Mairon closed his eyes and savored the feeling, holding it close to him and letting the thought sink into him: everything was alright now.

A moment later he understood Melkor's words and his eyes flew open in shock. "Master?" he whispered. "Do you not wish the evil to be slain and brought to your feet?"

His master's gaze turned to him, so missed, so fierce and all at once Mairon felt that empty place inside of him fill with light once more. "Mairon," Melkor whispered, his uninjured hand coming up to touch his face, as if checking if he was real. "Help me up, Mairon," came the next order, his imperious tone back from the nuance that had taken over it earlier. "Before they come back."

Mairon leaped to obey, taking his master's hand and pulling him up, worrying gnawing at his heart that Melkor needed assistance. Had the spider truly injured him so greatly? "The spider—"

"Leave her," Melkor said, taking his hand away once he was on his feet and drawing himself up, appearing as regal and dignified as ever while the balrogs landed amongst them, waiting for orders. "Angband, is it close, Mairon?"

"Yes, my Lord. It is just this way," Mairon said, eager to take his master back so he could make sure his injuries were not severe.

His heart blazed and his voice wanted to burst forth from his throat into a glorious, victorious song to announce to the world that he had won. Melkor was back, his master was home again.

A/N: I know Tolkien doesn't mention Sauron rescuing Melkor with the balrogs, but honestly? Considering he had been repairing Angband in the meantime and just waiting for Melkor to return in general, I don't see why he wouldn't be there helping them since he has absolutely no reason not to.

[lady-of-starlight]

Let The Star Lead The Way - Chapter 9 - Autumn season

Thranduil was pacing inside his study, ignoring the elves standing around his table, as they were discussing the latest shipments from Dale and what they needed for the next delivery: it was going to be the biggest one for the whole year -  the harvest festival was practically around the corner, and the festivities needed to be fully arranged in time. Usually the King enjoyed his feasts, but this time he seemed to have little patience to focus on such things, as he had more burning matters that demanded his attention. His son being one of them.

“I hope he has arrived safely... It’s been several weeks, it’s excruciating to not know how his journey has proceeded...”, he thought and turned his eyes towards the great map that was spread across one of the walls in the study. He knew the way to Imladris by heart, and so did Legolas. Yet the recent events and the uneasiness that was growing inside him left him feeling worried.

And then there was the matter of that girl...

By the Valar, he still couldn’t understand how things had proceeded that way, and so fast. She had an amazing ability to make him to lose his temper and his control, both at once. But at the same time, her fierceness fascinated him. He hadn’t faced such an infuriating yet intriguing creature for a long time, not since...

Thranduil stopped on his tracks, as he felt a sudden burst of pain flashing through him. No. He would not think of her. The pain was still there, after all this time, nagging at him whenever he dared to think about the past. He always wondered if it would ever disappear completely.

Yet, as much as he had hated admitting it, the pain had grown weaker ever since the girl had appeared. Which, by default, made him feel more uneasy. He wasn’t even supposed to feel anything towards her, but it was easier to be said than done. He had learned it already long ago: One’s heart rarely answered to the mind’s will.

Thranduil let out a frustrated sound, then took off to the doors to his personal armory and swung them open, shouting over his shoulder to the elves still left inside the room:

“Enough. I need some fresh air.”

✽ ✽ ✽ So many weeks had passed since your arrival. Inside the realm nothing really changed, but you could see the passing of time in the woods around the realm: Slowly but surely, leaves in the massive trees had turned from shades of green towards the more golden and fiery colors of autumn. The winds that played amongst the trees suddenly felt more chilly, and the nights became longer, with the sun rising later every morning. It also affected the daily rhythm of the elves: Only the night patrol was allowed outside the gates after sundown, which meant that the hunters and those who gathered herbs, plants, berries and other things the forest had to offer, had fewer hours to complete their daily tasks. You had volunteered to help the gatherers and received a permission to go outside, but only when accompanied with at least one of your guardians. Tharon and Edraith had agreed on taking turns, one staying with you while the other was hunting prey with another group. Everyone had been working hard, as winter wasn’t far away and they needed to fill their storages. Now, you were assigned to gather some berries from a nearby field.

