#Tolkien ocs

[sallysavestheday]

Orcs are people, too...

For another prompt from @fellowshipofthefans January trope roulette: "awful first meeting" and "mistaken for a couple."

It’s...awkward, waking up chained to a stranger without even a how-do-ye-do. The ankle cuff itches, and everyone leers and assumes. And suddenly it’s Ghal-and-Sharga this, Sharga-and-Ghal that, without ever a moment of silence or the chance to crawl away and just drift for a while, watching the night sky turn. But Sharga’s warm, and strong, and the chain rings nicely in the circle dances. It’s good to have help with the big rocks, and the sandbucket, and the foreman – Sharga doesn’t take nothing from nobody; she shuts him up fast. Maybe, when the war's over, if the bright eyes don’t get them, they might find it’s as easy to stay together as not. There are caves by the river. They could settle in. Have some broth, a crust of bread, and call each other home.

[kate-m-art]

Adore @pistachiozombie 's OC Leanna and was very excited to draw her, Bofur and their daughter Myrra for her winter contest this year ♡ I hope you like them okay and thanks so much for the chance to draw them, it was a lot of fun!

[jaw-bones]

✨🖤✨ a cropping — ft. naethlim & thindsilith

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part 6

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader

Themes: Soft

Warnings: Mention of Elwing casting herself into the sea prior to the beginning of the story | Mentions of other character deaths prior to the beginning of the story

Wordcount : 3.1K words

Summary: Thranduil attends the feast held in honor of Angon taking Nitiel to wife.

Minors DNI

Masterlist

Thranduil’s POV

The feast Lord Thiliedir and Lady Annien held in honor of their son taking Nitiel to wife was a most splendid affair. 

Guests came from all over Amon Lanc. They poured through wide open doors leading to a vast garden, dressed in their finest furs and silks. Gold and silver, rubies and emeralds, glittered around the throats and lips and ears and wrists of many. Newly forged circlets rested amidst dark, crimson, and silver-gold hair that had been combed into intricate braids. Some of the visitors bore the marks of beasts and leaves and flowers along their arms and along their cheeks. Heralds called out the names of each new visitor, and attendants walked amidst the invited elves, their hands heavy with gilded pitchers full of wine and trays full of delicate pastries. Thranduil stood by his father’s side, observing lords and ladies joining an ever-growing line of those wishing to offer their felicitations to the newly wedded pair.  

“The marriage of Lord Angon and his lady has been well received.” Oropher nursed his chalice of wine, while minstrels kept to the grotto set aside for their use during the festivities. The music they played and the songs they sang drifted around the garden, barely heard over the chatter of elves and the clinking of glass. “I confess, I expected to hear and see quite the opposite when I was told the news.” 

“Were you hoping to witness the tearing of hair and the gnashing of teeth?” Thranduil whispered. He sipped his wine and then smiled. “Lord Angon’s lady mother and lord father are too well bred for such theatrics. So are their kin. If they truly are unhappy with their son taking a servant to wife, then they have taken great care not to show it.” 

“You are studying those who serve us,” said Oropher. “That is a good thing, my son. Continue it. It will serve you well should my crown pass on to you.” 

Thranduil shivered. His lord father’s demise was not a matter he wished to consider. “It will not happen,” he replied, “for you will live on for more ages than you could care to count, and then we will both take a ship leaving for the Blessed Realm so that we can be reunited with my mother.”

“That is my hope also,” his father returned. “But so long as Belegûr’s servants remain abroad, we must prepare ourselves for the dark possibility of my perishing in this land. Do you understand me, my son?” 

“Yes, father,” Thranduil told him, albeit reluctantly. 

Oropher clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Enough of such talk. Come! Let us join the throng!”  

The throng had grown in size by the time they joined them, and they had grown more carefree despite the late autumn chill. Golden lamps adorned the low-hanging branches of trees, their light limning all those who stood beneath them. Trestle tables had been arranged at the far end of the garden, with a raised dais facing them. Kitchen attendants were occupied slowly turning wooden spits and roasting wild boar and deer over a fire pit, basting the meat with honey and herbs until it crackled. The smell of freshly baked bread and pies wafted from the nearby kitchen. Even the tables themselves had large bowls placed in the center, all filled with wild berries, cheese, and olives brought in from Esgaroth. More wine was served, along with ale and mead. Thranduil joined his father while he spoke to the others, taking great care to listen to all that was being said and answering any question that was asked of him. 

It was an aspect Thranduil had long prepared himself for: the tediousness of everyday duties. He had to attend council meetings even when he wished to do nothing more than lay in bed; he had to hear out supplicants that came to him, begging for a listening ear; and he had to speak to elven nobles he had no desire to speak to, all while having a warm smile or a look of deep concern on his face. All of this he did splendidly well, which pleased his father greatly.  

“Now all you need is a bride who might one day make a fine queen,” Oropher said when they had a moment to themselves again. “Someone worthy of you, and of course, someone worthy of the crown that would rest amidst her hair.”  

‘Tis the same song as always, Thranduil thought. He forced himself not to sigh. “I will wed when my own household is ready, father,” he said through gritted teeth, and he set his jaw in determination. “And I will decide for myself whom I should marry. Me, father, and no other. Any command for me to bind myself to a stranger in a marriage of political convenience will be answered with a swift and certain no.” 

“I swear to Eru, my boy, you can be as stubborn as your beloved mother sometimes.” Oropher laughed. “And I understand the need to wait until your household is ready to receive a mistress. Pray tell me what is becoming of the halls our builders are making for you.” 

They spoke at length while they made their way to the dais. Angon and Nitiel had already taken the seats of high honor, and the king and the crown prince took their places on either side of them. Then the mother and father of Angon, and the mother and father of Nitiel, took their seats accordingly.  

Angon only waited a moment before rising, his cup in hand. “Let us drink!” He cried. “A toast, my friends! To Lady Nitiel! My wife and the companion of my life!”  

