ladysternchen

[ladysternchen]

What if, after awakening in Nan Elmoth, Elwe and Melian stayed there for some time, maybe months, or even years? I’m not sure how accurate that would be to canon, because according to Tolkien Gateway, Thingol became the king of the Elves in Beleriand in the same year. But that’s measured in Valian years, which are about nine normal years. So it’s possible that the two of them lingered alone in the forest for a little while. Maybe around a year or two.

With Melian’s magic, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to live there. She could shield them from the rain, the cold, or any danger - kind of like a micro version of the Girdle of Melian that she later cast over Doriath. They could sleep on the grass and leaves, but it wouldn’t just be cold ground or a pile of leaves. Maybe Melian could command the plants to grow into soft but solid shapes (remember that bit in The Book of Lost Tales where Thingol first sees her "lying on a bed of leaves" XD). They could rest beneath the boughs of trees that curved protectively over them. Wild animals, drawn by Melian’s magic, rabbits and squirrels, might also appear and sit near her, listening to her singing and keeping them company.

They ate fruits, roots, and herbs from the forest, and Melian could make them grow faster - berries ripening out of season, nuts that cracked easily, roots sweet like cooked chestnuts. And when they needed new clothes, Melian might weave garments from enchanted moss and fine grass - light and strong as Elven-cloth, soft and supple like wool, but untouched by any spinning wheel.

To Elwe, it might have felt like the continuation of the long dream from that they just awakened. They remained happy after finding the other Elves and becoming their king and queen, but both fondly remembered that brief time when they were completely alone, when the world seemed quiet and peaceful, and their hearts and minds were occupied only with each other and the beauty of the nature surrounding them

[ladysternchen]

Love kidnap fam? Hate it? Ambivalent? Great! Your thoughts are wanted.

I am collecting survey data as part of my research on the "Living Legendarium", i.e., how the legends of Arda, from their earliest drafts by Tolkien to the posthumously published Silmarillion edited by Christopher Tolkien to the creative engagements by fans, are inherently indeterminate and mutable, inviting many and diverse interpretations. 

This portion of the study focuses on the various ways that fans of the Silmarillion understand and imagine the relationship between Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond, and Elros: the "kidnap fam". 

The resulting paper will be presented at Mereth Aderthad on July 19 2025 and published afterwards on the Silmarillion Writers' Guild. 

COMPLETE THE SURVEY until June 27, 2025.

Even if you're not completing the survey, reblogs are appreciated!

[ladysternchen]

Milestone

I recently hit 200,000 words over on AO3. I know some of you monsters manage this in one fic (!!!), but for me, averaging 300-1,000 words a pop, it's a surprise. And a delight, because I'm happy with all 200K of those words, one way or another. I do this for fun, and I've had plenty of it.

This motivated me to do a little poking through my back catalog and reminiscing, and I thought I'd share some personal favorites. If you haven't read these, or would like to read them again, enjoy!

A favorite gen fic: Sweet Falls the Rain (G: 1,000 melancholy words of Maglor and Elrond)

A favorite angst monster: Such Dulcet and Harmonious Breath (G: 700 words of Elenwë and why we should hold hands on the Ice)

A favorite drabble collection: Melodies Great and Small (G: 700 words; seven drabbles focused on Tolkien's women)

A favorite crackfic: Full Disclosure (T: 2,000 words of Russingon's snarky epistolary commentary on Finrod's anthropological sexcapades)

3 favorite shipfics: Knit Me Up That Raveled Sleeve (T: 500 words of Halenthir), I Have Found What I Sought Not (G: 300 words of Glorthelion), and The Ways We Touch The Ones We Come To Love (T: 1,000 words of Gimleaf)

A favorite ruminative fic: Stasimon (G: 400 words of Maedhros at the end of the world)

A favorite rarepair fic: Farewell, Most Fair (G: 300 words of Gandalf/Sauron)

A favorite rare characters fic: Call Me Out of the Gloaming (T: 750 words of Egalmoth/Rog, my beloveds)

A favorite Fëanorian fic: A Sea Change (G: 700 words of Curufin adjusting to being Reborn)

A favorite Nolofinwëan fic: Molded on One Stem (G: 3,200 words of Fingon and Aredhel being Like That)

A favorite Arafinwëan fic: Thy Brothers' Keeper (G: 1,000 words of Arafinwë in the middle of the family feud)

A favorite Ainu: If Ever She Sang (G: 400 creepy words of Melian/Elwë)

A favorite Gil-galad origin theory fic: O, blithe New-comer! (G: 960 words)

A favorite post-canon mix-it-up fic: Still Plenty of Good in the World (G: 700 words in which Sam Gamgee OF COURSE fixes Nerdanel and Fëanor)

A favorite OC: Marvelous Sorokendë, the chief of Celebrimbor's scouts, in By Love Annealed (G: 950 words)

A favorite edge-pushing fic: Tender Morsels (M: 600 words of Russingon and teeth)

A favorite non-narrative fic: With All Due Reverence (G: 2,000 words of faux academic exploration of funeral rites among the Elves)

A surprise fan favorite fic: Reckoning (G: 600 words of Turgon, Maeglin, and Elenwë in Mandos)

My one (1) fic rated E: Braided; Entwined (1,200 words of Russingon hair shibari, not super E but I'm generous with ratings)

The fab fic that put me over 200K: Tender on the Tongue (T: 1,200 words of Lalwen angstily crossing the Helcaraxë)

Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to kudos or comment, from the single emojis to the keysmashes to the delightful rants and thoughtful questions. It's a treat to know my words mattered to you. And yes, I'll always reply.