“Next time, I’m going with the herb group”, Edraith mutters under his breath, as he tries to get his hands on some berries growing inside a bush so thick and full of prickles it seems almost impossible to get to the berries.

You laugh. “You’re just too hasty. Patience,” you tease as you thread your fingers past the thorns, grabbing a cluster of plump, juicy-looking berries. “These are delicious, want some?” You ask as you bring a few to your own lips.

“No, thank you. I’m quite busy at the moment”, Edraith hisses through his teeth while reaching for another cluster of berries deep inside the bush.

“Too bad”, you shrug with a smile and eye at the other elves around you. There’s a couple of them working with another bush next to you, and a few more on the other end of the field. Guards stand on their posts, looking around as if waiting for something to show up. The lockdown procedures were reversed some time ago, allowing people outside the realm, but no one was still allowed to leave on their own and you always had to stay relatively close to the gates. Only the hunters and those who collected some rare herb species that growed further away were allowed to do longer journeys. They still had to carry more weapons with them in case there would be another ambush.

Suddenly, the guards tense. Something is coming, and they raise their bows. You reach for the small knife you have hidden inside your boot, when a shout comes from behind the trees. Other elves. No danger. Then, a huge elk and a few horses ride to the field, each carrying an elf, and your heart drops somewhere around your stomach.

Thranduil is here.

All the embarrassment you’ve nested in some far corner of your mind comes flooding back. You two haven’t even spoken with each other since that little incident during the last training session. And it appears it truly was the last one. You had spent days wondering whether he would still continue with the training or not, and for the next mornings you had made sure you were up early, rushing to the High chambers, hoping for... what? You still don’t know. But soon it became evident that there wasn’t going to be any continuation for your sessions. After the third lonely morning that you had spent sitting alone in the High chambers, you had finally accepted the fact that he wasn’t coming and left the room. Just to forget about the ache that was making its way through your heart, you had turned to your guardians in hopes that they could continue your training, since Legolas had left already weeks ago and most likely wasn’t going to return anytime soon. You were also deeply grateful for Emlineth and her capability to sense your dejection. She had led you to the library of the Woodland realm, which was massive: Rows and rows of shelves filled with books and scrolls and, judging by the look of the oldest ones, some of the writings probably dated all the way back to the First Age. You had spent many evenings there with your nose buried in a book, drinking in all the stories and historical writings accompanied with beautiful, hand-drawn maps and illustrations. It had effectively kept you busy and entertained most of the time, so there hadn’t been any need for you to face your emotions... Until now.

You see him sitting on his elk, looking regal and assertive as always, with his silken hair cascading over his shiny, silver-coloured armor. You notice he is carrying a bow and a set of arrows, which is unusual for him, so you guess they are out here to go for a hunt. Thranduil is changing words with the guards that came with your group, and you see them pointing towards the western path, where the hunting party had been earlier in the morning. You try to strain your ears to pick up their words, when Edraith jumps and yelps next to you, almost causing you to drop your basket full of berries.

“This damned bush will be the death of me!” He curses under his breath while investigating a cut in his arm, caused by one of the biggest thorns.

“I told you to be careful”, you lecture him, trying to bite back a grin as you lower your basket to the ground and pull a small piece of cloth from your pocket. “Hold still.”

“Funny, usually it’s our job to tell that to you”, he says with irony in his voice, accompanied with an eye roll, when you gently tap away the blood dripping from the cut.

“Shut up and stay still, or I’ll have to press harder and make this more painful”

“It’s not like I couldn’t tolerate a bit of pain for your sake, my lady”, he chuckles a bit and then, as if just realizing what he replied with, turns away with an abashed look on his face. You look at him, puzzled, when you suddenly feel like you’re being watched. You turn your head and freeze - Thranduil is staring at you two from the other side of the field, his look dark and so intense you can feel it piercing through your very soul, making you shiver.