The others rose and lifted their cups. “Lady Nitiel!” They shouted as one. Nitiel flushed, and she bowed her head as a gesture of thanks.  

The first course was a dish of soup made of leeks and mushrooms, served in glazed green bowls. Lady Annien took the first spoonful to taste, and the others were served after she gave her approval. 

Lady Nitiel looks so different now, Thranduil thought. The lady who once served in the kitchens was dressed in robes sewn especially for the feast, and with colors that matched those on her husband’s tunic. Green velvet slashed with cloth of gold adorned her person. New gold caught the light of nearby lamps as they lay around her throat and around her wrists. More gold gleamed where it lay in her auburn hair. It had been combed into elaborate plaits and then arranged in a style he did not recognize.  

The gold and the robes must be gifts, no doubt, Thranduil thought, from her doting husband. The way her hair has been arranged, on the other hand…

“Forgive me,” he leaned in and said, “for asking this, but who arranged your hair?” 

Nitiel leaned in as well and lowered her voice. She did not wish for the king to hear what she had to say. “Y/n, my lord,” she said. “She helped me dress, and then she arranged my hair for me. It is the style favored by those who dwelled in a city called Alqualondë, she said, but without the adornments of shells and pearls.” 

Thranduil knew of Alqualondë, having heard the tales told by Lady Galadriel. “The style favored by the elves of Alqualondë?” he whispered, “and not the kind favored by her own people?” 

“She thought the sight of it might anger the king.”     

“Of course. It was wise of her to make such a choice. And it was thoughtful of her as well, to help you prepare for this feast.” 

The next course was a dish of sage and potato tarts, and the course that came after that was a dish of roasted boar and venison with stewed carrots and potatoes that had been boiled to a mash and mixed with cream. Thranduil ate with great relish, and he ate in silence.  

Y/n would have had to have learned the art of such arrangements from her mother, as she was born long after the first kinslaying. And it would have served her well during the years she spent wandering from one place to the next, perhaps even keeping her safe, as the few who served the sons of Fëanor and remained in the new land they had come to call home found little welcome wherever they went.  

There is the grandson, he remembered. Why did y/n not go to Lord Celebrimbor? 

It was a question he had asked when he first procured her freedom, and it was a question he thought of asking her himself, as those who held her could not give him an answer. Until the opportunity to do so presented itself, he would have to bide his time. 

A minstrel plucked at the strings of a high harp while another sang, her voice as sweet and clear as a bell. It was nowhere as lovely as Tinúviel’s otherworldly voice, Thranduil thought, nor was it as bewitching as her lady mother’s. Still, it was enchanting to hear, and a tear came to his eye when he remembered Menegroth in all of its glory. He harkened back to the days of his youth, when nightingales would make their nests in little nooks and crannies that dotted the great city of many caves, where flowers of rare beauty would bloom to life during the spring, where Daeron played the harp and Tinúviel sang, and they were sheltered from the darkness that tainted the lands beyond their own. Then the sons of Fëanor came to reclaim what was taken from their father, they had said, and to seek justice for the slaying of their grandfather.  

The sons of Fëanor came, Thranduil thought as he drained the last of his wine. The sons of Fëanor fought. And the sons of Fëanor perished. Thranduil set down his chalice when a dish of gammon pie was set before him. And the line of Melian and Thingol nearly ended because of them and that blasted Oath of theirs. 

Grief and bitterness gathered around his heart like a swarm of angry bees. Thranduil still remembered King Dior and his queen, Lady Nimloth. He remembered their sons, twins who were all of three when their father came into his inheritance, and he remembered the dreadful winter that brought about an end to Dior’s reign, the tragic fate that befell his sons, his queen, and the great city of caves they all called home.   

And then there was the daughter, the princess who was forced to abandon her own children as she was once forced to abandon her home, and cast herself into the sea after those who sought the Silmaril came for her. That too angered Thranduil—that swords were raised against those who fled the violence that fell upon their once-fair city. He remembered the dark words that were brought to them on a night with the moon and stars hidden behind thick clouds. Perhaps that was a sign, a portend of the dreadful message they were to receive. His father gave the order for their warriors to march, but by the time they reached the Havens, it was already too late. 

At least Elwing's sons lived, he thought, and I pray word of their living lives of great renown reached her ears in the Blessed Realm.  

He took the pie with both hands and bit into it. The meat melted in his mouth, as did the pastry that held it. And it tasted almost like ash against his tongue. Thoughts of the lives lost because of an Oath that could never be fulfilled tainted whatever joy the prince would have found in the food he ate. He waived away all further offers of refreshments, claiming that he was already full. 

I need to step away for a moment, he told himself, and free myself from such dark and dismal thinking.  

He rose and excused himself. “Pray allow me to take my leave of you all for a moment or two,” he said. “I will return soon enough.” 

“Of course, my lord,” Lady Nitiel said. Thranduil bowed deeply and took his leave of them. 

The air outside the manse was no less fragrant. This time, the smells that greeted him were of night-blooming flowers and not the scents of delectable dishes being brought to the table. He walked toward a nearby marble pond, listening to the little waterfall bubbling at the far end of it. There was no other elf to be seen. Most were at the feast. Others were keeping a watchful eye along the city’s high walls or tending to their duties in the palace itself, and there were those who had already retired for the night. Still, the absence of other elves was a welcomed thing, as was the cool wind that swept around his face and hair. Thranduil felt the anger and grief within him ebb away. He stopped and sat on the edge of the pond. 

Tis good to have a moment to clear my head, he thought. Tiny fish darted beneath the leaves of water lilies and around his fingers as he trailed his hand through crystal-clear water, their scales glittering with silver and gold whenever they caught the light of nearby lamps. He heard the sound of leather against stone. Another elf was walking toward him; the sound he heard was the sound of their slippers falling over polished cobble. Thranduil sighed as his peace was disturbed. Then he heard a gasp. The elf who came upon him did not expect to find him there.  

“Forgive me, my lord,” they said. “I… I was told this part of the city was empty at night.”  