[ladysternchen]

A storage-chamber in Menegroth, a few years into the First Age, while a feast celebrating the beginning of summer is held

“What are you two doing in here? What happened?”

Melian was mildly concerned.

“Well…” Lúthien answered with barely concealed laughter in her voice, though she still stroked her father’s back sympathetically. “… apparently, the sun. Though of course, that did hardly happen, now did it?”

Melian sighed, but before she could say anything to it, Elu spoke, his voice muffled as he still had his face hidden against his knees, curling himself up as much as earthly possible.

“I’m fine. I will join you in a moment. It’s just…”

“… the light. And the feast, which means more people than usual. And having to actually eat, not just sneak lembas from under my nose. Oh Elu, do you really think I did not expect that? It is not as though I haven’t know you for a few millennia…”

Lúthien giggled.

“But… how can that bother you so? Dealing with others is kind of an occupational hazard of being king. And the story at least goes that you wanted to go to Valinor because of precisely that light?”

“Lúthien!"

Melian’s tone was reproachful, though when she met her daughter’s gaze, both had to bite their lips to prevent themselves from bursting into laughter.

Elu raised his head enough to look at Lúthien as well.

“True. But you know, at Cuiviénen, the lords would reign for a time, then, when they had enough, would give rule over to their sons…”

“Ah poor you, thus deprived with only having a daughter….” Lúthien mocked, at which Elu looked sternly back at her.

“And who says that I have to keep the traditions of my Sires? You are my flesh and blood, so I see no hinderance there. Or have I ever made you feel as though I could value a son more than you?”

Lúthien laughed.

“No. But you know as well as I do that this will never happen, that I will never be queen. And you don’t mean it, either.”

Elu had again lowered his head, so when he spoke, his voice was muffled once again.

“If giving up kingship means I never have to deal with feasts again, then I am serious!”

Now Melian giggled as well, even whilst crouching down beside her husband and tenderly stroking his head.

“I don’t think it would, actually. Unless of course you intend to go live with Eöl. That might help with the sunlight, too…”

It was very clear from her tone that she was jesting, but even so, Elu looked aghast at her.

“Never. If that is the alternative, I take the feast, thanks.”

He rubbed his knuckles against his forehead for a moment, then added:

“You two go ahead. I will be fine, I only need a moment!”

Lúthien, however, would not hear of it.

“That would look stupid. And you won’t be fine until you are in the hall, so it’s best to get it over with quickly. Come on!”

And with that, she mercilessly pulled her father to his feet and out into the light.

[ladysternchen]

(*covering my ears and furiously imagining a universe where Túrin is happy*) Alternate timeline where Beren and Lúthien come back to visit Doriath after the quest for the Silmaril. Here, Túrin twisted his ankle in the woods and Lúthien is carrying him home. (Beren is giving moral support.)

Originally posted on the SWG here.

[ladysternchen]

Too many WIPs, too many WIPs, too many WIPs

[ladysternchen]

@ladysternchen added the tags that they're in trouble and I feel fruitful today, so here's a bit of a follow up to this post :))

"Did you see it?" Olwë asks in a whisper, sticking his head up from behind a big rock next to which they were supposed to sit until their parents calmed down enough to give them a scolding.

"Yeah," Elwë grins at him, and Elmo sighs and looks down at the collection of shiny little rocks he has been sorting through to make a new ankle bracelet.

"What's it like?" Olwë whispers, hiding behind the rock again. Their father won't notice he's speaking with his punished brothers if he's hidden, he thinks.

"The strangest thing I've seen," Elwë replies, his face brightening with curiosity and wonder. He gestures vaguely in the air, trying to describe the shadowy figure that flowed and moved through the air like nothing else his young eyes have ever encountered before. "It moves so strangely and its form is— it's alike a cloud that's torn apart by some strong wind, but it moves slowly"

Elwë still cannot make sense of what he saw, and he struggles to share it. And Olwë frowns as he tries to imagine such a thing.

"It makes you cold and suffocating like you drown," Elmo says with a shiver. He turns away from his brothers and puts the rocks in a line. He doesn't want to think about the shadows for too long. Will this shiny white look good with this earthy grey on his bracelet?