You stare at each other for a time that feels like minutes, until you tear your eyes away from him and turn to look at Edraith’s arm, while trying to deal with the sudden feeling of heat bursting through your chest. You refuse to raise your head even when you hear the sound of hoofs galloping away from the field.

Your thoughts turn back to the past weeks that have gone by, with next to no sign of Thranduil, not before today. Part of the reason for not seeing him has been by your own doing, though - you had taken it as a habit to eat in the kitchens with Emlineth instead of spending the time in the dining hall. One time of trying to eat and sit quietly in the same room with the elf male that tormented your thoughts had been quite enough.

You know it’s useless to have any feelings towards him anyway. He had had a wife in the past, and although you didn’t know any of the details, their parting had been painful. It is painful for you as well to think about, and it only adds to the confusion swirling inside of you. You had searched the library a few weeks ago, in hopes of finding some description of his wife in the scrolls and papers, but with no luck. The only book you had found that had even a slight mention of her was a copy that included information about the family’s ancestry - and even then it was only one sentence at the top of one page: “--and so the Lord and Lady of the Woodland Realm were blessed with a beautiful son, who was to be known as Legolas”, with the rest of the text on the said page focusing only on Legolas and his position as the crown prince of the realm.

Weirdly enough, almost a quarter of the pages before and after this one had been ripped off, the last pages before the missing parts vaguely discussing Thranduil’s life in Doriath before its fall and his early times in the Woodland Realm, where he had ultimately ascended to the throne after his father Oropher had been slain in the war of Dagorlad. You couldn’t understand why someone would have wanted to erase every trace of someone with such a manner (although you had a quite heavy sense that it had been Thranduil himself who had torn off the missing pages), but you felt that pain and sorrow did weird things to everyone - making them to react in different ways, too.

Snapping back from your thoughts to the present moment, you notice that Edraith is staring at you curiously.

“Ah, she finally recovers. Lost in thought, huh?”

You blush slightly. “Apologies. I got carried away...”

“Not literally, I presume”, he teases as you put your napkin away - the cut in his arm has stopped bleeding and will heal just fine on its own - and he helps you to stand up. You give him an eye roll now, but secretly ponder on that idea, as your imagination starts flying. Indeed, what would it be like to get carried away by, say, Thranduil, sitting on that elk of his? Could it carry two? Most likely, although it would require you to sit very close to each other--

“Stop it! You’re just making this worse for yourself!” Your thoughts scream, but you can’t help but smirk a bit. One can always dream, though?

✽ ✽ ✽

Later, back in your chambers, you’re surprised with a pile of vibrant-colored fabrics, delivered by Emlineth, as she rushes to the room and drops the whole lot onto your bed.

“My lady, have you thought about your costume for the harvest feast? We don’t have that much time left, it would be good to start working with it right away.”

“Well, in fact I do”, you answer shyly, rushing to your desk, and pull out one of the books you brought from the library the day before. “I saw a wonderful illustration in one of the stories in this book, perhaps we could use it as a base for my gown? Not exactly a copy, but using some of the elements in it?”

Emlineth rushes to your side and takes a look at the page you’re showing her. “Oh yes, now this is something indeed. Perhaps a different neckline to suit you better, and the sleeves need to be longer... Mark my words, we will make sure that every male elf in this realm is going to fall on his knees when looking at you in this.”

You giggle but can only think about one particular elf whose attention you desire. Sighing, you pick up a piece of paper and start to sketch the gown.

Well, I’ll make sure to give him something to remember me of.

- End of chapter 9 -

Author’s notes: I just noticed I had gained new followers during my absence - thank you, from the bottom of my heart! It feels great to know that there are people who like my lil’ writings *takes a bow*

Oh, and just FYI -  In case if someone’s wondering whether this story goes with the lines of the written stories or the films, the answer is both. Mostly I’m just mixing Tolkien’s writings (from other books and essays too, not just The Hobbit or LOTR) and PJ’s film canons by the parts that fit together and, naturally, add some of my own imagination into the game.