“The one who told you this did not err on that score.” The prince turned to face the one who approached the pond. “This part of the city is quiet at night. And there is no need to ask for forgiveness, y/n. You have the freedom to walk about Amon Lanc; there is no one to hinder you from doing so. Pray why are you here, at such an hour?” 

“We were not needed in the kitchens.” Y/n dipped into a deep curtsy before rising again. “And the cook told me that I would not be needed on the morrow. I… I thought of seeing something of the city while the others were not about, my lord.” 

“Yes,” Thranduil smiled. “Amon Lanc feels like a city found only in fairytales when one walks about it at night. I will not say more, lest I spoil the beauty of the city for you.” He paused and decided now would be an opportune time to speak to y/n about Celebrimbor and why she did not approach him for shelter. “But I do have a question to ask of you.” 

“Go on, my lord,” said y/n. 

“That day when I procured your freedom, I was told you spent your days wandering. You put down no roots, not even with Lord Curufin’s son, Lord Celebrimbor. Why is that, y/n?” 

“Being the daughter of an attainted kinslayer made it hard for me to put down roots, my lord. And Lord Celebrimbor made it plain that anyone who served his father and his uncle would find no welcome in his home.” 

“Is it because of what happened to Lord Finrod?” 

“Yes, my lord. Lord Celebrimbor never forgave his father, nor his uncle, for that matter, for what became of Lord Finrod in the end.”  

“And so you kept away from his realm,” Thranduil said. He patted the space beside him.  

“Yes, my lord.” Y/n smoothed her skirts and sat a respectful distance away from him. Etiquette demanded it, for she was but a kitchen maid and he was the crown prince. “I did not have the stomach to bear the sight of another door closing on me, so I kept away.” 

The crown prince tried to envision what such a life would have been like: walking from place to place without a proper home to claim for oneself, selling what little possessions one had to keep oneself alive, having no friends, no family, and no one to turn to for aid. He shivered.  

Such a wretched life, he thought, and yet the lady is still here, enduring each hardship as best as she can. 

Enduring such hardships without complaint was to be expected of the Noldor; it was something minstrels waxed poetic about in story and song. Thranduil studied y/n discreetly. Her hair had grown a fraction longer, and already she looked less gaunt than she did before. The robes she wore were blue and gray, simple but well-made. A tarnished pin was all she had for an adornment. Its painted flowers had faded, and they were the likes of which Thranduil had not seen before. 

“The flowers on your pin,” he began, “are those found only in the Blessed Realm, yes?”

“Yes.” Y/n reached up and touched it. Her fingers trembled when they brushed against the filigreed silver. “My father had this made for me when I came of age. My mother painted the flowers you see in the center. This is all I have left of them.”

To have only one token left of one’s flesh and blood, and that too in a poor state, pricked at Thranduil. But it could still be saved, he thought. It could still be restored to its former glory.  

Ah, but would the goldsmiths agree to such an undertaking when the request to do so came from one such as her? Thranduil knew they would turn her away the moment they saw her standing at the door of their forge. A respected courtier who carried the order of the crown prince, on the other hand… 

“It must have great value to you.” Thranduil rose. He could not linger for much longer. The others would expect him to return to the feast without further delay. Nevertheless, he did not intend to leave until he spoke to y/n about what he had in mind. “And it can be returned to what it looked like when you first received it. Give it to Feren when you see him next. I will speak to him, and have him go to our goldsmiths. If there is anyone in Amon Lanc who could restore that pin to what it once was, it is them.” 

“I…” Y/n paused and hesitated. She lowered her gaze, took a deep, steadying breath, and then she dared to look him in the eye. A decision had been made. “Thank you, my lord.” 

Thranduil nodded. “And now you must excuse me. I must return to the feast before my father sends someone to search for me.” 

“Of course, my lord.” Y/n rose also, and curtsied to him again. “Good night, my lord.”  

“Good night, y/n,” Thranduil said. He looked back at her over his shoulder for a moment as he walked away. The sight of her beneath a spill of lamplight, her eyes sparkling as she turned to admire the fish in the pond, tugged at him in a way he could not describe.

tags: @deadlymistletoe @coopsgirl @lemonivall @tigereyesf @thranduilseyebrows @cupids-got-me @asianbutnotjapanese @kurochan3

[sauroff]

Very fun commission for @elentarial of Maedhros and their OC 💖✨

Thank you so much for your trust 💕

(Reminder that my commissions are always open, and you can find all the info as a pinned post)

[eerieechos]

Quellë for morale reasons

[the-journey-was-the-point]

4 Times Calarphain Forgot His Brother + 1 Time He Didn’t

Had this sitting in my WIPs for a while, decided to share it for @tolkienocweek Day 7: Freeform!

Summary: Like it says in the title, a collection of times Calarphain forgot his brother, and one time he didn't. You can read this other fic for more context, but the gist is that they grew up away from each other with no contact and now have opposing personalities! Relationships: Callonduin & Calarphain Warnings: Referenced character death, hurt/comfort some angst

Letters

It was all very hazy for Calarphain. The elfling woke up to see his father (looking so worried) and Lady Galadriel (she was so radiant and kind), sitting by his bedside. He couldn’t recall much before that. 

He took one step, then another; a healer came in every day to check his progress. He was slowly getting better, well enough to take short walks.

He huffed one more time, finally reaching the end of the hall. That was enough for his daily walk. Now it was time to return to his bedchamber and– what was it father said? Write a letter to his twin brother? It was a little strange for Calarphain to imagine that somewhere out there was an elfling who looked exactly like him.

Before he could turn, he caught sight of the Lady of Lórien entering the courtyard. He was immediately excited. He liked Galadriel,  she was so kind and beautiful, and even better, she was to mentor him soon!

He called out to her. “Lady Galadriel!!”

The Lady’s serene face turned into a fond smile. She met him halfway, and the two of them spent the rest of the day sitting under the eaves as she told him tales of her youth. 