"I'm sure I've heard a squeak or two," Olwë laughs, and Elwë blushes lightly, not willing to admit that he yelped when strange things on six legs moved to them. They didn't look like the cute little things he's found near blossoming flowers. Those in the forest were disgusting and chittering, they looked like they were going to eat them alive like they ate the ill tree.

"Are they bad angry or just angry?" Elmo asks, looking over to where his parents and a group of other adults are speaking. Their mother is shivering — she got so frightened when her children were seen walking out of the shadowy forest.

Olwë appears from behind the rock again and looks at the adults too. He shrugs. "To me, they said I'm in trouble for covering you two, and send me away."

"What's the worst that can happen, right?" Elwë shrugs as if he's not anxious about what will happen when their parents return to speak to them. Deep down, he is, but he's the oldest and he has to look brave.

"You're in a big trouble, Elwë," Olwë says with a light smirk of a child who knows he's not the one who'll get the worst of it.

Elmo sighs again. "Help me make holes in my rocks," he says, trying to distract himself from anxious thoughts and frightening memories both.

[ladysternchen]

Mother said, don't wander far from the Lake. And mother said don't forget to return before dinner.

But if she doesn't know where they are, she'll not be angry.

So Elwë and Elmo thought when they decided to not go play with the other children but rather explore the woods around them. There, they say, dark creatures roam and steal elves, but the two of them will never be caught. They have swift little legs, and Elwë will help Elmo climb up a tree and hide there if they'll need.

They crept away from the lake, careful to not be spotted by adults who'll not appreciate their curiosity. And Olwë will make sure the adults don't suppose they run away, he's good with making up stories.

"Come on," Elwë whispers when the two brothers stand on the first line of the trees, and Elmo looks into the darkness warily. "It'll be alright"

Elmo takes his hand and makes a tentative step on the root of one of the tall and crooked trees. "Hunters go here," he says, trying to reassure himself that it's a fine forest and no creature of the dark that their cousin told them scary stories about will actually jump on them from beside the corner of his eye.

"No, they go to that forest," Elwë replies, gesturing with his free hand to the woods on the other side of Cuivienen. That one has trees with straighter trunks and shadows thinner. Elmo breathes in nervously.

Elwë walks in first, his brother's little hand in his. He looks around in wonder, taking in the curious shapes roots and branches take here, the strange six-legged creatures that crawl up a trunk of one old and seemingly ill tree, and the way stars' light falls through the dark leaves barely lightening their path at all.

Elmo follows him, leaning to his brother when he hears a crack of a branch, sees a flying creature buzz through the air next to his head, or remembers a story of shadow. Elwë doesn't notice and doesn't tease, so he holds his hand tighter as they climb over the thick roots that look like arms. Is someone there, under them?

Elmo looks into the shadow under the roots, almost drawn to see what scratches there, when Elwë pulls him by the hand and walks to the trunk of another tree. It's old, but its leaves don't look that dark. Both elflings look up at it, watching in wonder how the tree's branches slowly lean down to them.

"Mama says some trees want to talk," Elmo whispers to his brother, and Elwë nods, taking that in. They've not been in these woods yet, called too small for that. But Elwë was once taken to a walk in the hunters' wood. There trees talked to them.

He outstretches his hand up to meet the branches, and Elmo does it too. They feel slightly moist leaves brush against their palms, making Elmo giggle. The tree seems to caress them, but only for a second. Soon it pushes them away, towards the lake.

The elflings feel something change. Not in the tree, but in the air. Elmo finds it hard to breathe, and Elwë turns around to see the six-legged things crawl down from the ill tree and hastily run towards them. Disgusted and frightened, he squeaks and jumps onto the tall roots, pulling his brother with himself.

"There's something behind that oak," Elmo whimpers, squeezing Elwë's hand almost painfully. And there is. Elwë turns to look at it, and sees a strange shape made of darkness walk slowly towards them. It doesn't look like an elf and it doesn't look like a deer, but it's big and flowing alike nothing he's seen before. He hears a whisper he doesn't understand. And he feels his brother's nails dig into his palm.

They both jump down and run as fast as their little swift legs can carry them. Branches lash against Elwë's face as he makes the way for them two, pulling Elmo after him. Elmo yelps when he feels a root wrap around his leg. His brother yanks him up but his beautiful ankle necklace made of shiny little rocks gets lost in the foliage.

When they finally get out of the forest, Elmo falls onto the grass, catching his breath. Elwë breathes heavily in both fear and exertion, too. He watches the trees, their moving roots and branches, their dark leaves on every which there seems to be a tiny shadow crawling. They reach towards the children. Elwë watches for the strange creature made of darkness but doesn't see it. Yet, at least.

"Come on, we have to get back to others. When there's many of us, shadows don't attack," he says, gently pulling Elmo up on his legs again.

