#did not explain my Morwen thoughts well at all :(

[outofangband]

morwen 1 13 22.... aerin 8 3 5

From this character ask game here!

1. Most visually striking feature

I’ll go with the canon answer because I find it so compelling! Definitely Morwen’s eyes! I will make a collage one day of all the relevant quotes. The light in them hard to endure…

She is in general though a rather striking person. Morwen has an intensity to her demeanor and gaze that people tend to have an er…visceral…reaction to.

13. Their ideal climate and weather

Not Hithlum. Morwen dislikes humidity. She prefers drier weather and climate. Dorthonion has a markedly different climate than Hithlum and one Morwen greatly preferred. She likes cooler weather. Early to mid autumn is probably ideal temperature.

22. Are they good at sensing the thoughts and emotions of others? How do they experience them?

Oh I need an entire separate post for this! In short, Not usually. Morwen often considers the emotions of others, and herself, to be a hindrance. When she identifies them or understands them, she still doesn’t always consider them.

I think she is a very observant person even if she isn’t particularly emotionally attuned (? Unsure of word?). Morwen certainly notices changes in others, in their demeanor or features.

I remember this line here about her, trying to read Túrin’s face like a riddle.

She tends to experience them quietly. She’s not good at emotional language or discussion and strongly dislikes it. She’s certainly aware that people are often driven by emotion and she doesn’t necessarily discount this, but she doesn’t like it. It’s vital to explain though that she shares this sentiment as much if not more towards her own emotions. For Morwen was stern with others as with herself etc etc

Anyways I feel I am thoroughly failing at explaining what I mean for which I apologize:(

Aerin

3. Favorite view

Aerin’s favorite view are the expanse of fields and streams from the surroundings of the home she grew up in. She also loved the view of Dor-lómin from upon Amon Darthir where she rode several times as a teenager.

5. Do they prefer enclosed or wide open spaces

Definitely open! Aerin grew up riding and traveling with her family’s horses and thus very active. I’ve talked about this before but the restrictions of her literal space and movement is one of the worst parts of her captivity and the hardest to adjust to.

She’s often further confined as punishment for her disobedience, especially in the first few years.

8. Their favorite scents

Clean horse fur, grass after rain in the summer, the smell of blankets or clothes warmed by the sun, rosemary, lilac (but post Nírnaeth it makes her sad, or even bitter), sweet hay

Thank you @welcomingdisaster I love them

[deusexlachina]

Wannabe Warden Part 17: Utterly humiliate the Grey Wardens with my superior darkspawn-slaying skills

In which I am still not deemed worthy of the Grey Wardens despite saving three of them, plus another of Warden Morwen's friends.

After melting enemies left and right with the superior and better one-handed axe, I quickly rack up a vast fortune. Naturally, I spend almost all of it on more equipment to make me even stronger - Four-Fingered Eddie's Lucky Talisman. Unlike in Origins, most items have no description, so I can only imagine he's Four-Fingered Eddie because the amulet gave him so many critical hits he cut his finger clean off slicing onions.

This goes well with the other piece of crit-tastic murder jewellery I spent the rest of my money on back in Act 2 - the puzzle ring of...the BLACK FOX! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Unlike poor Four-Fingered Eddie, there are codex entries describing who the Black Fox is and what his puzzle rings might be, but why read the book when you can watch the movie? With these magic charms and a good head start, only the sprightliest sprite, the nimblest elf, the wickedest witch or the devil himself can withstand my near-constant stream of critical hits. Speaking of critical hits and the nimblest elf, I encounter Zevran, Warden Morwen's murderin' chum. Anders recognizes him. From the stories. They never actually fought together.

Zevran explains that he's being hunted by the Antivan Crows, again, despite the fact that Warden Morwen did several jobs for the Crows in exchange for them backing off from her, the Couslands, and Zevran in particular. Maybe these Crows are a splinter group, or maybe assassins tell lies to people.

Unfortunately for the Crows, they're the "Coterie" enemy type, which is weak to spirit damage, aka the purple numbers that cloud the air whenever I look at someone funny. Worse, with my newfound knowledge of one-handers, I respec Other Aveline into a pure DPS battering ram and hand her the other, only slightly less broken, spirit axe. What's she trying to do, steal my look? Some people. Anyway, we win, and Zevran has a reward for me.

I'm excited now. As a good friend of the Warden-Commander, Zevran would make an excellent job reference for Being A Grey Warden. Unfortunately, the reward is a dagger, which is already obsolete because only Isabela can use them and she has better ones. Isabela is so insulted at this vendor trash that she asks for makeup sex despite unilaterally claiming me as a girlfriend. But threesomes are Isabela's hobby, so I oblige my yandere pirate lover and she gets to be stuck in a compromising position between two deadly fighters, which is usually how combat with her turns out.

Other Aveline sees us propositioning each other and throws up a little in her mouth that we're talking about having sex with each other right in front of her. It's an easy mistake, I thought she didn't mind that kind of thing since she asked me to vicariously seduce her direct subordinate, and no, she is not living that down three years later.

I'm thinking more clearly now, but I'm not satisfied, and not just because Zevran kept crying out "I still remember MY first battle! Hahaha!" But I get another chance to prove myself to the Wardens. Warden Nathaniel Howe, who is moderately nicer than his dad who killed Morwen's family, is missing in the Deep Roads, so I go rescue him.

This is more difficult than I remember because these aren't your average, everyday, darkspawn. These are advanced darkspawn. I wonder who made this sidequest so overtuned before I remember that it was me, because I thought it would be fun to have both Nightmare Ultra difficulty and nastier darkspawn. It's just like the escape from Lothering. Except this time, the roles are reversed. I can do thousands of damage in a second, so it's their turn to run screaming from me.

This is for Wesley! This is for all three of my buddies who got mangled trying to keep up with the dozens of advanced darkspawn I'm mowing down! And, most of all...this is for Carver!

But I'm not the only one avenging Carver. Bethany is also here, fighting the good fight. Unfortunately, she's not doing as well as she does with me, because the Wardens unwisely armed her with a fire staff. Curiously, she gets a nature staff exclusively if she's not a Warden, despite nature being twice as effective as fire against darkspawn. See, this is why Bethany needs me. And why the Wardens need me.

She introduces me as her sister. (Or I WAS her sister...before she got THE BLIGHT!!!) I miss her, but she can't let herself miss the family.

Once again, she manages to make everyone feel uncomfortable - not just with her bleak words, but also by steadily zooming in on her face, closer and closer. JUST LIKE THE TAINT IN HER VEINS.

But I have saved her life, and that of Nathaniel. And some other guy who made bombs that were supposed to help fight the darkspawn but these ones are so powerful that explosives barely tickle them. Because of me, Nathaniel will see his sister and nephew again. And - seeing how I wiped out the darkspawn more than ten times faster than all three actual Wardens present - he has a fitting reward for me.

I reach out my hand, waiting for a notice of Conscription, and receive a longsword, which is already obsolete because only people named Aveline can use longswords and we both have much better weapons already.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Elements of Morgoth’s Curse on Húrin’s Family

There’s a lot of things going on in the Narn i Hîn Húrin, so I wanted to lay out what I think are the different elements of Morgoth’s curse. There’s a lot of aspects, from the things he does directly (send forces to capture Amon Rudh, send Glaurung to Nargothrond), supernatural bad luck (Túrin killing Beleg), and things that I read as more subtle negative influences.

First, I think the curse broadly influences both Túrin and everyone around him to be on their worst behaviour. It can’t make anyone do anything, it can’t override free will, but it can encourage bad behaviour and bad decisions. We’ve got one statement directly pointing to this, from Mablung to Saeros when the latter deliberately antagonizes Túrin and gets a jug thrown at his face for his trouble: “I think that some shadow of the North has reached out to touch us tonight. Take heed, lest you do the will of Morgoth in your pride, and remember than you are of the Eldar.”

My inclination is to think that Mablung has percieved correctly here, amd that Morgoth is doing everything he can to get Túrin out of Doriath, where Morgoth’s power to harm him is limited. This influence encourages Saeros’ hostility, Túrin’s revenge, and Túrin’s hasty decision to leave Doriath and refuse to explain his actions.

There are a lot of things that I read this way - Túrin’s stubbornness, his preying on civilians and travellers during his early days with the outlaws, the outlaws’ striking cruelty towards Beleg, Androg’s behaviour, Mîm’s resentments and later betrayal, Túrin’s arrogance and hostility towards dissent in Nargothrond, and even Morwen and Nienor’s determination to leave Doriath and go with the scouting mission to Nargothrond are all things chosen by the characters themselves, but in the above context it’s easy to suspect a subtle temptation underlying them. And the cruelty of the influence on the family of Húrin, in particular, is that the influence is driving, I think, a tragedy specifically directed at operating through hamartia - a virtue that becomes a vice in excess - to turn courage into recklessness and stubborn determination into obstinance.

Once Túrin leaves Doriath, the curse begins to work in some more direct ways. One subtle implication of the Narn is that Morgoth is clouding Túrin’s good memories of Doriath so that he will not return.

Coming suddenly out of his thought he said to Beleg: “The elf-maiden whom you named: I owe her well for her timely witness; yet I cannot recall her. Why did she watch my ways?”

Then Beleg looked stragely at him. “Why indeed?” he said. “Túrin, have you lived always with your heart and half your mind far away? You walked with Nellas in the woods of Doriath, when you were a boy.”

“That was long ago,” said Túrin. “Or so my childhood now seems, and a mist is over it - save the memory of my father’s house in Dor-lómin. But why should I have walked with an elf-maiden?”

A third way, and probably the most dramatic one, in which the curse works is as a very powerful bad-luck charm. Túrin accidentally killing Beleg, Túrin finding Nienor unconscious and naked on the burial mound of Finduilas, and possibly even the love triangle between Finduilas, Gwindor, and Túrin.