2. Birthdays

It was a time of feast in Lothlórien. Tonight, they celebrated Calarphain’s coming of age. There was dancing, and cakes, and all of his friends were here. His father made sure the wine was sweet, just like Calarphain liked it. Galadriel gave the toast, recounting the fateful day her apprentice arrived in their realm. Mithrandir brought his best fireworks and promised Calarphain he’d one day instruct him in magic. Calarphain was excited, he wanted to have a staff like Mithrandir’s one day! 

As he giddily downed another glass of wine, he overheard a conversation over the sound of the music. 

“My parents always said it would be like this. You blink, then suddenly they’re grown."

It was Celebrían, Galadriel’s daughter who was visiting from Rivendell. Calarphain always enjoyed her company and was delighted she could be here for the celebration.

“I often feared he wouldn’t live to come of age.” It was his father speaking. He sounded sad and a little sloshed. Calarphain shook his head fondly. His ada was always so sentimental! 

“I’ve enjoyed watching them grow. They’re both doing very well, both highly praised in Lothlórien and Imladris. 

Both? Who’s both? 

Mithrandir lit up another rocket, sending a kaleidoscope into the sky. Calarphain joined the crowd in applause. He figured Celebrían was talking about her own twin sons. 

3. Diet

Calarphain stoked the campfire, focusing on making a bigger flame. He could use magic to speed up the process, but he was trying to distract himself from the sound of Kíli skinning and gutting a rabbit. 

“That looks good,” he heard Fíli say. “What will we have it with?”

“There’s some spices here that Bombur packed for us,” Kíli replied.

“Callonduin’s been gone for a while now,” Tauriel stated as she paced the camp, ever vigilant. “He took Linnéa with him.” 

“Yeah, I needed a second pair of eyes.” Everyone turned to the ellon in question as he dropped down from the branches above, bearing with him a heavy sack. Shortly after, Linnéa emerged from the treeline, carrying an assortment of herbs. “Just to make sure I don’t accidentally kill us,” the ellon continued with a cheeky smile. “Oh! A fire!” 

Calarphain had been trying to avoid his brother so far. Ever since they set out, it was like every interaction they had turned into an argument.  Actually, they’d argued even before leaving Erebor. It was awkward to say the least, so Calarphain tried to keep his distance. 

It seemed Callonduin didn’t have such reservations as he spiritedly plopped down next to his brother. “Yes! Get it nice and hot! Then we can roast the nuts.” 

“The nuts?”

“Ah yeah, I went foraging.” Callonduin reached into his sack, producing an assortment of fruits, berries, and nuts. “Figured you could use some extra, especially since you don’t like eating animals.”

Calarphain murmured his thanks, taken aback by such a nice gesture coming from his brother. “This is very thoughtful of you.” 

Callonduin waved off the compliment with a lopsided grin. “Do you still like chestnuts? I remember how we used to pick them all the time in Rivendell.”

Calarphain loved chestnuts, but he didn’t remember Rivendell. 

4. Song

That last battle hadn’t gone well. They nearly got overpowered by the swarm of goblins, only making it out of the lair by the skin of their teeth. The stormy weather wasn’t helping. It was a good thing a kind farmer let them sleep in his barn. 

Calarphain winced. The cut on his arm was beginning to hurt. He’ll ask Linnéa for pain medicine tomorrow; he didn’t want to wake his tired friend just yet. 

In the darkness, someone began to sing. It was low and melodious, its words in Sindarin. He got up and walked to its source. 

He found Callonduin sitting where Fíli lay nestled in blankets. The dwarf prince had contracted a fever and tossed fitfully in his sleep. The ellon paused his singing when he saw this twin approach. 

“I guess I woke you.”

Calarphain shook his head and whispered, so as not to wake their friends. “That sounded beautiful.” 

“It’s a song of healing,” Callonduin shrugged. “Or, it’s supposed to be. I don’t know if it’s working.” 

“Well, I liked it.” Calarphain took a seat next to his brother. “It sounded familiar. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it in Lothlórien before.”

“That’s ‘cus this is native to the healers of Rivendell,” Callonduin explained, his smile faltering slightly. “I used to sing it for you when we were little.”

“Oh…” Calarphain felt a pit in his stomach. “I’m afraid those days are hazy to me. Probably why I don’t remember the song.”

Callonduin nodded, aware of his brother’s condition. Calarphain felt his twin’s solemn look didn’t suit him. That face was made for smiling. 

“Teach it to me anyway? Maybe it’ll work with two of us.”

(Interlude)

“I don’t know if this is the right thing to say, but I felt you deserved to know.” Calarphain wrung his hands, eyes fixed on the river infront of him. He had called his brother to the outskirts of town in order to talk. He had to come clean, this couldn’t go on any longer. 

“That’s never a good start.” Though Callonduin replied with an easy tone, Calarphain knew of his brother’s tendency to use humor to avoid difficult conversations.

The light-haired twin sighed. Callonduin got the message and sat next to him.

“What’s up?”

“My earliest memory is waking up in Lothlórien with father and Lady Galadriel watching over me. Everything before that was lost to the haze of sickness.”

Callonduin nodded, prompting his brother to continue.

“You resent that I never visited you all these years, that I barely wrote.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. You were sick, I get it–”

“No,” Calarphain quickly interrupted, “you need to know why. You need to know, when I woke up, it was like I was given a new lease on life. I had a new home, new friends, powers I didn’t understand. Galadriel herself offered to mentor me. I had a new life, and the world seemed so big, so limitless, I–” he choked midway through his sentence. Callonduin placed a hand on his shoulder, concerned for the younger twin. 

“I knew you existed,” Calarphain continued, “father told me about you. But in light of my new life,  I suppose I wasn’t… interested in what I had before. Everything else seemed new and exciting. I was so preoccupied with it that I suppose I… forgot about you.” And there it was, finally out in the open. 

There was a second of silence, followed by several more. Neither twin said anything until Callonduin finally smacked his lips together. 