[ladysternchen]

A little ficlet i wrote, Thingol my beloved <3

___

Elu does not want to check the storage rooms

They are low, their supplies, but he does not know exact numbers and thus he won't collapse under the weight of it all

Morgoth's grip tightens around his people, cold and inescapable; Doom has fallen upon the Sindar, because of Elu

Melian has told him with certainty doom will fall upon Luthien

He can hardly look at his infant daughter as she sleeps; Too near does it feel to death

He's tired, he's so tired; his shoulders ache and the guard in front of the storage looks at him in concern

It'll kill him to know, he needs to know, he I'd king and his people, all of Beleriand, need him

"I didn't want this," he says

The guard looks at him and seems more tired and suddenly Elu feels like he's added another burden to his shoulders

Elu didn't want any of this

They should've left him

He wants to lay his head in Melian's lap and to talk of moths and Este and nonsensical things with her

Melian is working, something new, something big

He cannot disturb her, and besides she has enough on her shoulders

Elu squares his shoulders and walks into the storage room

[ladysternchen]

Shores Of Memory

“Do you remember? The last time we sat here in this spot?”

His words come out much more emotional than intended, which rather annoys Elmo. Sounding weepy is not what he wants just now. For once in their life, he needs to be the one who gives his brother a sense of security. After all, it has been enough hard work to lure Elu out of his caves and get him to come to the lake at all, he does not want to spoil his efforts now by his lack of self-control.

“I do. No sun, then.”

It takes considerable effort for Elmo to not roll his eyes, but he manages. At least Elu has answered, so that is something.

Clutching at straws, that is what you are doing, Elmo thinks to himself.

Alound he says:

“True. The stars were reflected in the water, though. It was beautiful.”

This time, Elu remains silent, gazing out over the water with his eyes out of focus. Dragonflies are darting over the surface, glittering blue and green, and a soft breeze caresses the reeds that grow on the banks and in the shallow waters. It is the most beautiful summer’s day.

Yet the warmth does not truly reach Elu, and Elmo wonders if anything still can. Lúthien may have healed him from his state of frozen terror upon her return, but there is no assuaging his grief. Not truly.

It is not unexpected, of course, not at all, but still Elmo feels somewhat crestfallen. He has hoped, stupidly, childishly almost, that their trip to the lake might somehow stir Elu out of his oppressing guilt, but that hope is dwindling quickly.

The lake has been their retreat, once, before all was tuned to evil, and Elmo’s mind has been wandering towards it a lot lately, imagining how it would look in the changing seasons and the light of the sun.

“That is how it was back at Cuiviénen.”

Elu’s words take Elmo by surprise alright, and make a little flame of hope lick at his insides.

“What?”

His brother smiles a little, the first smile he has given Elmo in quite a while.

“The stars in the water. Cuiviénen looked just like that.”

“I do not recall. Not really.”

There is understanding in Elu’s gaze even as he shakes his head, a look so painfully familiar that Elmo feels his heart clench.

“I would not have expected you to. You were still so small when we left.”

“Not this small, surely. I remember your emissary to Valinor well enough.”

“Do you? Or do you only remember the terror of being left behind? Those emotions stick to the mind far better than actual memory.”

The words make Elmo flinch. Never once has Elu tried to deny how he has hurt Elmo by leaving for Valinor, never sought to somehow justify his actions- actions that have, after all, been perfectly justified. Yet there is also no plea for forgiveness in his brother’s tone, no underlying desire to be told that it has all not been so bad. Such has always been Elu’s habit, and for some reason, it makes Elmo want to protect his brother from the harsh blame he puts upon himself, much more so than had Elu felt sorry for himself.

“I remember thinking that I could not survive a single day without you. There was no room in my head for anything but the terror of you being gone. I so, so missed you.”

“I know.” Elu says simply.

“Mablung always made a point of ensuring that I joined the games. And over time, days were filled again with play rather than longing.”

“But not the nights.”

“No. Not the nights. At night, I would cry for you. Poor Olwë grew quite desperate. And it must have hurt him, too. I sometimes wish I could tell him that I never loved him less. But you…”

There is so much Elmo might say to complete the sentence, but he does not. Elu knows anyway, there is no need for him voicing that he has been the most important person in Elmo’s life throughout his childhood and youth, the one to give him the sense of security and love a parent would give, while still remaining his brother with whom Elmo could play and brawl.

A sudden memory strikes Elmo, and he laughs out loud.

“Remember how I always used to jump on your back?”

Elu snorts.

“Yes. I still marvel at how we managed to not end up in a campfire or in the water or with us both breaking our necks. You always caught me unawares.”

Elmo snickers. This feels so so good to joke with Elu again.

“I know. How, though? I did it every time you crouched somewhere. You might have anticipated it after a while.”

He says that only to tease his brother, knowing full well that young children always manage to have surprise act for them. Being a father has taught him that.

Sudden pain pierces his heart at that thought, a pain that cannot be remedied, one that not even time can ease. Galadhon. Oh, how he misses his child, his laughter, and what would he not give to be able to see his son again. Galadhon’s death has changed his life so much, has brought so much sorrow. His own grief is one thing, but there is also Thônwen’s, and the painful understanding that he can do nothing to help his wife to overcome it, simply because there is no overcoming the loss of a child. All they can do is hold each other and stay close in their suffering, but never find comfort.