These three elements of the curse can operate whether Morgoth knows where Túrin is or not (the Narn does mention Morgoth loses track of him from time to time, until Túrin’s determination for open war periodically reveals him again).

And then the fourth element is Morgoth acting directly - sending forces after Túrin on Amon Rudh, sending Glaurung to Nargothrond, having Glauring hypnotize first Túrin and then Nienor, sending Glaurung to Brethil. I almost wonder if Morgoth at this point infuses some part of his spirit into Glaurung; prior to this the dragon seems like a large and dangerous, but basically animal-like monster, whereas in the Narn he’s intelligent, manipulative, and malicious.

And there are others things where it’s hard to tell what aspect of the curse is at work, but connections seem more than coincidental. Saeros taunt Túrin about the women of Dor-lómin “running like beasts clad only in their hair”; Nienor, enchanted by Glaurung, runs, “flying like a deer among the trees with her hair streaming in the wind of her speed” and tears off her clothing. Saeros leaps to his death at a chasm of a river; so, later, does Nienor (at Caben-en-Aras, the Deer’s Leap). The wording, the recurrence if the word ‘deer’, indicates that Tolkien intended us to make this connection, but what does that mean?

It seems to easy to claim that Morgoth had it all planned out from the start, from Saeros to Nienor; there are far too many twists and turns in Túrin’s story for it to seem plausible that Morgoth could orchestrate it that precisely, from start to finish. He’s got to be playing things by ear and adapting to circumstances at least a bit. But the Saeros parallel could suggest Morgoth had the general endgame (Túrin and Nienor marrying each other unknowingly) in mind from the start, and was waiting for the right moment when the family were in geographical proximity and outside the protection of Doriath.

EDIT: On the “painful dramatic ironies” front, I forgot to mention Túrin loving Finduilas ‘as a sister’ because she reminds him of the women of the House of Hador, and then falling in love with his actual sister in part because she connects with his memories of / guilt about Finduilas.

[ladysternchen]

All of Arda Is Autistic- Túrin

Túrin tugged at the collar of his rough woollen tunic. The wind was icy and he knew that he should be grateful for the warm garment, aware that a long and wearisome journey lay before them that would offer little shelter and that before long, he would find his death without proper clothing. Yet still, the wool scratching his skin made him so uncomfortable it drowned out almost all other feelings and emotions.

“Let the tunic be, Túrin!”

His mother’s voice sounded stern.

“It itches! I wish I could have my old tunic back and my mantle!”

There was the sound of derisive laughter beside him, and turning, Túrin saw one of the men who helped gathering their sparse provisions looking at him in scorn.

“Oh, it is indeed well befitting that you shall set off to live among the elvenfolk, Master Túrin. Surly, their fine garments will suit you better than what we can provide. I can but imagine the hardship of having to wear what warms you. Freezing must be a little thing in comparison. Ah, what Lord Húrin would have had to say about this…”

“That will do!” 

Morwen’s tone was sharp now, and cold as ice. Túrin still tried to untangle what had been said to him. Clearly, he had been mocked, for by no means could anyone really think freezing preferable -though, that Túrin had to admit to himself, just now a childish part of his mind indeed would have preferred freezing to the itching. Why anyone would say such a thing or what Túrin had done to provoke such harsh words, however, he did not know.

His mother’s hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

“I know it is uncomfortable, but you are no fool, nor a litte child. You know you need the warmth.”

She pressed him to her side as best she could with her rounded belly, something that surprised Túrin a little. Morwen was not one to show affections lightly, but nor was Túrin. It was for precisely that scarceness that those moments of closeness ever had a deep meaning, which made Túrin feel the weight of farewell all the more. A small part of him again wanted to beg Morwen that he should be allowed to remain with her, or else have her leave with them, but she had already explained to him why neither was an option, and he had found it logical, even if it still grieved him terribly. 

“What would father have said if he had heard? Would he have scolded me for speaking my mind without thinking again?” Túrin asked instead. He knew the question was unimportant, but still he could not leave without it being answered. Morwen gave him a rare smile at that.

“Oh, doubtlessly he would have found many words… ”

“Yes…” Túrin blurted out. “… many words I could never comprehend! Either I say too much or too little. I don’t know how to stand being around so many new people, none of whom I will be able to understand. They say that the Elves use even more words to say even less!”

Morwen nodded gravely, and Túrin knew that she understood perfectly what worried him. Yet still, she smiled slightly.

“You may discover that it is among the Iathrim that you will find talking easier. It is said that the King himself is not a man -elf- of many words and that he values deeds over fair sayings. So you might still find an ally there. After all, we are kinsfolk through Beren, and he will receive you kindly.”

Túrin glanced up at his mother doubtfully, only to see the look in her eyes that said only too clearly: or else. And that, irrational though it was, gave him a lot of confidence.

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Part 52- The Voice

Summary: The gathering in Rivendell continues but without Josie, and eventually without the King. Thranduil does not understand his moonstone ring's outburst. He wishes to be alone and heads to his special place of moonlight in the forest. What will he find there? Will someone's voice stop the heartless Elvenking from doing something he will forever regret? The curse on the Elf Lord is now in full force and will wreak havoc on all involved. Will Yandere Thranduil ever be back? Or will a new Thranduil arise if he ever remembers his one true love?

One of the most common traits of a yandere is having a possessive and jealous streak, and they are in agony if anyone else shows affection for their love interest. Jealousy is an ugly emotion even in the best of times, but yanderes take it to another level entirely.

*Smut, Angst, Dark, Sexual*

An elf attendant came to clean up Thranduil's broken chalice that laid at his feet while he just stood frigid, gaping at his glowing ring. He had it made for a specific reason. The moonstone was his mother's and held all her magical power, although she never wore at as a piece of jewelry. She had bequeathed it to Thranduil before the war of dragon fire, revealing to him that it would only glow for his one true love, as his magic and light now lives inside of it. Thranduil always dreamed of such a love and had the gem made into a ring and paired a piece of it into a necklace to be given to that special love if he ever found her. Little did he know he already had and that is why he deemed this glow impossible. He saw you wearing the moonstone just before the departure to Rivendell, but it was the quickest of glances and he had many other things on his mind, such as the red haired she elf he knew would be there....and his annoyance of you.

"Adar. I apologize, I do not understand what just happened." Legolas said as he still tasted your sweet tongue on his.

Thranduil snapped out of his trance and glared at his son. "If you are going to tongue fuck your Laketown filth, do so in your private quarters." That kiss riled Thranduil up bad. Was it because she put her hands on the Prince, which is also forbidden, or was it simply because he was jealous.

"Thranduil. Respectfully my Lord, please do not speak of her in such manner. I know her very well and she is far from the filth that lies in that place." Haldir spoke in your defense bravely to an already agitated King.

Thranduil's neck stiffened as his chin lightly lifted and peered down at Haldir with an expressionless face.

Haldir knew he was screwed as Thranduil was in his head right now, searching for answers to explain his valorous words. Thranduil's eyes widened. "You are in love with this woman? A woman who claims to love me, be my wife and carry my child and who displayed such osculation on my son just moments ago in an attempt to trouble me. Haldir, my long time dear friend and son's keeper, you deserve so much more than that. I would not keep a woman that pined for another. I think you recall the incident with Legolas's.... Morwen. She got everything she deserved with banishment to the dark forest and will suffer the rest of her putrid life." The King had forgotten she was dead and that he had killed her, to protect you, but he knew now because Haldir's thoughts couldn't contain it.

"I am sorry my Lord, I did not mean for you find out in such a way. It's just that you mentioned her.."

Thranduil was silent and then excused himself, heading outside, not knowing that is where you had gone.

He just found out he killed the mother of his son, which he wanted dead anyways, but he had done it for you, someone meaningless to him, which told him you must have meant something. He didn't understand how he did not, could not remember this. No one had told him how his memory loss came about, in fear of his reaction with his reverting back to his inferior ways, so they all put the thoughts out of their minds. And he most certainly did not ask. He did not want to know as he was quite content in his current state. Until now. He was extremely affected by this revelation....his mind in a disarray. The Elvenking still longed for his special place there in Rivendell that he had always went to as a young elf to be in his thoughts and make wishes upon the great star, like when he had wished for you. A place he referred to as Claire De Lune(moonlight) that only he knew existed, a place he never took anyone but you and made sweet love to you there in the water, but all that was non-existent in his memory. He was a bit distraught over seeing you kiss his son in such a way, but he would never admit that it bothered him in the way it had. As far as he felt, you meant nothing to him and wished to be rid of you for your interference in his son's and friend's life, and now his.

You were able to find the clearing of "Moonlight" and went over to the crystal blue lagoon's small beach area, took your boots off and stood in the water, staring up at the great star. You closed your eyes and wished so hard for your Thranduil to come back. "Please...I love Thranduil so much." you said out loud and began to sob.

He came into the clearing of his special place and froze as he saw you there with your back to him, crying by the water that laid in the center of this hidden gem. The one he ravished you in but he did not remember. He heard your words of love for him. He slowly approached you and as he did so, you smelled him and spun around in fright, causing you to fall into the shallow water on your butt with a scream. Thranduil could not help it and let out a laugh. You stood up in a fury and composed yourself. All you could see was his mouth on that she elf's, just like it was on Tauriel's and it hurt you terribly, which is what he wanted as he had grinned at you right before he had done it. "You think this is funny?" you snapped.

"Yes...yes I do, and well deserved after groping my son, whom you seem to have forgotten is the Prince of Mirkwood. No one touches him just as they would not I."

Now you laughed. "Really? That is not what I, nor half of Rivendell witnessed as the she elf was certainly touching you, the inside of your throat to be more specific!!"