“Well,” he said once more with the casual tone he was known for. “Thanks for telling me this. Good talk. I’ll go now.” He moved to stand, but Calarphain grabbed his sleeve. 

“Callonduin, wait!”

“No, I get it.” Though Callonduin shrugged off his twin’s protests, he avoided his gaze, and Calarphain knew his brother was ready to break. “Everything else was more exciting– I mean you had Galadriel as a mentor. Why bother with me–” 

“Callonduin– no! Look at me, please!” Calarphain gripped his brother’s shoulders and forced the older twin to face him. Callonduin met his gaze,  identical blue eyes boring into his own.

“What I’m trying to say is, it wasn’t your fault. I knew you existed, but didn’t make the effort to reach out. Even when I was well enough to, I didn’t visit simply because I wanted to do other things. I knew father and I left you to grow up alone, but I never cared to do anything about it. Do you understand what I’m saying? You weren’t lacking, Callonduin. I just wasn’t considerate enough to think about you. I took you for granted. I still sometimes do. I’m sorry.”

Calarphain brought his hands back down to his sides. Now it was his turn to look away. “That’s all. I wanted you to know it wasn’t your fault.” 

Callonduin stood still the whole while, taking in his brother’s confession. Tears glistened in his eyes and he swallowed a number of times, throat tight. 

When he spoke, his voice was raw and soft. “Wish I could turn back time. Make it right somehow.” 

Calarphain shook his head. “I wouldn’t put that on you.” What’s done is done. Callonduin was neglected, and nothing would change that. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been enjoying our time together. I’m glad I went on this journey and got to know you. It makes me wish I had you around growing up.” 

“Yeah?” Callonduin sniffled, rubbing at his eyes before tears could fall. “Well, I’m here now!” 

“You are,” Calarphain laughed, looking back at his twin, “and I’d like to make more memories, if you’re up for it. To replace what we lost.”

“Oh! We can go to Rivendell, if you like. We could stay in father’s house, I’ll show you around. My favorite spots– ah!-- the minstrels play some really good songs…”

Calarphain smiled, excited at the prospect of returning to his birthplace with his brother. “I’d like that very much.” 

He never made it to Rivendell. 

+ One time he didn’t

When Calarphain woke up after being re-embodied, he found himself in the blessed land of Valinor. Just like before, his father was by his bedside. The two of them shared a tearful reunion…

… Until Calarphain found out that shortly after he died, his father sailed, leaving Callonduin alone in Middle Earth. 

“How could you do that?!” he cried, tearful Sindarin pouring out of his lips. “How could you leave him alone?!” 

The good thing about being re-embodied? The Valar saw it fit to grant him a healthy fëa and hröa, meaning Calarphain had a much stronger body than before. 

He hurled a pillow at his father, missing, and breaking a vase in the process. Concerned healers slowly trickled into the room.

“Did you forget about him?! Did you forget that he needs you too?!” 

[endless-oc-creations]

💕Oc Valentines Day Challenge 2024 💕 Day One: First Love

For the first day of the challenge, we've gotta do first love! Make something for your oc and their first love.

“The best relationships usually begin unexpectedly.”

Marigold Baggins didn’t think about love, well at least when it came to courting and romantic relationships. She wasn’t considered the most desirable lady in the shire, nor the most respectable. So, Marigold was more focused on exploring and dreaming about an adventure. One day a certain gray wizard ended up granting her wish, but what she didn't expect was to fall in love on that adventure.

💕 Everything Taglist: @bravelittleflower @sunlitscribe​​​ @eddysocs @raith-way​​ @waterloou @decennia​​ @hiddenqveendom @aaronhotchstuff @foxesandmagic @nejires-hado  @asirensrage  @lucys-chen @arrthurpendragon @daughter-of-melpomene @thatmagickjuju @ginevrastilinski  @oneirataxia-girl @ginger-grimm💕

[sotwk]

Can you tell us more about Mirion's wife and children 👀

Hello Anon! I believe this is the second time you've asked me about Crown Prince Mirion and his family, and appreciate your interest so much. 🥰 Mirion is my personal favorite of the OC Thranduilions, so any inquiries about him are dear to me.

I have been keeping the details about Mirion's family under wraps for so long, but I no longer see a good reason to keep them secret, so here we go: some basic headcanon info that will hopefully satisfy your curiosity. 😉

For those who might care: some SotWK AU Spoilers ahead!

SotWK AU Headcanons: Crown Prince Mirion and his "Golden" Family

Although Mirion tragically died in his attempt to free his homeland from the Necromancer (his efforts did drive Sauron out of Dol Guldur for a time and gave Mirkwood four centuries of respite), he left behind a beautiful wife and two children to continue his legacy. His son gave Thranduil a new heir and continued hope for the future of their line and kingdom.

Because Mirion's wife was an Eldar of powerful lineage and incredible strength in her own right, she and their children helped Mirkwood to stay strong and protected through the dangers the realm faced in the Third Age.

And when Thranduil's grandchildren took over the rule of Eryn Lasgalen in the Fourth Age, it ushered in a new Golden Era for the last remaining Kingdom of Elves on Middle-earth.

MIRION'S WIFE - PRINCESS ITARILDË

SotWK Fancast: Teresa Palmer (A Discovery of Witches)

Mirion's wife is Princess Itarildë, an elleth with a rare mix of Noldor-Vanyar-Teleri blood with "royal" lineage on both sides of her family.

Itarildë’s mother is Nimeithel (a SotWK OC), the younger sister of Nimloth and niece of Celeborn.

Nimeithel is featured in my ongoing Thranduil x Maereth series, Sins of Our Fathers. She grew up with Thranduil in Doriath, and was the one who introduced him to Maereth.

Itarildë’s father is Maranwon (SotWK OC), the grandson of Glorfindel and his wife Elemírë (SotWK OC), who was the sister of Elenwë, late wife of King Turgon.

Itarildë has a high Eldar "pedigree" due to her lineage, but that was not what attracted Mirion to her. On the contrary, her noble background nearly caused the Crown Prince to decide against pursing her hand in marriage, despite their deep love for each other.