And also, Galadhon’s death has for so long cooled his relationship with Elu. He does not want to blame his brother for his son’s death, knows that he is indeed guiltless, and yet… and yet Galadhon has ridden to war following his king, a king who should have kept him safe. For some reason, the fact that Elu has felt so guilty only made Elmo blame him more, feelings of how only he himself and Thônwen and Celebren and the boys should be allowed to grieve poisoning his mind.

It took Lúthien’s death to drive those thoughts out, once and for all. Since then, Elmo knows how devastating an uncle’s grief can be, and also… seeing his brother live through the same loss he has lived through has rather changed his view on Elu’s actions. By all accounts, Elu has risked his life to kneel by Galadhon’s side amidst a raging battle, to ensure that Galadhon is not alone, and for that, Elmo truly is grateful. After all, it means that his boy has spent his final moments comforted by one whom he has dearly loved and admired.

Yet Elmo still cannot bring himself to thank Elu for it, or indeed openly tell him that he does not blame him, that he has done no wrong in this. The simple words just refuse to cross his lips.

A soft touch to his hand brings him back to the present again, and he looks up only to find Elu gazing at him, his head slightly cocked.

“Are you still with me?” he asks with a smile, and Elmo returns it, nodding.

He will not tell his brother what has just gone through his mind, but he shuffles closer to him and lays his head upon his shoulder nonetheless. If he still knows Elu, this will answer more than a thousand words might. And indeed, Elu puts his arm around Elmo’s shoulders as well, and holds him close.

“So this is what we are doing? Still?”

And when Elmo does not answer, he adds:

“You always cuddled. It was quite nice to always have a warm elfling snuggled at my side.”

There is a hint of laughter in his voice that still not altogether hides the melancholy, and Elmo nods without looking up.

“I was terrified you would leave again. And… I was terrified to see you sleep.”

“Aye. I think you still remembered seeing our father lying dead, even though your conscious mind chose not to. Of course you were scared.” Elu replies gently.

Now, Elmo is not overly fond of being spoken to like he is still a frightened little elfling, but today, this is exactly what he needs. Today it tells him that despite all that has befallen, his brother is still his brother.

“It helped, you know. That you would let me sleep with my head on your chest so that I could feel you breathing and hear your heart beating. It was the only way I could possibly find rest.”

This time it is Elu who nods wordlessly. There is no need to elaborate further, either, about all the hardships of their youth, nor the ways they have found to deal with them.

“We did alright in the end, did we not?” Elmo sighs at last.

“One could say so, yes.”

They laps back into silence, leaning against each other. The sun has passed its zenith now, travelling again towards the western ocean, making the shadows of the trees lengthen on the mirror-like surface of the lake. Here, by the lake they have once called their retreat, they have always been just brothers, with no royal duties coming between them. Here, they have talked about their experiences and uncertainties as fathers, about what they imagined Olwë’s life to be like, about their deepest worries and regrets and their love-lives alike. Here, Elu is not Elmo’s sovereign but only his elder brother. Not that this makes any difference. If anything, Elmo is more fiercely loyal to his brother than he is to his king.

But all that belongs to a time before Morgoth has decided to take a liking to Beleriand, before he has brought war to their lands and with said war the death of Galadhon. And as beautiful and peaceful as this moment is, Elmo still senses in the depths of his heart that it is but a goodbye, a final farewell before all the world falls into a new, more terrifying darkness.

He thought they could withstand it, once, that they might survive in their little blessed realm under Melian’s protection. Not anymore, though. Not since Elu has invited doom into Doriath.

As if his brother has read Elmo’s thoughts, he reaches beneath his tunic and withdraws the Silmaril that he has carried against his chest, his slender fingers almost caressing the jewel. It is a sickening sight that makes anger rise in Elmo’s chest, together with a desire to seize the gem and cast it far far away.

“Did you have to bring that thing here?” he asks, annoyed. “Can you not let it rest for one day?”

“No.” Elu answers simply.

“And there was I, thinking that I meant more to you than your stupid jewel.”

Even as he says it, Elmo realises how childish that sounded, but he does not care- it feels like a betrayal, almost.

“I am sorry.” Elu says evenly.

“I do not want you to be sorry, I want you to get that damned thing away from us. From all of us.”

A deep sigh shakes Elu’s chest.

“If only it were that easy, Elmo. I know you despise me for it, and rightly so. But please do not assume that this gem could ever be more valuable to me than you, or another living breathing thing.”

“No?”

“No. It was laughable, really. Brideprice. Every time I think of it I want to fling this gem off me. As if anything in the world could…”

He breaks off, which Elmo takes advantage of, before his brother can lose himself again in assurances that he has not truly meant Beren to bring him the Silmaril in exchange for Lúthien. Whatever Elmo has accused Elu of in these past years, that much has always been clear.