His grin now dropped to a pissed off smirk. "I am the King of the Woodland Realm. What I do is no concern of yours or anyone else's, or have you forgotten who I am!?" The condescending King sneered.

You walked right up to him. "Oh I know exactly who and what you are, an arrogant egotistical patronizing entitled prick!" You couldn't even believe the parade of words that just spewed from your lips. Neither could he.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way woman!" he raged with his nose flared.

"And what are you going to do about it huh?? My NAME is Josie, better yet, Josephine which is what you call me. Try saying it. Say it with emphasis like you do when you fuck me." you reeled as you stood right up against his chest, peering into his eclipsed eyes.

Thranduil became livid and grabbed your arm.

He then pushed you up against a tree, but strangely not in a way that would hurt you. You gasped and stared up at him as he glared down at you, his breath raging like a mad bull. "Is that what you wish? For me to fuck you...Josephine!" he growled. You whimpered at his anger and squirmed to free yourself. He had never touched you in such a way. He laughed and his eyes darkened, scaring the hell out of you. "Is this what you want?" he whispered devilishly against your ear and placed his hand between your legs causing you to quiver. He began to take in your scent and trailed his open mouth up your neck, then brought his lips in front of yours. His hot sweet breath delved into your mouth as he spoke. "Should I pick up where Haldir...I mean Peter left off?"

Now you were truly frightened. How did he know about that? And why was he acting this way? He pushed his very hard cock against your groin and growled a moan against your trembling lips. "Thranduil...stop this! You're hurting me.."

He gave you a light slam against the tree. "Did I not tell you how to address me girl! It is King Thranduil to you."

You began to cry. "Stop, please. You would never hurt me! This is not you! I know you do not want to do this..."

"Ohhhh, but I doo." he snarled and ran his tongue over your cheek, licking your tears. You saw his eyes. They were black like Haldir's were that night. You screamed and he shut you up with a hard heavy kiss to where you could barely breathe. He withdrew and then lapped his tongue over your lips. He lifted you up against the tree as you gasped out a fearful squeal, and grinded his solid mass against your entrance.

"Thranduil!!!" you screamed as you grasped your necklace. It shone brighter than the moon and his ring lit up simultaneously, as it reflected in his eyes revealing his true blue ones.

He stood paralyzed staring at the gems and a voice called out to him. "Adar..." His eyes darted all around searching for the voice, that was not of his son but that which of a female. He let go of you and backed up, staring at your stomach. He dropped to his knees and slowly brought his trembling hand up, placing it on your belly. You didn't know what was happening but it was apparent that he had heard something. You stood immobile against the tree with your shaking hands up by your shoulders, staring down at him. He then spoke her name and fell to the ground in a daze.

"Th...Thranduil??" you whispered. He didn't move and you panicked as you dropped beside him, trying to snap him out of it. "Baby!! Come on, look at me!" You could hear him trying to speak.

"Josephine...." he mumbled. Then another name. Her name. The name you called your daughter in the fountain water's vision. It then became clear to you what he had heard. Her voice. How was this possible? You knew of his powers to hear thoughts, but she was merely the size of a small stone.

Haldir and Legolas came running up, as they had followed the King shortly after he left, but lost track of him momentarily. "Help me! He collapsed! He...he had those...eyes. I..I don't know what happened." you cried.

Haldir shuttered at your words as he remembered his own eyes when he attacked you, only they were not his eyes, but eyes of a beast. Thranduil's eyes began to blink and grew wide at seeing everyone staring down at him.

"I am having what one calls Deja Vu as I am lying on the ground again with many eyes upon me." he snarked and stood up, brushing himself off. He peered down at you sitting on the ground with red teary eyes and visibly trembling. "Gather yourself woman, your appearance is quite unbecoming." He recalled the recent events but nothing more. He would not speak of it as he didn't know what had came over him to make him act in such violent way. One thing he would never do, even as an Elvenking, is force himself on a female. He remembered your moonstone light up, and hearing a voice that of a child but he resisted the memory. "I came here to be alone and it appears that is not going to happen. I am going to return to the gathering for much needed spirits."

His words were cold as ice. As if nothing had happened, as if he didn't just try to have his way with you. You knew it wasn't him, but that of the curse.... still, his reaction enraged you.

"Cin will ú- turn awaui!" (You will not turn away) you shouted. "Not after what just happened here and I know you remember it."

Thranduil ceased and turned with a scowl on his face. Amazed though that you could speak elvish. "Cin berth- na conn- nin!" (You dare to command me) "You are nothing! You are powerless when it comes me! I do not want your memories!"

Adrenaline coursed through you. You were far from powerless and it was about time the Elvenking was aware of it. "You want power? You like power Yandere Thranduil? Let me give it to you! For I am a Queeeeen!"

Without warning the wind raged as you glared at Thranduil.

The sky darkened with ominous storm clouds, thunder crashed and lightning lit up the heavens.

Although shocked, Thranduil stared in awe of what he was witnessing, that was until a lightning bolt came down, striking just feet from him, knocking him onto his back. You stood emotionless and still with rage boiling through you that had been pent up inside of you for sometime now. He was uninjured but extremely pissed off as he stood up. The storm halted and all was silent except for Thranduil's next words.

"This little charade will cost you dearly." he snarled through his teeth and stormed off.

You felt weak and began to fall. Haldir grabbed you as he had been beside you the entire time. "Jo...are you alright??" All you could do was wrap your arms around him and cry. He held you tight as Legolas watched, wanting to be the one to comfort you. He decided to go after his father so he didn't have to look at your affections for his Guardian. He realized in this moment that Haldir was right with his not so subtle accusations in his room last week of what you meant to him. He also knew you only kissed him to hurt his father which in turn hurt him, although he knew that was not your intentions. "Jo, come on, let me get you back to your room. Hold on to me, I will carry you sweetheart."

You spoke with him on the way back. "Haldir...it is like he does not want to remember. Could that be? Like his subconscious or something, because of all the guilt he felt for what he did? I mean, it has been a week now and he has remembered nothing. I remembered in just a few days. Could he be suppressing his memories unintentionally or maybe even broke the hourglass on purpose to punish himself?"

Haldir kissed your head. "I suppose that could happen, it makes sense. But remember, he is suffering a curse as well and I truly do not know if he would have broken it intentionally because that in turn would hurt you...and then not to mention....his revival from the pendant...Elrond said it could be permanent. I am sorry Jo, I wish I knew."

"So...who is the she elf he was swapping spit with?" Haldir chuckled at your choice of words, but then hesitated to tell you what he knew. You could see something was wrong. "Haldir? Hey...what is it?" He has never lied to you and was not about to start now so he just said it..

"She is the same elf I was with back in Lorien that Legolas found me with. Jo I am so sorry, I did not know she would be here."

"Please put me down." you asked in a shocked whisper.

He did and looked down in shame. "Jo...I am ashamed to admit that I did it to spite Thranduil after finding out he had cursed me again, she means nothing to me otherwise."

What he told you didn't bother you as much as the fact he felt it would bother Thranduil. "Was she that important to him, that you felt it would bother him?"

"No, nothing like that. I am sure you are aware that he has been with many she elves after Morwen when he went into his darkened stature, she just happened to be one of them. It would bother him only to know that I had been with what he has had when he despised me so." You both looked at each other, knowing you were both thinking the same thing of how you and Haldir had been together. "It amazes me though...her name. It is so similar to yours. Joliel."

"And has red hair..." You then wondered if Thranduil had fancied her more than Haldir knew and maybe that is why he was ever attracted to you in the first place. You felt sick again....

Thranduil went straight for the wine on the patio, drinking down three glasses in a row. The party was just getting lively as night had fallen. His nerves were rattled after what just entailed and he was angry....so angry and bitter that he got schooled the way he did by what he considered a lowly human. The darkness was consuming him again and he had no control over it at all. He meant what he said that you would pay for such treason as he saw it to be. First and foremost, he had no plans of letting you return to his Kingdom, but that just was not good enough. Off he went to make the biggest mistake he would come to know.

He went down the halls towards his room and stopped at a door just around the corner and knocked. The door opened and there stood the fiery haired she elf Joliel. He pushed her inside and slammed the door behind him, then shoved her against the wall face first as he didn't want to look at her. He didn't know why, but he just did not want to. She was enjoying every bit of it as the Elvenking kept a dead to the world facade on his face. He wasted no time and undid his pants, releasing his throbbing cock and pulled her dress up. He spread her legs apart with his knee and shoved into her in a frenzy, pumping only a few times and pulled out, cumming onto her back. He pulled his pants up with a satisfied grin and as she stood there in shock that he just did that, not even allowing her to cum. He felt no desire to keep going, which as an elf, he could have had multiple orgasms like he always did with you and the fact he would not release inside of her spoke volumes. But he was unaware of all that. He just knew he got his revenge. The King didn't look at her or say a word and just walked out.

Haldir walked you up to your corridors but you both got an awful sight along the way. Thranduil coming out of the room adjusting his cock in his pants. The door raged open behind him as Joliel yelled at him. "That is it? I did not even get to fini..." She halted her words when she saw you and Haldir standing there. She quickly closed the door and locked it. Thranduil smirked at you and went on his way back to the party.

"Haldir......" you squeaked as tears burnt your widened eyes. "Help me...I...I cannot stand...." You then passed out in his arms and later awoke in Rivendell's infirmary with Arwen looking over you.

"A...Arwen?" you whispered as your eyes came into focus.

"Yes my Lady. Do not fret, you are safe. Haldir brought you to me with word of your condition." she said with a kind smile.

"Hal..Haldir...Haldir!!" you shouted as your eyes searched for him. He was just outside in the hall and came running in to your cries for him.

"My Lady...I am here. I have not left you."