Before ever meeting Itarildë, Mirion had intended to choose his wife and future Queen among the Silvan elves of Greenwood, out of love for his people and his wish to honor the land's native race. (Something Thranduil was unable to do by marrying a Noldor.)

Mirion agonized over this conflict between his duty and his heart until his parents persuaded him to pursue his own happiness.

Itarildë is older than Mirion by a few decades, born in Lothlorien but raised in Rivendell. Her father died in the War of the Last Alliance fighting alongside his surrogate father, Gil-galad.

She takes after her father's side of the family; she is passionate, joyful, strong-willed, and has a radiant presence that commands and captivates every room she enters. She has a compassionate heart and a determination to effect good changes in the world.

She adores her husband's brothers and counsels and cares for them as an elder sister.

She is a fearless and skilled warrior (what else would you expect from the great-granddaughter of Glorfindel), who more than holds her own whenever she marches into battle alongside the princes.

It is later discovered that something about Itarildë’s presence causes the Spiders of Mirkwood to flee; just looking upon her somehow pains or deters them, and so they never attack her directly.

Mirion's death broke Itarildë and very nearly caused her to fade; she was brought back only by the healing efforts and pleas of her daughter. But her joyful spirit never recovered.

MIRION'S SON - PRINCE ARANION

SotWK Fancast: Bradley James (Merlin)

Aranion is the elder child of Mirion and Itarildë, making him the eldest grandchild of Thranduil and second-in-line to the throne of the Woodland Realm.

Upon Mirion's death, Aranion inherited the title of Crown Prince of Mirkwood. (This responsibility never fell to Legolas, which is why he remained free to travel, join the Fellowship, and and even sail to Valinor as he eventually did.)

After Maereth died, Thranduil became very focused on preparing Aranion for the throne, since he was then resolved to sail for Valinor and rejoin his wife--once the future of Mirkwood and his people had been secured with his grandson in place.

The name Aranion translates to "Son of the King" in Quenya, but the prince was actually named after the plant kingsfoil or athelas, also known as asëa aranion. Kingsfoil did not grow naturally in the Greenwood forest, since it thrived in the Western lands.

However, in the year of Itarildë's pregnancy with Aranion, kingsfoil began to sprout in abundance in the lands surrounding their home.

Although the Mirkwood Elves previously had no use for kingsfoil, later in the Third Age the plant became an vital resource in their healing for wounds inflicted by orcs and other beasts coming from Dol Guldur.

Aranion is utterly devoted to his homeland and the Silvan people of Mirkwood, a sentiment that they reciprocate with fierce love and loyalty. While not as politically-savvy as his forebears, he is a "people's prince", spending most of his days working alongside the common folk of the realm.

Although he is often compared to his great, great-grandfather Glorfindel, Aranion's cheerful, energetic, and light-hearted temperament is actually most similar to that of his uncle Legolas, to whom he was always very close.

The Prince is a fearless and naturally gifted fighter, whose innate talents were enhanced by centuries of intensive instruction and training from the greatest warriors on Middle-earth, including Thranduil and Glorfindel.

As the darkness worsened in the Third Age, Thranduil grew extremely protective of Aranion, increasing to paranoia at the loss of his wife and each of his sons. As decades passed the prince's very existence soon became unknown to outsiders, which was what Thranduil had intended.

By the events of the Hobbit, Aranion was forbidden from traveling outside of Mirkwood, and was not permitted to participate in the Battle of the Five Armies.

MIRION'S DAUGHTER - PRINCESS ANARIEL

SotWK Fancast: Gabriella Wilde (The Three Musketeers, Poldark)

Anariel is the younger child of Mirion and Itarildë and second grandchild of Thranduil and Maereth.

Beautiful and sweet beyond compare, she is very much the darling treasure of not only her grandfather Thranduil, but also of her loving uncles who have doted on her since she was a baby (probably because they never had a little sister of their own).

Unlike her boisterous older brother, Anariel is reserved, introverted, and avoids drawing attention to herself. She prefers to listen rather than speak.

Large crowds and excessive noises make her very uncomfortable, and it is possible she suffers from a mild form of sensory overload.

However, she very much carries the courage and willingness to serve that runs in her family, and devotes herself to the welfare of the people of Mirkwood.

Anariel is highly intelligent, much like her uncle Arvellas. Being a voracious reader and learner herself, she grew especially close to the Scholar Prince and gained knowledge and abilities from him.

She lived in Rivendell for periods of long years throughout the Third Age, during which she was mentored by Lord Elrond himself, and became skilled in the healing arts.

Anariel has actually already appeared in one of my WIP fics, although she was not yet named/identified. The first person to comment and tell me correctly which fic/character I am referring to, will receive a special prize from me from the Tumblr Market!

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Tolkien Headcanon tag list: @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @tamryniel @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @aduialel @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @klytemnestra13 @creativity-of-death @heilith @fizzyxcustard @absentmindeduniverse @lathalea @tamurilofrivendell @jordie-your-local-halfling @ladyk8tie @scyllas-revenge @asianbutnotjapanese @conversacomsmaug @lemonivall @ratsys @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @entishramblings @stormchaser819 @freshalmondpandadonut @beekieboo

Interested in more SotWK AU content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist 

My Fanfiction Masterlist

[yandere-ainur-confessions]

would you write a headcanon of how valar and maiar fall for darling and start to be obsessed with them? (did I do it right?? I'm so nervous lol)

❪ ♡ ❫ ── 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰, 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 - 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 . . .