“And yet you do not.”

Elu gazes into space for a while, then sighs again.

“No. Indeed I do not. Because this gem is also the reminder of what Lúthien and Beren did. What they achieved, and I shall not lie and claim that I am not proud of her, of them. And there is so much more. This is the light also that… that you should have lived in. We all. It is a light that is now gone, as is Finwë with whom I first saw it, and how many others. It is the light in which Olwë lived for so long. You know, maybe it would not be so bad if I could hope to see it once more. But I cannot. The Trees are slain, and in the Silmarils now lies the only remembrance of their beauty.”

Were the situation not so dire, and the topic so grave, Elmo might have smiled. It has been long since he has heard Elu talk about anything with such passion and also… it is good to know that he has reasons behind wanting to keep the Silmaril, that his refusal to let it pass to Fëanor’s sons is not greed or spite. At least not just greed and spite.

Still, the situation is dire, and Elmo knows that this is perhaps his only chance to really reach Elu, so he argues some more, saying:

“Was it not the light in Melian’s eyes that was for so long enough to appease your longing for Valinor? Is your wife no longer…”

“Don’t. I love you, Elmo, but if you are to finish that sentence, I shall have to punch you.”

Elu speaks those words calmly, his tone betraying neither anger nor amusement, and yet Elmo knows at once that this time, he has severely overstepped. Slights on his own person Elu bears stoically and always has done, but anything touches Melian -or his relationship with her- he will still not take. It might be worth it, though, pushing Elu over the edge, Elmo thinks savagely.

“You might have to punch me, then. Because you are not treating your Queen with he respects and love she deserves at the moment.”

“ I… of course holding the Silmaril has done nothing to dampen my love for Melian. Do you not think that is precisely why gazing into this light holds so much comfort for me? Because it makes me think of her as much as Lúthien and Finwë and Olwë. But this thing I have not hurt. This thing I did not rob of the dearest.”

“And still you hurt her further. She fears for you, Elu, don’t you see?”

“Yes. And we both know she fears rightly. I brought the curse upon myself. I will die, sooner or later, it is as simple as that. But seeing that doom has until now not come for Fëanor’s sons, I am as yet not too concerned, and also, if I am completely honest with you, I have little hope for any of us, with or without the Doom of Mandos. I cannot imagine Morgoth leaving Beleriand and letting us go back to living our lives, can you?”

An ancient fear creeps upon Elmo, chilling his heart, so that all of a sudden, the warm summer sun does no longer reach him. Elu has spoken without the slightest trace of fear in his voice, indeed without any indication that he has been talking about any graver topic than tomorrow’s weather, and yet Elmo feels sickened. In this instant, he is again the small helpless elfling that clings to his brother for comfort, more, whose brother is his whole world, who is terrified to see said brother sleep, always fearing he might in truth be dead and leave him, like their parents have left him.

“Then let it go. Let the curse go.” he pleads desperately.

Elu only chuckles, and Elmo wants to hit him for it.

“I do not think the curse works like that, Elmo. And even if it does, I cannot. I am sorry. I cannot let it go.”

He rises, walking a few steps to the very edge of the water, the Silmaril still gleaming brightly in his hand. Slowly, the dread feeling is subsiding, so that Elmo can now wholly take in the situation, and for the first time hear the resignation behind Elu’s words.

He has given up.

Elu stands in the bright light of the day in his finely embroidered robes, his silver circlet gleaming on his brow, the epiphany of the mighty elvenking he is, so fair, so graceful, with the wind playing in his hair, an image that inspires awe even in Elmo who has seen him in his least dignified moments. And yet he is nothing anymore but an actor, playing the role he has so long held, perhaps fooling even himself. Beneath all the majesty and glory, his brother is a broken man, frightened and hurting, and phrases like “will you not let it go even for me, or for Melian?” die in Elmo’s throat. He rises instead in silence to stand beside Elu once more, looking over the lake together with him. It is a while ere Elu speaks again.

“Besides, it is not really true that Melian wants the Silmaril gone. I mean, yes, she does, but to her the light is just as much a reminder of the home she once left behind, a home that is now lost to her just as much as it is to me.”

Elmo nods, little though he wants to. But there is no denying the truth behind Elu’s words, as there is no averting what is to come. He can do nothing but wait and watch until fate brings his brother to his knees- all he can do is to decide whether he wants to spend the time they still have until then arguing or trying to ease Elu’s pain. Again, his thoughts wander back to where his memory becomes murky, to fear and despair, when nothing but his elder brother’s embrace saved him from the abyss. This time it is Elu who stands by the edge of the precipice, and even if Elmo will ultimately not be able to hinder his fall, he can at least let Elu know that he is loved. He therefore lays his head upon his brother’s shoulder once more, and Elu presses a kiss into his hair and cradles him.

Maybe talking is just not for them, maybe they can both never put their feelings into words properly, maybe those caresses are indeed the only language that works for them. But it does work, and who is there to judge its rightfulness?