You sat up and hugged him so tight in panic. "Please...please tell me it was a dream..." you sobbed into his neck.

"I..I wish I could Jo. I am so very sorry you had to see such a thing." Haldir was in such pain for you. He had not a clue how to make you feel better. Your fingers gripped at the back of his tunic as you sobbed with no sound.

"My Lady...please drink this. It will calm you and is safe for the child." Arwen said as she held out a chalice of water.

You would not release Haldir and would not speak. "Arwen, it is alright. I can calm her. I am going to take her to her room if you feel she is in no physical danger?"

Arwen was a healer like no other and had the gift of knowing so Haldir trusted her words. "Yes, all seems well as far as the little one. Josie just needs much rest and to remain calm."

He carried you off back to your room. Legolas was waiting as he had heard his father's thoughts. "Is she alright! I cannot fathom what has happened." He reeled as Haldir laid you upon your bed.

"Legolas?" you whimpered.

"Yes my Lady, it is I. Do not worry." Legolas went to your side and stroked your forehead.

"I..I am so sorry for what I did Legolas...it was so wrong of me."

"Hush now. I understand why you did that. It did not bother me." He so fibbed beyond belief. It bothered him immensely, but he knew you would never feel anything more for him than just adoration and friendship. He left you in Haldir's care and went back to give his father an earful.

Haldir then sat beside you, gazing down in your tired and stressed eyes. "Let me help, like I have before. Open your mind and I will make it all go away for the night." His voice alone was so calming. You nodded.

"But you must stay with me, please do not leave." you said as you gripped his hand. He squeezed your hand back and smiled, then closed his eyes. You felt his magic swim through you as you softly moaned and drifted right off to sleep, holding the dreamcatcher in your other hand.

You awoke dream free the next morning with Haldir silently asleep on the floor beside you. You smiled at his peaceful beautiful form. You felt so lucky to have him. You snuck off into the bath and then got dressed as he still slept. He was obviously in much need of rest as you were. You were in a new mind frame and wanted no part of the Elvenking. After all, that is what he wanted too. Maybe it was Haldir's magic or maybe it was just that you were fed the fuck up. You decided that you were going to give the Elf Lord a taste of his own repugnant medicine by keeping to yourself and not giving his ego the attention it craved. You bent down on your knees beside the sleeping marchwarden and rubbed his cheek softly. "Wake up sunshine."

His eyes fluttered open and smiled at your face, stretched and yawned, then sat up. "Hey beautiful....my god you are... what is the occasion?" he asked in referral to how dressed up you were and also noticed you were not wearing your moonstone necklace.

"Come...let's go eat and then journey around Rivendell like we used to. There's so many waterfalls I want to see."

He was happy to see your enthusiasm but it worried him too that you were deflecting and possibly suffering from the prior night's trauma. Either way, he was going to help you the best he could.

You and Haldir entered the patio and there sat The Elvenking conversing with Gandalf and Elrond. You put your arm under Haldir's and walked him right over to them and sat down. It was instantly apparent that Thranduil was displeased of your arrival, especially with Haldir in such a manner and it perturbed him to see you unaffected from what he had done, which is exactly what you wanted. You wanted to blow his ego to bits, and you were succeeding. The King stared at you with his mouth practically hung open.

You all ate and talked but you never looked at Thranduil once although you felt his eyes on you from time to time. You were not going to give him the satisfaction that he destroyed you. "Where is Legolas?" you asked.

"He left for Mirkwood. Someone has to keep the Kingdom in order and he seemed to have had his fill here." Thranduil answered in a provocative way.

You couldn't believe he left without saying goodbye. Was he upset with you, you wondered, or did something happen between he and Thranduil last night when Legolas went to find him after he found out what his father had done. You did not reply to Thranduil, although you wanted to, asking what he did to cause his son to abruptly leave.

"Haldir...are you ready for our walk?" you asked and laid your hand on his. Thranduil did not turn his head but you saw his eyes angle down to look at your hand on top of Haldir's. You chuckled inside as you were over his shit. Off you and Haldir went to Thranduil's dismay. You stopped and turned around. "King Thranduil, would you and Joliel like to join us?" If looks could kill was the reaction you got and had hoped for as Thranduil rolled his eyes.

You got outside with Haldir and laughed. "Jo...you are so bad. You really should not antagonize him."

"Since when do you care? Don't tell me you are falling for his lovey dovey act over you? If he ever remembers, that will all become non-existent." Haldir looked down and said nothing. "Haldir...I..I am sorry. I know you cared for him once. I don't mean to hurt you but you know I am right. I don't want to see him hurt you anymore. You've been hurt enough." You looked down as you both walked in silence. All Haldir could think was if Thranduil ever remembers, he himself will become non-existent to you as you will run back into the King's arms.

You both walked for sometime and then there in front of you was the most beautiful of waterfalls you had ever seen.

"Haldir!! this....this is amazing!" but then you looked up the way and noticed it was beside where you and Haldir fell from the cliff. "Oh god...I didn't realize where we were. Did you bring me here on purpose?"

"Of course not Jo... This is where I ended up after the fall and just thought you would like to see the beauty of it."

"Oh...I am so sorry Haldir. I should never have implied you would do such a thing. God, that's my own fault that we fell to begin with, all over fucking Thranduil."

"Jo....I do not blame you. I should have picked a different area."

"No. Stop. This...is perfect Haldir. You....are perfect." You touched his cheek gently and stared up into his eyes. His hand came up and lightly grazed your face, running his fingertips over your ear. You could not stop looking at his beauty, and...his eyes. So filled with love.

You let it happen. Haldir slowly brought his mouth down and tenderly laid his lips upon yours, holding still and then gently released. You were both nose to nose and you pulled him back to you, taking his mouth in fully as yours and his lips fit so snug and tight together. It started to become more passionate and would have went further until you were interrupted by the sound of Rivendell's horns sounding out in 3's. You gasped and Haldir grabbed you up. "We must go...that is a predator warning."

He took your hand and guided you back to the gates. That's when you saw them. Coming in from the dark forest that laid to the east, the same dark forest you had dealings with of Malsha...and Maldyr, Malsin an Morwen as well. Spiders. Gigantic fucking spiders. Your worst fear. "Halllldiiiirrrr???"

"Stay behind me! Take my knife."

Elves were everywhere fighting these beasts off. You desperately looked for Thranduil and then you saw him, armored up, riding Moose as he gracefully swung his sword like some routine of everyday life, slicing these repulsive creatures in two as Moose trampled them to death. It made your heart flutter at his bad ass skills that he apparently did not forget.

A spider came up from behind and and pulled Thranduil back off of Moose with one of it's many legs. He tumbled down with such grace and came up swinging.

"THRANDUIL!!!!" you screamed. Your scream distracted him as he took that dire second to look towards your voice, causing the sting....right into his back.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" Your scream echoed as you watched Thranduil fall to his knees.

You fell to yours in what felt like slow motion and the most intense power of pure love came out of you, radiating in a glowing bubble of protection, covering Thranduil fully. Your shield. And also your light. The poison that had been injected into him, burst out and sprayed back into the perpetrator's eyes. All the spiders ran from your light, scurrying back into the darkness. Thranduil was able to stand and just stared at you, then falling back to his knees. You didn't know what to think. He seemed grateful which was odd for an Elvenking to portray....but then....you realized he was not the Elvenking....His eyes...you saw his eyes....He was your King....

"Josephine....More than nin own cuil." (More than my own life) he said............ and then fell over......

@tigereyesf @redeemer46

Masterlist

[il-mio-tesoro]

Chelsea Volturi Headcanons

Chelsea’s life :) will definitely write Afton HCs next, I think I spruced her up real nice and I love my faceclaim for her. Also might write headcanons for Morwen, and Peccia because they too, have great faceclaims and I can’t wait to explore them as characters.

requests and masterlist

CW// hints at poisoning, husband dying, food poisoning, alcohol is mentioned, domestic abuse is mentioned however I do not go in depth, and do not mention anything physical, infidelity, murder

Chelsea is a name of Old English origin, so I headcanon her from England, around 900-1000 CE.

She had a glut of siblings, and she cherished them greatly. They'd go to her when they had issues with their partners, and there wasn't an occasion where she could help them.

Her parents, Dunstan and Claiborne, weren't of nobility, however they were merchants, and at the time they were well regarded and made plenty of money.

In their village, people would come to Chelsea with materials for rag dolls, for their children to play with. She'd use the thread from old clothes for hair, and find nice stones by the river for eyes.

As she grew up, she became a cloth-weaver, and married a man- Wystan.

It was a marriage of convenience, however they somewhat loved eachother.

They never argued, however there was little passion.

A child came of it though, Morwen, a gorgeous little girl with her mother's curly, blonde locks, and her father's black eyes.

However, one night after Wystan had finished working for the day, he visited a friend of his, and drank the beer they had brewed themselves, as opposed to trading with the local brewer, who knew the craft far better.

The barrel they brewed it in was not only toxic, alder wood, it was rotting, contaminating the beer.

Wystan unfortunately passed a few weeks later after rapid deterioration of his health.

While Chelsea didn't love him, he was the father of her child, and she would mourn him.

It was about this time Afton, showed herself to her.

She too was a widow, and her husband died under mysterious circumstances.

Chelsea knew she should have seen Afton around the village, however she had not seen her since her husband's burial, where she kept her head down under a cloak. It was as if she could disappear, Chelsea thought.

Afton smiled, and brought her bread, as well as materials for a doll.

"I promise I tried... I'm just absolutely dreadful at doll-making, so I thought I'd leave it to you for little Morwen."

She had blood red eyes, and her teeth were glistening under her cloak.

"You," Chelsea began, clearing her throat, "you have red eyes?"