  ♡. 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

they remember it so vividly. the day that you walked into their life. passing by them in all your perfectness. your beauty, your demeanour, the small little smile that you gave them once you caught their unintentional stare. many would call it just a chance encounter. the gardens, a banquet, a mere passing interaction - but oh, you will scorn their mind for all eternity. did you feel it too? the connection that they felt? the song of your fëa, surely it was singing for them? it will drive them mad and they will be eager to meet you again. when you recognise them, their heart would sore. so you did feel the same? oh, if only you knew what you had gotten yourself into. they'll make it their life's mission to learn every little thing about you. stalking, you say? no, they're just lovingly learning more about their soulmate. now they are convinced that you are meant to be theirs. and it certainly would be unfortunate if you didn't think so too

𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆, 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒌𝒂𝒔, ulmo, vana, 𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒂, yavanna, 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏, aiwendil, 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆, luilire

♡. 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

you were most likely one of the few people outside of their family to show them true kindness. it felt like they were on air. that day that you aided them with something, or defended their name from others. they remember how fast their heart beat, how their song shifted to a thousand symphonies as they gazed at you with wonder. to think. . . that someone actually cared. from that day they grew hungry for your affection and favour. eager to seek you out and hope that you would continue to show them the kindness and attention that they were greedy for. you made them feel so. . . complete. they've never loved someone so wholeheartedly, so completely, until the day your touch grazed their hand and you smiled at them so warmly. they hope that you feel the same and will do just about anything to gain your attention, even if it's subtly. and should you place your attention elsewhere? you'll regret it.

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓, aule, nessa, 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏, curumo, gothmog, osse, 𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏, almion, 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆 

♡. 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

they have known you for the longest time. it feels like they've loved you for even longer. they are one of your closest companions, the person that you turn to when in need of aid. the one that you cry on when you're sad. the one that has been with you through every good and each bad. they boast in such a fact - that they know you so intimately and that they are the person that you rely on. . . but there is a deeper sense of longing within them, a yearning for something more. they feel possessive over you. after all, aren't they your everything like you are to them? why can't you see that the two of you are meant to be together? every time you bring up someone else they feel a bit of their sanity chipping away. they'll make you see how much you need them. how much they love you. after all, if you didn't feel the same, why did you lead them on? you have to take responsibility. they'll make sure of it, make sure that you know who you belong to.

𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐, orome, 𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒂, este, 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆, ilmare, arien, melian, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒎𝒆, 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆, erulisse, 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒆

[growingingreenwood]

Can you explain more of the specifics of the Greenwood Royal family dynamics? Wouldn’t Legolas and Ava dating kinda be like siblings getting together? Not trying to be rude but like :/

No, not really. But i can understand where the confusion might come from. I’ll do my best to explain why it wouldn't be!

I made a little picture to help explain the specific dynamics between all the ‘groups’ that make up the “Greenwood Royal Family" to make this easier to explain.

But basically, while they all work together on the daily to support and love each other, they're considered to be ““Separate Households””. Each ‘group’ in the picture has their own shared living areas, separate from the other ‘groups’. They're all close together, especially at the start, but they're still separate. The only elflings that are raised more or less as siblings is Ithrae's group (So Therion, Eloissa, Rumien, Tern, and Ava.)

Secondly, aside from Legolas and Farlen, Everybody Involved In The Situation That Makes Up The Greenwood Royal Family Is EXTREMELY aware that they aren't related by blood to anybody else . And they remain aware of it, at all times. The elflings are old enough (and traumatized enough) that they remember they used to have another family, and remember how they lost them.

That doesn't mean that the conglomeration that makes up “The Greenwood Royal Family” doesn't all love each other fiercely, they just love some members a bit differently than others.

Thranduil loves all of the Orphans so very much, and he feels responsible to protect, raise, and guide them into the best elves that they can be. And he does his best to be there for them in the ways that they need when they need it.

But he only has one Son. There is only one Legolas.

Plus, after Amon Lanc fell and the elflings were all left orphans, Thranduil struggled to even keep himself alive through the grief of losing his wife and initially couldn’t take a super duper direct and hands-on role with the elfings until several years later. After their new home had more or less been established.

Which is why it was Ferdan that helped Ithrae the most with them, while Galion looked after Thranduil and Legolas.

(And definitely not because Ferdan loves elfings more than anything in the entitle world no matter how much he grumbles about them.)

So yeah, while they might have been raised very closely together and by the same ‘village’ per say, it’s by no means like dating a sibling

[edensrose]

Small little info points on my oc Lúmirë for those who are interested !

lúmirë means 'dark beauty'

maia of varda and manwë, he controls celestial dark matter and ensures it's balance, especially in the sky. he helped manwë in the creation of the sky and ensures that it is maintained as part of his duties

manwë's royal advisor

he is the older brother of my ocs ruinë and calassë, he is the twin of calassë ( calassë is his counterpart who controls celestial light matter, calassë is now a corrupt maia serving melkor )

he is a deer-presenting ainu, therefore has antlers and deer ears

studious and dedicated to his cause. he is painfully efficient in his duties and work, has a very black-and-white mindset on what is wrong and what is right. comes off as pretty standoffish and cold but that's mostly because of his straightforward and sometimes even monotone personality. has a bit of a sarcastic undertone and a no-nonsense attitude. he's actually a huge softy and naturally protective of other ( also he can get very flustered in intimate and affectionate situations ~ he's so precious, )

he tried to stop calassë when she wished to rain the true power of the stars down onto the land, this turned into a huge fight and resulted in his hands being forever wounded. they grew to be beyond sensitive to touch because his sister had burnt them so horribly. he wears gloves now. for some time he couldn't use his hands at all because of how they shook

very protective of his sisters, loves them so much and was crushed to see them grow corrupted

used to play the harp but now no longer can due to his hands

lúmirë feels indebted to manwë

fána refuses to die for some special little secret that we will get into the more I reveal him

some more pics because fuck I'm obsessed with his face claim please he's so pretty I can't xjdndk

[morgulscribe]

Two women discuss politics in a Nurnian parlor

"Thank you both for your hospitality," Goldwyn remarked stiffly. Dealing with the women of the enemy was always a tricky matter. Their gender gave them a commonality, and if they were also slaves they might sympathize with her plight, but they still were foes who could not be trusted.