[ladysternchen]

The first Return of the King was Elu Thingol

[ladysternchen]

Infested my plot-bunnies. Currently out of service. 😅

[ladysternchen]

Oh 😍🥹

Okay this isn't mairon or adar themed idea, but please. Please 🙏🏽

would you be able to at least make a sketch of Celeborn and Galathil? The two are brothers in the Silmarilion and there is only a handful of art that have both brothers.

Here you go, anon! Celeborn yapping to Galathil about his new girlfriend for hours.

[ladysternchen]

"I didn't comment on a fic I liked because I don't think the author would care or remember my comment anyway". fanfic writer here, I still remember comments I got on my fics from seven years ago. I still think about them and they still make me smile. your kind comments are what motivates us and what helps us keep writing.

I personally know writers who take screenshot and print out comments they got from their readers.

TL;DR comments matter to us writers more than you think. if you like a fanfic, never be shy to let the author know ♡

[ladysternchen]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58282759/chapters/165349468#workskin

The evening sun made the bay of Eldamar gleam like molten gold, the soft waves glittering like jewels. And amidst all this splendour, drawing ever closer, a ship was sailing towards the harbour, graceful and majestic, bearing one who was eagerly awaited. Manwë smiled as he watched the sails ripple in the soft breeze- it was truly a sight to behold. Notably, Manwë and Varda watched from much closer than usual, having done as they hardly ever did and descended from Ilmarin, to greet the newcomer themselves, but this elf most certainly deserved a like welcome. For if not Círdan the Shipwright, then who?

Ulmo had appealed to him in person, had asked him to come down to the quays, telling him once more of the many great deeds of Círdan throughout the Ages, and so had Olórin, so even if he had indeed been oblivious to the influence the shipwright had had on the fate of Middle-Earth, he would still have heeded their advice. After all, there was no reason for him to harken to those he loved.

But Manwë had watched, had in fact never fully taken his eyes off the havens that Círdan had kept for so many thousand years, a refuge and a passageway in equal measure. No-one had withstood Melkor and his servants more steadfast than Círdan, or had endured the hardships for longer, or had indeed accepted them with more humility. When Ulmo had sought him out in his moment of despair and told him that it was his doom to remain in Ennor, Círdan had accepted it, even though his anguish had been palpable even for Manwë on high Taniquetil. More, he had channeled his grief into learning to craft ships like no other in the Hither Lands, so that he might yet find a way across the sea when time was ripe, and later maintained a sanctuary for Elvenkind in Middle-Earth when all Beleriand had been in the hands of Melkor. 

And then, when after the War of Wrath the path West would have been open to him, Círdan had yet decided to stay, and built anew a home for the Elder Children in Middle-Earth. And -ultimately- had given them a way home. 

How many ships had he watched pass out of his sight, Manwë wondered, and how dreadfully had his heart ached each time anew? What it must have felt like for one who had once so longed to reach Aman, to build all these ships to carry his kinsfolk over the sea to the West without being able to sail himself, Manwë could not fathom. But what made him admire Círdan most was the humility and patience with which he had borne all these hardships, had fought Sauron, had given up his ring of power.

Yes, this elf he was truly curious to meet.

Still, King of Arda or no, he would wait for his turn to greet and thank Círdan. The right of welcoming the new arrivals always belonged to the relatives and loved ones of the newcomers, and Círdan was no exception to that rule. What was more, Manwë rather enjoyed watching these reunions -both those on the shores of the sea and those at the gates of Mandos- from afar, seeing all the joy and tears and feeling deep down that his summons had at last come to a good ending. 

Therefore he watched the small group on the pier, standing a little back in the shade of the trees, some chatting amongst each other, others had their gazes fixed on the boat. Galadriel was there with all her husband’s family, waiting for Celeborn who sailed with Círdan, and Ereinion, who had braved to invade on this family meeting so as to greet his foster-father. He looked very forlorn, and might have done so even more had not Círdan’s mother engaged him in conversation over and over again, whether to make Ereinion more comfortable or calm her own nerves, Manwë had no idea. Most likely both, he mused. It must be hard, not to fling herself at her son the moment he set foot on solid ground, but that she had declined from the start, claiming that she would much rather be the last to greet Círdan than the first, so that she might have some time in peace to reunite with him. 

The honour of first greeting the newcomers therefore fell upon her nephews, who had accepted the offer gladly. Once again, Manwë smiled as his gaze fell on the brothers, Olwë and Elwë standing by the quay wall in all regal attire, Elmo beside them in a much simpler tunic. All three of them beamed as they watched the ship draw closer, and Manwë was rather sure that had there not been so many onlookers, they would have jumped up and down like little boys. 

Watching them, Manwë could not help but once again appreciate how easily the brothers had divided rule between them once again after Elwë’s re-embodiment. No claims, no fighting, just the joy of being re-united. As it was, both held court together more often than not these days, which was very refreshing to see. Manwë had been half-prepared for another strife between brothers like with Finwë’s eldest sons at first, but that had thankfully proved completely unnecessary. 