Afton shook her head, "don't worry, I'll explain it soon, I thought you might need a hand since, well, I'm sure you know."

And help she did.

Afton inherited her father's riches after he tragically died after eating something she made, which she spent in a heartbeat on Morwen and Chelsea.

The blonde and brunette's lips left one another's, and they rested their foreheads on eachother's.

"Is this wrong?" Chelsea asked timidly, and Afton slid her hand into her own

"Love doesn't lie, sweeting. How can an act as pure and divine as this be sinful?"

Morwen adored Afton, and since she was young when her father died, she began to subconsciously look up to her as a parental figure, alongside her mother.

Afton confessed her vampirism to Chelsea after a couple of years, and she took it well. She admired her vampirism, and admired the fact she only fed off thieves more so.

"When Morwen is sixteen, may I change the two of you? I couldn't bear the day you both died."

Chelsea thought for a moment, "we'll ask Morwen on her birthday." She said hesitantly.

And of course, Morwen reached her 16th birthday.

And she said yes, almost as fast as her mother did.

The three of them would stick together and learn all the world had to offer, and she'd rather experience that than the awful, boring cycle that was Anglo-Saxon Britain, despite it's many beauties.

Morwen's rounded features sharpened after her change and her hair darkened a fraction, not because of the beauty that came hand in hand with vampirism, but due to the resemblance to her other mother, Afton.

Chelsea would cry with Afton, they had a daughter together, and that made them happy beyond belief.

The three travelled like they said they would, and in 1200-ish, they found themselves in Marseille, France, talking to a vampiric couple.

The man, Arleno was rude to her, and cruel. He didn't care for her, and shattered her heart time and time again with harsh words and infidelity.

This angered the three women greatly, and one night, as they set up camp together, Chelsea spoke to Peccia, while her husband was hunting.

"You must leave him, Peccia, can't you see how great you'd be without him, he's destroying you!"

She shook her head, "he does love me, it's, it's just complicated, Chelsea."

Chelsea rested a hand on her shoulder, looking deep into her eyes, "leave him. You don't love him, and you never had, just as he is with you. Come with us. We'll protect you."

And leave him she did.

That was the night Chelsea discovered her powers.

However, Arleno was not a stupid man, he was sly. He knew what Chelsea had done, the only thing he was not aware of- it was how, and he went to the Volturi.

He knew that interfering with a mate-bond was against their laws, and he genuinely believed Peccia was his mate.

Marcus' powers however, do not work from a distance, so he could not prove him wrong.

And Aro wanted to go so he could get Arleno off their backs- it was evident they weren't mates, the way he treated her was enough.

They found them in northern France, as helped by Demetri.

And sure enough, they weren't mates.

They didn't need Marcus for that though, because when they arrived, Morwen and Peccia were in each other's arms.

They didn't intend on killing Arleno. Not until he pounced at the new couple.

Felix put Demetri's new training into use, and he effectively took down the vampire.

The group, of now four, were invited back to Fortezza Volterra, seeing as they were all gifted.

To be honest I don't personally think that Afton was recruited purely because she was Chelsea's mate.

"All of you, your gifts are extraordinary, I have never seen such a talented group, genuinely." Aro said, impressed.

Cauis cut in, "he means to invite you to our coven. We'd provide a home, and we can truly show you the world. It'd be a shame to put your gifts to waste."

Both Afton and Chelsea agreed quickly, however Morwen and Peccia were certainly more hesitant.

Aro took their hands in his, and nodded understandingly.

"I see. You can live in the village, in order to be close to your mother's, on the condition that we may call on you in emergencies? And trust me, we are not quick to call something an emergency."

The women shared a look, and smiled, "thankyou, so much."

To this day, I think that's the only time Aro has allowed such circumstances.

Chelsea's gifts aren't used much within the coven, despite canon, I believe that Aro, as with the rest of the coven, believe that free will is important, especially when joining the coven. The coven isn't just law-enforcement, it's a family.

I think her gifts would  be used in other covens, especially ones harmful to humans, as a tactic. She'd use it to sever all their ties to eachother, remove their safety in numbers, and would likely kill them.

Chelsea would still make dolls, like she did as a human.

This time though, they'd be porcelain, and Heidi would make the clothes.

Then, she, Morwen, Afton and Heidi would take them to children in unfortunate circumstances.

She wouldn't dare tarnish their innocence and sentimental value with a pricetag.

Her and Afton like to sit in herb-scented baths together, while Afton recites her poetry. 

[child-of-hurin]

So I’m thinking of a Narn AU where Húrin isn’t set on Thangorodrim and remains a prisoner in the fortress. His children are still cursed and he is still regularly shown images of them but it doesn’t take up all his time as it does in canon. I bring this up because I was curious what you think about how much of the bad things that befall Túrin and Niënor were explicitly planned before. Because I’ve always thought that the compelled incest part was at least in some way planned before and was very specifically about Húrin watching the ruining of his bloodline (which goes back to my other cursed HCs) in addition to the suffering it would bring his children.

Anyways no pressure to answer or anything I was just curious if this was something you had thought about

-@outofangband

(Disclaimer: I haven’t read much of the HoME besides what pertains the Narn, meaning I haven’t read any extended material on Melkor and so on.)

Honestly this is a very interesting question that I have posed myself before. It brings to mind this passage:

[Transcript:

Report of the Dragon-helm in the land west of Sirion came swiftly to the ear of Morgoth, and he laughed, for now  (1) Túrin was revealed to him again, who had long been lost in the shadows and under the veils of Melian. (2) Yet he began to fear that Túrin would grow to such a power that the curse that he had laid upon him would become void, and he would escape the doom that had been designed for him, or else that he might retreat to Doriath and be lost to his sight again. (3) Now therefore he had a mind to seize Túrin and afflict him even as his father, to torment him and enslave him.]

My conclusions here are:

(1) Melkor’s ‘eye’, which Húrin had been forced to access as well, couldn’t penetrate Doriath under Melian’s power. Makes me think the whole time Túrin was growing up, Melkor had Húrin watch Morwen and Nienor’s growing misery in Dor-Lómin instead?

(2) Everyone has talked about this a hundred times because it is so incredible. So the doom was defeatable? So, cosmically speaking, there was some validation in Túrin’s methods of seeking war and power? Much to think about

(3) This bit is the only passage I can recall where instead of vague threats, the text gives us a concrete plan of Melkor’s for this family. When he sets Glaurung forth, we have absolutely no idea whether his actions were meticulously planned by Melkor, a mastermind, or just strokes of Glaurung’s own evil creative genius as derivated from Melkor’s will or whatever.

So. My opinion is that it isn’t a plan. First and foremost because I hate the anime villain type who was secretly controlling all the variables of the game, but also because I genuinely don’t get this aesthetic from Melkor/Tolkien. Melkor’s power is godlike; it doesn’t come from logic control over the material world, but from a more intimate relationship with what makes the material world itself. 

Thinking of two events: one, when Melkor releases Húrin. Melkor has changed and posioned Húrin’s spirit, but Húrin isn’t aware of that. Húrin still hates Melkor, but, as we see in the Wanderings, he is still an agent of Melkor (to use a term @promin-blog​ used in [that interesting meta post you reblogged recently]). Compare that to Niënor, to whom something very similar happens: Glaurung poisons her spirit and then sets her free.

In my understanding, in neither of those two situations did Melkor or Glaurung know exactly what was going to be the outcome; they just knew it was going to be bad for their captives, and thus, good for them. Melkor is a being of chaos against the benign order of the world, so he fundamentally gains from an increase in the chaos, or a corruption in the order of the world. So when he explains the curse to Húrin, he says:

‘You say it,’ said Morgoth. ‘I am the Elder King: Melkor, first and mightiest of all the Valar, who was before the world, and made it. The shadow of my purpose lies upon Arda, and all that is in it bends slowly and surely to my will. But upon all whom you love my thought shall weigh as a cloud of Doom, and it shall bring them down into darkness and despair. Wherever they go, evil shall arise. Whenever they speak, their words shall bring ill counsel. Whatsoever they do shall turn against them. They shall die without hope, cursing both life and death.’

I take that at face value in terms of, this is literally how it works. He didn’t know exactly that Húrin would kill Mîm, bring the Nauglamír to Thingol, then fight with his once-beloved Haladin kin and cause their destruction, just like I don’t think Glaurung knew Niënor would find Túrin, fall in love with him and have his child. BUT they knew releasing these poisoned agents would benefit their cause one way or another. (I do think Melkor presumed correctly that Húrin might try to find Gondolin though! Hence the spies). So I guess I don’t agree with you that the incest was pre-planned, although I do think the ruining of Húrin’s bloodline was definitely a huge point that, in Melkor’s mind, was probably inevitable. If Túrin had, say, had a baby with Finduilas, Melkor would have gotten a hold of that baby too, at some point... I think when he says he is the master of the Fates of Arda, he means that his will has too powerful a hold over Arda to be broken, and not, necessarily, that he controls every detail of it.