"I imagine that you must find your new home quite different from your old one," Shumeeren began, glancing around the parlor. "To be honest, I know very little about the people of Rohan, other than that they suffer under a terrible oath sworn in ancient days by an ill-advised king."

"The Oath of Eorl and Cirion you mean," Goldwyn spoke up. "I would hardly call it terrible, nor Eorl the Young ill-advised."

"The Oath forces the Rohirrim to fight in the wars of the bloodthirsty, imperialistic Gondorians when peace is the far wiser choice." Shumeeren's shapely bosom rose and fell in a great sigh, and she shook her head sadly. "It is a pity that your country is caught between the great Powers of the world. But that conflict is far from Nurn, and you are safe here."

Goldwyn's eyes were drawn to the amulet of the Great Eye which dangled betwixt Shumeeren's breasts, and she felt her body tense in preparation for a verbal battle with this servant of Sauron.

[jaw-bones]

🖤✨🖤 a cropping — ft. naethlim & thindsilith

[ofainur]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ruinë⠀& erulissë⠀ ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. ruinë both admires and laments over erulissë ( angst ៸៸ unrequited love )

· ⊰ note. I don't know what possessed me to write this but my heart is now aching so much ;;

♡. — 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔

She is so beautiful. 

Magenta hues cut over to steal a glance at the Maia beside her, happily braiding daisies together in an intricate crown. Pink petals of the cherry blossom that they sit beneath flutter around her. The glimmers of the lamps peek through and shine down upon her. Illuminating her signature smile as her delicate fingers work on the yellow and white flowers. 

Ruinë never quite understood the notion of creating flower crowns. Did Yavanna's handmaiden simply enjoy her company or did the end product make it worthwhile?

Nevertheless, she went along with Erulissë's proposal. Her own fingers struggled to perfect the art of fastening stems and maintaining petals. Or perhaps she was simply distracted by her closest companion and the woman who eased her heart into a soar whenever she laid eyes upon her. 

Subtly, Ruinë steals another glance. Erulissë's already fair features were amplified by the scenery of petals and glimmers of light. The smile on her lips almost brings a similar one to Ruinë's - yet she manages to suppress it in favour of her indifferent expression, albeit barely. 

"So,'' she breaks the minutes of silence. "What has you so giddy?"

The giggle that caresses her ears faintly tints Ruinë's pale face pink, but she quickly gains control of herself and turns the entirety of her attention onto her friend. 

"It is nothing, really.'' Erulissë brushes her off with that same smile that put even the heavens to shame. 

A flutter pricks at the fire Maia's heart and she arches a brow. Her own lips tip further upwards into a widening smile and for once, she decides to pry. "That so?'' She chuckles. "Oh come on, surely you can grace me with the reason of your joy? It seems more than usual.'' 

Erulissë spares another giggle and turns to her friend with shimmery violet eyes. "Well,'' she starts. 

I never should have asked. 

"Suppose you could say I have someone on my mind.'' 

The fluttering turns into a sharp plummet into the pit of Ruinë's stomach and despite her trying her utmost hardest, she cannot stop the furrow in her brows. Thankfully, Erulissë had long since turned back to her almost-finished flower crown, obliviously leaving the other Maia to simply gaze at her with a cacophony of emotions. 

There is a stretch of silence. A long, almost uncomfortable one as Ruinë contemplates the ache spreading throughout her chest. 

Is that normal?

Why does it ache? 

She shakes the thought off. She tries to swallow the sudden thickness in her throat. She lowers her gaze back to her half-done, messy flower crown and attempts to bring her mind back to the serenity it was only just recently enjoying. 

Why is it hurting so much?

"Someone on your mind?" She curses herself for the newfound quietness of her voice. Thank Eru that the other Maia seems not to take notice. "Pray tell.'' 

"Ah, curious aren't we?" Erulissë gleams and shakes her head. "Just a Maia I have been getting to know as of late. I think you might have heard of him, actually.'' 

As Erulissë finishes her flower crown and goes on a lovesick ramble, Ruinë listens in silence. Her gaze never leaves the barely completed flower crown between her fingers. It is as though the very daisies mock her. As though the very petals laugh at her. 

It takes everything within her to maintain her usual indifferent expression and stop her ears from drooping. The happiness in Erulissë's voice does nothing but burn her throat. Sting her fëa. 

But she wills herself to listen nevertheless. 

As she raises her head in the slightest and peers at her closest friend, the woman who both made her heart flutter and crushed it into a thousand pieces, she still thinks to herself. 

She is so beautiful. 

Her gaze softens. 

Even when she loves someone else. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⊱· ❀ ·⊰

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Violet eyes are as sharp as the ice evident on her face. Smiling lips now curl into a contemptuous frown. 

Be it distaste,

Be it disgust,

Ruinë no longer can distinguish between the two. Her own expression lacks her indifference, despite desperately attempting to maintain it. Her magenta eyes shine with almost as much sorrow as they did all that time ago. On that fateful day. 

"Lissë,'' she risks, her gaze never leaving the face of her once closest friend. A relationship now soured by the ages and her own actions. 

The Maia still withholds the luxury of response from Ruinë and instead continues walking. She brushes past the other without so much a glance and steps on ahead. Leaving the woman dressed in white and sapphire. 

She knows that it will serve as nothing but to break her heart further, yet Ruinë still spares a glance over her shoulder. Solemnly watching the one who once held her heart and trust, leave her behind as those before have. As many will continue to. 

Her gaze lowers to a daisy greeting her from the ground. Mocking her. Taunting her. 

She is so beautiful. 

Leaning down, her fingers pluck at the delicate flower and bring it to her chest. 

Even if she hates me. 

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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖  please consider liking, reblogging and / or commenting if you enjoy my work! all feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

[sauroff]

A commission for the wonderful @greyjedijaneite of their OC Meleth. She is the daughter of Caranthir and Haleth. You can read about her and how she is raised by Aredhel and Haleth in their fic Ladies Love a Huntress. And if you think she looks a lot like my first drawing of Nerdanel is because she does. That's an important thing in the fic