And still, watching them stand there in unity made his own heart ache, a pain that belonged to him alone, that he would not even voice before Varda herself- he missed his own brother. Despite all the evil he had done, despite the fact that nothing could ever be entirely without evil due to Melkor’s fell designs, he missed him. And that grief would never fully leave him.

More to distract himself than anything else, he let his gaze wander on to where Melian sat by the trees with her sisters-in-law, chatting spiritedly with them. It was good to see her happy once more, the pain of loss slowly fading, at least from her face. He doubted not, however, that both she and her husband still mourned their daughter waking and sleeping, though having Lúthien’s descendants among them had helped them both greatly. 

Manwë sighed, wondering once again if there could have been another, a better solution. But not even he could take the Gift from the Secondborn, and keeping Lúthien from her husband… it would have been just as cruel. Any union between Elves and Men must end in agony for someone. But it seemed that at times, love simply was unstoppable, as Melian and Elwë proved perhaps more than anyone else. He had always been awed by the union of one of their own with an elf, had at first thought it to be against all design. Only it was not. If anything, this was the design of the One, or else it would not have happened and borne such fruit. Nay, even he could not fathom all Atar’s designs, too far were His ways above even theirs. He could but trust and marvel.

Yet Melian had paid a terrible price for her love when her Elwë had been slain, and amidst that grief, they -Manwë himself and his brethren- had added another, even greater hurt. They had terribly wronged her, wronged her even though she had done so much to bring Melkor’s rule to an end, not the least of which was to single-handedly capture Sauron and drag him before Eönwë. For that, she would truly have deserved to be allowed to live among all her kin- but that had been out of Manwë’s hands, much as it regretted it.

He had no more time to muse upon these sorrows, however, as in that very moment, the ship moored, and the two elves upon it stepped at last ashore.

“A fine beard he as grown, there is no denying that.” Varda chuckled beside him, and Manwë quietly agreed. 

Ulmo and Ossë must be proud indeed. 

Olwë made a similar remark by way of a greeting, but Círdan did not heed it. He had eyes only for Elwë in that moment, which came as no surprise. Not when the means of their parting was so well known to everyone. 

“You are here. Alive. And… whole.” Círdan stammered hoarsely, his eyes fixed on Elwë’s face.

“Of course I am. You asked me to await you here, and so I did. I waited for you for Ages and Ages, while you were saving the world.”

Círdan laughed, then flung his arms around his cousin with such enthusiasm that the two almost took a tumble into the water, and Melian was by far not the only one who looked somewhat disappointed that Círdan and Elwë managed to regain their balance. Still laughing, Elwë stepped back, and allowed Olwë and Elmo to welcome Círdan as well, which both of them did with no less joy. 

It would take hours, Manwë knew, before the last embrace and final word of welcome was exchanged and he would have the chance to make Círdan’s acquaintance. Be it. Time, after all, was of no significance within this part of his realm. 

[ladysternchen]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58282759/chapters/164824420#workskin

Snippet:

“Well met, dear friends.” she said “Not many birds still remain here in these lands. Are you leaving now, and just stopped on your way to bid an elf goodbye? Or could it be that one of you is indeed not a bird?”

“Why are you so certain that I would indeed take the form of a bird?” a soft voice asked behind her, making Thônwen spin around and almost topple over her own feet.

Finally.

Her heart wanted to leap from her chest in joy as she looked at last upon Melian, who was clad in a very simply tunic that was clearly meant to be worn under armour, and her black curls braided straight back without any adornment in it at all. It was a very unfamiliar sight, but one not less endearing for it. But she would not let Melian know that just yet. Not after her friend had played hide-and-seek with her for decades. Not after she had made her talk to more birds than she could count.

Instead of flinging herself at her sister-in-law, therefore, Thônwen crossed her arms before her chest and scowled.

“Long time no see. And don’t even start playing games with me, and asking me why I would look for you in birds. Have I not known you long enough?”

“Aye, and that is why you should know that though I only wear my physical form now, I still am bound to its appearance. Maiar cannot involve themselves so deeply with the Children without being then bound to one appearance.”

Oh, Melian could be haughty if she wanted to, there was no doubt about it, but so could Thônwen. And she would not loose this private little battle and laugh first.

“And it is not so that you are bound also deeply to your birds? So, have you or have you not been fluttering around Beleriand as a songbird whenever you did not fight?”

Melian rolled her eyes.

“Maybe. Once or twice at most.”

“You are an abysmal liar, Melian of Eglador. Abysmal.”

The two stood gazing at each other some more, then Melian started giggling at last, and Thônwen followed suit, extremely pleased with herself for having held out. For the briefest moment, Thônwen wondered if she would indeed be able to hug Melian, given that she was not an incarnate being anymore, but that question was swiftly answered as both stumbled forward, and flung their arms around each other.