That makes me think of that passage you mentioned recently in your blog:

“But ever the Noldor feared most the treachery of their own kin who had been thralls in Angband; for Morgoth used some of them for his evil purposes, and feigning to give them liberty sent them abroad; but their wills were chained to his and they strayed only to come back to him again” (”Of the Ruin of Beleriand”, p188, The Silmarillion)

It makes me wonder how many of these elves were, like Maeglin, aware of their own collaboration, and how many might have hated Melkor their whole lives while still being agents of his will 😬

It’s a super depressing thing, this possiblity that the Narn puts forth, of an otherwise free person being permanently and inescapably ruined for as long as you hold your material existance in this realm. It is the ultimate corruption of free will, because it means no matter which choices you make, they will always come to evil. You’re helpless: intent doesn’t matter, hard work doesn’t matter. I think it’s fitting with Melkor being a god, after all! That’s why it’s relevant that out of the five members of this family, only one is directly murdered by Melkor’s actions. The others take their own lives, although more indirectly in the case of Morwen - the only one who “was not conquered”. The rest of them, Túrin, Nienor, and Húrin, end up choosing death as an escape, and I think it is in a way because they ultimately understand that Melkor is playing on a godlike level that they, as mortals, cannot reach.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO ANOTHER DEPRESSING THING. We, as readers, have the benefit of knowing that Mandos exists and Eru exists and the Ainulindale happened. We have also read about Beren’s spirit lingering in Mandos waiting for Lúthien. So we ASSUME there is an afterlife for the second-born. We know Tolkien envisioned that, spiritual man that he was. But in the narrative, mortals themselves don’t have any reassurance of that! 

So this exchange here becomes even more chilling:

So? 

Did he lie?

[dalleyan]

Spoils of War (LoTR story, ch 11 posted, 4-24-21)

The end to a war is always a good thing, but for Eomer it brought unexpected spoils. [Complete in 11 chapters plus a short Epilogue.]

 Chapter 11

Only later, when Eomer returned to his room alone, did Eowyn follow and approach him.  The knock at his door so soon after he entered took him by surprise, but when he answered to find his sister eyeing him with crossed arms and a suspicious expression, he could not feel caught off his guard.

Stepping back to allow her to come inside, he asked, “Did you want something, Eowyn?”

She wheeled on him as he shut the door, coming straight to the point.  “Just when did you become so friendly with Morwen?” she demanded.

He gave a benign look and answered with questions of his own.  “No well wishes or congratulations?  Are you not pleased I am to take a bride, or do you not care for my choice?”

She waved a dismissive hand.  “Do not be foolish!  I adore Lothiriel, and I even recommended her to you, if you will recall – of course you have my heartiest congratulations, as you well know!  But that has nothing to do with my question, Eomer!”

He sighed, taking her hands in his to draw her over to sit on the side of the bed.  “Eowyn, you do not understand the situation, any more than I once did, but I have learned the truth and it changes my view of things. Morwen had good reason to leave the Mark, and unfortunately she also had good reason for not returning.  You do not know the whole of her story.”

“Eomer!  She left us!” Eowyn exclaimed, jumping to her feet and snatching her hands from his, scarcely able to believe she was hearing her brother defend their grandmother.

“No, she did not,” Eomer answered quietly, raising a hand to forestall further arguments. “She went to care for her sick daughter and grandchild, fully intending to return.  But when they died, those deaths, added to the many she had already suffered through, weighed too heavily upon her spirit, and she went into seclusion in her family home. She knew she should come back, and often wanted to do so, but never seemed to muster the energy for it.  And none of her children in the Mark managed to go to visit her either despite promises to do so.” 

He paused a moment, thinking, then added, “The truth of it is, Eowyn, you have spent your entire life feeling abandoned by someone.  First it was Mother and Father, and then as darkness overtook our lands we saw less of Theodred.  Finally, even I went, riding to battle while leaving you alone at Meduseld to tend Uncle and fend off Grima’s advances.”  He took her hands again as he said, “I am sorry for that.  I never meant it to be so, but know this – none of us wanted to leave you. We only did what we judged best at the time, and did not consider how you might feel about it.”

Tears were brimming at Eowyn’s eyes, though she fought mightily to keep them in check, but still she gazed at him in dismay.  She had never intended that Eomer think she believed he had failed her in some way. It was only his great love for her that had enabled her to keep going despite all else.

“Morwen was right, you know, when we first met – you and she are not so unalike.” He pressed on to explain before she could protest the comparison.  “Both of you have struggled with great grief and difficulty in your lives, and coped as best you could.  In both situations, not everyone found your choices to be acceptable and right, but they were your choices to make.  Morwen did what she felt she had to do, just as you felt you must ride to Gondor disguised as a soldier.”

He gave a sigh and rested his hands on her shoulders as she still stood unyieldingly in front of him, though her brow was creased as she wrestled with these new thoughts.  “There are too few of us left in the house of Eorl.  It is time to lay this grievance to rest, buried along with all the other victims of our recent battles.  Forgive her, Eowyn, and find peace in this matter.  Then it will not continue to be a blight on your life and happiness.”

 continue reading on AO3:

              https://archiveofourown.org/works/30160710/chapters/76246565

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

I think there are some important things to say before you go ahead with this chapter.

As I was writing I kept checking on some sources related to the families of the characters here. I tried to write based on the information available, but a lot of what I settled on was either because the information was so vague I had to guess, or I just went with what I thought would be better for the sake of the story.

Anyway, this is mostly my view of things and I just thought I should warn you all ;)

***

Chapter 2

A maid led Éomer to a study where Imrahil and Ivriniel were waiting for him.

“Éomer.” Imrahil had this happy smile upon seeing the younger man. “Thank you for coming today.”

“Of course. Lady Ivriniel.” He nodded at the woman.

“Your Majesty.” Ivriniel curtsied gracefully at him.

Éomer had a few opportunities to talk to Lady Ivriniel; she was a truly interesting woman. She’d been married really young to an important lord, who was much older than her. Her husband died after only a few years into their marriage, leaving Ivriniel a widow with a good fortune to her name.

She’d neither had children nor remarried, but she’d traveled quite a bit. She was a fascinating woman to talk to, and extremely intelligent and shrewd. She also had a very interesting sense of humor.

“We actually asked you here for a reason, my lord.” Ivriniel was the one to talk first. “It’s a bit of a favor, actually.”

Éomer was intrigued. “A favor you say?”

“Yes.” Imrahil cleared his throat. “You are probably familiar with Lossarnach.”

Éomer wasn’t expecting that particular question. “Yes. My grandmother still lives there. However, I’ve only visited it twice in my life.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but Lady Morwen is kin to us.” Imrahil told him.

“Is that so?” Éomer didn’t know that.

“Distant kin, let us be honest.” Ivriniel made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “However, I did meet her as a child and once she left Edoras I tried to visit her as often as possible in Lossarnach.”

Éomer had no idea about any of this.

He did know his grandmother had Númenórean heritage -the reason he was so tall. Once her husband had died and her son took the throne, she’d left Edoras, a place some said she’d never really considered home. Éomer had visited twice during his childhood with his mother, but he was so young he barely remembered anything about it.

“Lothíriel adores the old hag…”

“Ivriniel!” Imrahil was appalled. “She’s Éomer’s grandmother.”

“Oh, you’ll excuse me, my lord.” Ivriniel said easily. “But I do not lie.”

Éomer coughed to swallow a laugh. “I’ll defer to you on that, my lady.”

“Lothíriel likes her and she likes our princess.” Ivriniel told him. “We haven’t been able to visit in a long while because of the war. We’d like to see her now, since things have considerably calmed down.”

“I see. Is the favor related to Lady Morwen?” Éomer asked.

“Yes. We are going to visit her after the wedding, and we’d like you to come with us.” Ivriniel told him simply.

Éomer was left puzzled. “Visit Lady Morwen?”

“Yes. You see, she’s asked to see you and Éowyn in her last letter. You probably know she isn’t that young anymore, and she wishes to see you both before…” Ivriniel paused for a second. “Before she runs out of chances.”

Éomer had never given his grandmother much thought. It was a bit shameful to admit that, now that he’d thought it. Béma, how old was she? She was probably really close to 100.

“Faramir will take Éowyn a few weeks after the wedding, but we’d like you to come with us.” Ivriniel pressed. “That way Lady Morwen gets to see you and we have a brave escort of Eorlingas to take us there.” She teased a bit, clearly trying to lift his mood, since he’d been deadly quiet for a while.

Éomer scratched his beard.

“Éomer.” Imrahil put his hand on the King’s shoulder. “Are you fine? Have we been rude? It wasn’t our intention to…”

“It is fine, Imrahil, my friend.” Éomer told him slowly. “I just… It’s been a long time since Lady Morwen crossed my mind and now I find myself ashamed. I don’t know…” He sighed. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty.” Ivriniel sighed. “I shouldn’t have just told you all of this in such a manner. I apologize.”

“Please, Lady Ivriniel.” He held up a hand. “There’s nothing to forgive. Is the favor taking you or seeing her?”

“Taking us. You can see her if you wish to.”

“I have questions.” He confessed. “Things I’ve always wondered about her. I just never thought I’d have the chance of asking them.”

“You don’t need to say anything now, or explain yourself to us.” Imrahil told him kindly. “This is your decision to make. We have some days left until the wedding, you should consider it until then.”

Éomer nodded at his friend and soon after excused himself.

His head spun as he walked away from the study.

Did he want to meet Morwen?

She hadn’t left a good impression on the people of the Mark. People used to say she’d made the King’s head and that was why he was so reluctant to return to his people. They would say she didn’t adapt to the Mark and never actually tried to.

What did she find so offensive about their country?

Why wasn't she there when they lost their mother? Her daughter?

Did Éomer really want to see her and ask her those questions?

He found a more reserved spot in the gardens to sit down. The bench was under the shade of a beautiful tree and, if he paid attention, he would be able to hear the birds singing. He couldn’t hear anything just then.

Perhaps he should just focus on getting back to Edoras. As a King, he couldn’t be gallivanting around; he had responsibilities. Maybe he should just go back to them.

“That is one mighty frown, my lord. I think you could scare orcs away with just that.”

Éomer turned his head and found Princess Lothíriel -with Captain by her side -watching him.

He started getting up. “Lady…”

“No need for that.” She told him easily. “Am I intruding? You seemed really deep in thought.”

He sighed. “I’ve just talked to your father and aunt.”

“Oh. About Lossarnach?” She guessed.

“Yes.”

“May I?” She indicated the bench.

“Of course.” He moved a bit to the side, so she could sit next to him.

Captain came closer as well and sniffed at Éomer’s knee.

“Can I pet him or will he attack me?” He teased lightly.

“Captain only attacks on my command, and only handsy lords.” She informed him.

Éomer chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He offered his hand for the hound to sniff. Captain seemed to approve of him after a few sniffs and then came a bit closer for a few pets.

“Do you not wish to visit Lady Morwen?” Lothíriel asked him quite directly.

“I do not know.” He confessed. “The possibility has never crossed my mind.”

“I see.” She said easily, her eyes on her feet. “So it’s not the idea of escorting us that’s a problem to you, is it?” He could hear the teasing in her voice.

“Escorting two princesses on a journey? I would be a fool to pass the chance.”

She grinned up at him. “You have to be careful with these things.” She told him solemnly.

Éomer frowned a bit. “Why?”

“You’ll never know. You might lose your heart on a journey like that.” A wicked grin spread on her lips. “Men are unable to resist aunt Ivriniel.”

That made Éomer laugh. “I can see why. However, I can assure you, my lady, my heart is quite safe in Lady Ivriniel’s presence.”

Lothíriel stared at him for a moment, and he wondered if she’d noticed he’d only mentioned her aunt.

The princess clicked her tongue as she turned to look at the fountain ahead. “I do understand that there are some journeys we’re just not ready for, or even interested in. For what’s worth…” She looked back at him. “Lady Morwen does wish to see you. And…” She bit her lower lip. “If it makes any difference to you, I’d very much enjoy your company.”

There were many things that Éomer could say to that: he could open up to her and confess his thoughts on the subject, he could ask more about Lady Morwen herself.

However, Éomer didn’t know the princess very well -even if he wished he did -and he was not ready to fully consider this yet.

So he just said, “It does make a difference to me, my lady.”

[creaturefeatures-and-mysticyarns]

A Modern Horseman

Characters: Male Dullahan, gender-neutral reader

Content Warnings: house fire, car accident, reference to depression/suicidal thoughts

Rating: Orange/PG-13

Word Count: 2467

You stared in horror at the black smoke rising from your home, trying to figure out how this had happened. You lived alone with a particularly grumpy tabby cat named Morwen, and never left candles or the like lit if you weren’t right there. And yet, you came home to the building on fire.

“Oh no! Morwen!” you suddenly cried, rushing forward with the realization that your cat was still probably trapped inside.

A hand reached out, grabbing your upper arm to hold you back and making you stop short in shock, after all until that moment you thought you were alone. You turned to glare at the stranger, annoyed that they were getting in the way of rescuing your cat. He was tall, thin, and incredibly pale (you might even have called it a deathly pallor if you were thinking about such things). He wore all black, pants, button down shirt, and long trench coat, nearly blending into the shadows of the alley around him. His thin lips curled into a frown.

“It’s not safe,” he rasped, shaking his head gently.

“Let go of me,” you snapped. “I’m not leaving my cat in a burning building!”

When he showed no sign of letting go, you yanked out of his grasp. You just made it across the street and to the corner of your lawn when you were thrown to the ground by a blast of heat, as the fire blew out your windows, raining glass shards across the grass and sending fingers of flame up into the sky. You heard a scream, only realizing belatedly that it was your own. Hot tears poured down your face as you continued to stare at the utter destruction before you.

Suddenly, the stranger was in front of you holding out an irate ball of fur toward you.

“She made it out the kitchen window before it exploded,” he said, struggling to keep her in his outstretched arms.

You frowned, puzzled at the statement since your kitchen windows weren’t open, but decided not to question your good fortune as you took Morwen from him and cuddled her against your chest. Immediately, she began purring and nuzzled further into you. When you looked up from her, to thank the stranger, he was gone. You heard the sound of a motorcycle engine fading into the distance before it was drowned out by the sirens of emergency vehicles arriving on the scene.

~

The next time you saw the stranger was about six months later, as you walked out of your office for the last time, a small cardboard box of belongings and a very small check all you had left of the job you had dedicated yourself to for three years. He was across the street, dressed the same as he had been the night of the fire and leaning against his massive, old-fashioned black bike. He raised a hand in a gesture of greeting, your eyes meeting across the lanes of traffic, and then rode off again without a word.

You tried to tell yourself it was coincidence as you walked to your car, dumped the box in the back seat, and pulled out of the parking lot.

~

The third time was when you were headed home for a while to visit your sister and her newborn daughter. A driver who had been weaving through the lanes of traffic clipped the corner of your own car, sending you spinning off the road and careening through the guardrail into a ditch. The first person who stopped to offer you aid was a tall motorcyclist in all black. You had hit your head on the steering wheel and was fading in and out of consciousness as he gently lifted you from your wrecked vehicle, laying you on the grass and taking off his helmet and then his entire head to bring it closer and listen for your breathing and heart rate.

“My cat,” you murmured, trying to convince yourself that you hadn’t seen what you thought. “My cat was in the back seat…”

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent tingles down your spine. “Always you and this cat.”

When you woke up in the hospital, thoughts swirling with images of handsome headless motorcyclists, you were told that you were lucky to be alive. By some bad luck of manufacturing error, the car had thrown you on impact, but that throw might have saved your life, since shortly after, the engine had caught fire.

“Morwen?” you asked, heart in your throat.

You mother patted your hand, careful to avoid the bandaged lacerations from your broken windshield. “She’s fine dear, the EMTs arrived on the scene just after the fire and heard her yowling. They got her out before she got hurt. She’s waiting at the house.”

You nodded, flooded with relief. But still your mind swirled. You were certain that you hadn’t been thrown from the car, and your injuries were fairly minor for that having happened. When you tried to ask about the motorcyclist who had stopped to help you, no one had any idea what you were talking about.

~

After you had recovered from your accident and returned to your regular routine, you couldn’t get the stranger out of your mind. Late one night a month or so later, as you laid awake staring at your ceiling, you thought you heard the sound of a motorcycle coming to a stop outside your new apartment. Heart in your throat, you threw a sweatshirt over the tank top and shorts you slept in, shoved your feet into a pair of tennis shoes by the door, and ran outside.

Sitting on his motorcycle in the shadow between two streetlights, was a rider in all black, his head detached from his shoulders and sitting on the handlebars. His body seemed to be twisting to look behind him while his head seemed intent on your building.

You gasped, and his body snapped toward your direction, lifting his head and tucking it under his arm, shielding it from view as if trying to protect it from getting stolen.

“Either I’m dreaming, or you’re a…” you paused, searching your mind for an appropriate word before awkwardly settling on, “…not human.” Your voice was soft, more curious than frightened or accusatory as you approached him.

He swallowed, an odd sight since his head and body both moved, but not quite in sync with each other.

“You are…” he shifted uncomfortably, “not dreaming.”

“Oh. I don’t think I understand what’s going on.”

“I can explain if you wish.”

“I’d like that,” you said, then shivered, pulling your sweatshirt closer, “but it’s pretty cold out here. Do you want to maybe come upstairs to talk?”

His eyes widened. It belatedly occurred to you that you were inviting a total stranger, who had multiple times been around when you had some sort of misfortune and had admitted to not being human, up to your apartment in the middle of the night, but shrugged. Something about him made you feel safe; you trusted him despite how little you knew.

“That would be…nice.” He said hesitantly, slowly rising off the bike and walking toward you, moving as if he was afraid you would panic and run. Quickly, you led him inside, just in case one of your neighbors decided on a late night walk, and gestured to your couch.

“Do you want any tea or coffee?” you asked.

He shook his head and you nodded and filled the kettle to make yourself a cup. He settled himself on one end of your couch, lanky legs folding surprisingly gracefully under him, and placed his head between his knees. Clutching your steaming mug, you sat on the opposite end and mirrored his criss-crossed pose.

“So…” you started, full of questions.

“I am happy to explain as much or as little as you would like,” he began, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his pinkie visible above the line of sever.

“I guess, let’s start with who you are.”

“My name is William DeLoe. As for what I am, since I’m sure that will be your next inquiry. I’ve never quite figured that out for certain. Some sort of ghost, I think. A bit like the headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow, I suppose, except I can find my head and have no horse.” He laughed.

“Okay…” you frowned, puzzling through the information. “You have a motorcycle instead though right? How did you end up like this? Or, I guess you don’t have to answer that if it’s too uncomfortable.”

He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I guess you’re right about my bike, I’ve never thought of that. I died in a crash back in the 60s. I’m pretty sure the guy that ran me off the road meant to do it, but I never proved it. Anyway, after I died, I woke up and just…kept going. Figured out eventually that if I’m careful, I can wear my head for short periods of time, which helps, but for the most part I carry it around.”

You were fascinated by his story and wanted to ask more questions but one thing was nagging at your mind first. “You keep showing up in my life, especially when I’m having…bad luck…”

He nodded. “I know what you’re thinking, but I promise, your house fire and car crash were not my fault. Sometimes I get this, sense about a person or a place, and I know I need to keep an eye on them. Usually, it’s someone who’s about to die; the dead spirits who struggle to cross over sometimes it helps that I’m around to talk them through dying and all.”

“So I’m marked to die and just haven’t yet?”

“No. I mean I don’t think. You felt different. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on you and protect you.”

“Oh. Well thank you, then I guess.”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure it’s my job so…” he rubbed the back of his neck again. “But you don’t make it easy, constantly trying to go back into terrible situations for your...stupid…cat…” as he spoke, you noticed that Morwen had snuck up on the pair of you and was rubbing against his head, butting into it and shifting it around his lap.

You couldn’t help but laugh as she pushed him aside and perched herself where it had been, delicately washing a paw and purring.

“I’m sorry,” you said through barely suppressed giggles as he stared up at the ceiling from his new angle. “On the plus side, that means she likes you…”

He huffed and righted himself, moving his head to the arm of the sofa, since Morwen refused to budge. “It’s fine. I’m glad she approves. She obviously means the world to you.”

You blushed lightly. “Yeah, it’s cliché, but we rescued each other. I was in a pretty bad place when I found her, sleeping in my engine when she was a kitten and…well I couldn’t go anywhere if I had to take care of her, you know.”

He bowed his shoulders in what you thought was a nod. “I’m sorry to hear that you went through that. Are you still…?”

“No, I eventually got out of that low spot and got things under control. It’s been about two years since I had any…thoughts.”

“Well then,” he lifted his head and brought it to level with Morwen. “Thank you for guarding them until I came along,” he said seriously. “The world would be darker and less beautiful without them. And my unlife much emptier, lesser.”

You blushed, ducking your head. “I can’t remember the last time someone said something nice like that about me,” you muttered. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came into my life. And not just because you saved me, twice. I don’t know you well, yet, but I’d really like to.”

“Especially since, for a headless dude, you’re really cute,” you added under your breath.

Faster than you would have thought possible, and much to Morwen’s distress, he leaned forward, practically folding in half and holding his head so you were nearly nose to nose and staring intently into your eyes. Absently, you noted that his eyes were a beautiful, almost amber shade of brown.

“Do you mean that?” he asked, softly, almost breathlessly. “All of it? Even the part you hoped I didn’t hear?”

You blushed even brighter, and stuttered. “Yeah, I guess I did. I dunno.” You tried to shrug it off, but even still he smiled wildly, eyes sparkling.

He leaned back and Morwen squawked in indignation before jumping down to the floor to wash herself, pointedly.

“I look forward to it,” he said. “But as your semi-official guardian ghost, I’m sending you bed tonight. It wouldn’t do any good for us to get to know each other if you’re too tired and fall down the stairs to your death in the morning.”

You laughed. “I highly doubt that would happen, but I’ll take your point anyway. Let me walk you out first?”

He nodded. You rose, setting your half-empty mug on the kitchen counter as you slipped your shoes back on. When you turned around, he was standing surprisingly close to you, head tucked under one arm.

“Before we go, since we won’t be able to talk outside, in case someone spots me, may I try something?” he asked, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

You felt your heart beat faster, and nodded quickly, not trusting your suddenly dry mouth to form words.

He grinned and lifted his head to be level with your own. Holding it slightly forward, he gently pressed his lips to yours, kissing you with a gentleness that seemed almost hesitant. Smiling into the kiss, you returned the pressure of his lips with your own. As quickly as it began, the moment was over, and he pulled back, staring at you with adoration.

“That was…wonderful. I think there will need to be more, practice, to work out how kissing should be done best when one person’s head is not attached to their body, but we have an excellent starting point.”

You laughed. “I look forward to our experiments. And hey, at least you won’t have to bend down to meet my height.”

He chuckled in response. Reluctantly, holding hands with one another, you walked down your buildings staircase and all the way back to his motorcycle. He released you and casually, gracefully swung one leg over it.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, longingly. “Until the next time we see each other.” He pressed another sweet kiss to your cheek.

“Don’t wait so long next time,” you said, teasingly. “I like seeing you better when I’m having a good day than a bad one.”  

[theajaheira]

fortune favors the bold

“When recently faced with the possibility of your absence from my life, I was also faced with the depth of my feelings for you.”

ao3

this is literally the most self-indulgent, non-giles/jenny, not-even-btvs fic i have ever written, ever, but it’s also really cute and it works even without the knowledge of the jackaby series so. please give it a shot

  “There you are, you frustrating woman, help me with this.” Jackaby entered the room and awkwardly shoved a book at Jenny.

“He does know how to make an entrance,” said Jenny to no one in particular, examining the book with mild interest. It was a grimoire, not exactly in the best condition, seemingly unremarkable—though, with Jackaby, one could never tell. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to help with?”

“You like fixing things.” Jackaby waved a hand vaguely. “And I—need fixing. That is. I need this fixed.”

At the kettle, Abigail laughed quietly, as though amused by her own private joke. Looking up, she said almost knowingly, “I can help you, if you like. Or is this a matter that only our resident ghost can attend to?”

Jenny looked down at the book, more carefully this time. “This is a simple job,” she said thoughtfully. “Is there something more pressing that needs your attention, or have you decided to take all repairs to me from now on?”

“If you don’t want to fix the book, Jenny, just say so,” said Jackaby almost petulantly.

Frowning, Jenny glanced up at Jackaby. Generally, she prided herself in being able to read his face quite well; that was the sort of thing that came with living with (and caring for) a gentleman for a good five years. But the expression she saw was unreadable, if only because the strong emotions in his eyes weren’t ones she had seen before. “I’ll certainly fix the book if you like,” she said carefully, testing the waters.

“No—if you like—blast—” Jackaby got up from the chair, snatching the book back from Jenny, and walked straight into her. He stumbled, falling back into the laboratory counter, then hurried through the clutter and out of the room.

“Goodness, I didn’t know my newfound tangibility would pose such a problem for him,” Jenny quipped with a half-nervous laugh in her voice.

Abigail was still smiling, eyes sparkling. “I think,” she said, “at the moment, the fact that you’re corporeal is beginning to make Jackaby realize the permanence of your presence.”

“I’m sorry?”

Abigail cocked her head, seeming to consider her words before she spoke. “You’ve chosen to stay,” she said finally. “Before we found out—about Pavel, Howard, Morwen, all those reasons why you died—I think he still believed that Jenny Cavanaugh’s ghost was here on this earth only because she had unfinished business. But now you’re finished. Your murder’s been solved, your lost love’s been redeemed…it’s becoming quite clear to Jackaby that you’re in his life for the long haul, of your own volition. That’s quite a large decision to make.”

This made a lot of sense, Jackaby-wise. He seemed to jump from problem to problem, expecting doors to close when problems were solved. Jenny supposed that this was because, with a life like Jackaby’s, it was easier to live like that, but something about Jackaby considering her a problem instead of a person still made her feel incredibly, irrationally hurt.

Abigail seemed to see these thoughts in Jenny’s face. Looking horrified, she hastened to add, “It’s not—I mean, he doesn’t—it’s not as though he doesn’t care about you! I expect that that’s why he’s so befuddled, honestly. Caring about a problem is much easier to explain away than caring about a person.”

“You know him quite well.” Jenny tried to smile.

Abigail smiled a little awkwardly back. “Comes with the job, I suppose,” she replied. “You fight a few demons together, you’re bound to get to know each other better.” Her smile faded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Jenny. I’m sorry.”

Jenny breathed out. She knew Jackaby, and she knew that he did care about her, in his own awkward, guarded way. He just wasn’t in the habit of really letting people in. Jenny really could understand that, but it still stung a bit. “Truly, Abigail, I’m fine,” she replied with an easily feigned smile. Deftly, she changed the subject. “Is Charlie coming over for dinner?”

Abigail blushed a happy, rosy red. “I suppose so,” she said, a slow grin blossoming on her face. “He did mention he might stop by.”

Jenny liked Charlie, very much, and a lot of that had to do with how happy Charlie made Abigail. “I’ll cook accordingly,” she said, liking the way that sounds. I’ll cook. I’ll mix up the ingredients and turn on the stove. “Heaven knows we’ve survived for long enough on Jackaby’s food. Do you recall the time he attempted to season breakfast with gunpowder?”

Abigail laughed. “Unfortunately.” The kettle went off, and she lifted it carefully from the stove. “Would you like any tea?”

Jenny couldn’t have tea—generally, ghosts couldn’t eat or drink, though Jackaby had talked to her about a few ghosts who can—but she very much appreciated Abigail’s asking. “Thank you, no,” she said gratefully, “though I’ll bring Jackaby a cup.”

“That’s nice of you,” Abigail said, sounding very much like she was trying her hardest to be casual. “So, how are things with you and Jackaby as of late?”

“You were witness to some—” Jenny began.

“I’m not talking about how Jackaby seems to be reacting to you,” Abigail continued as she poured a cup of tea. “I’m talking about how you feel—um, think about Jackaby. Think.” The teacup was brimming over; Abigail barely noticed in time.

If Jenny wasn’t a ghost, she supposed she’d be blushing. Something about Abigail’s inquiries seemed to imply that she knew more than she was letting on. “I think he’s a perfectly lovely man,” she said, which wasn’t any more or any less than she’d ever said about Jackaby. “And a fine detective.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” said Jackaby from the doorway. Abigail jumped and spilled a small amount of tea on the floor. “I suppose tea is ready?”

“It is!” Abigail’s voice was high. She seemed to struggle with herself, then burst out, “You two just—just figure things out, all right?”

Jackaby gave Abigail a long-suffering look and said, “Miss Rook, I am perfectly capable of figuring out my own affairs.”

Abigail picked up one of the cups of tea, looked from Jackaby to Jenny and back again, then said with finality, “I highly doubt that.” She hurried out of the room with her tea, and then it was just—Jenny. Alone. With Jackaby.

Something was different about that, now. It used to be that Jenny and Jackaby were alone together very often, in the periods between assistants and when said assistant was out with family or friends. But Abigail turned out to be different, too, because she was the first of Jackaby’s assistants who came in search of a home instead of a job. Abigail was an extra place setting at the table, and, in his own way, Jackaby had become very fond of that girl.

Jenny very much missed having long conversations with Jackaby, even if most of them were disagreements about what he could and couldn’t demolish in her house. As he poured himself tea, she inquired, “Are you all right? Do you still need me to fix that book?”

“No, I can fix it myself,” Jackaby replied without looking at her.

“I did think so,” said Jenny, sitting down at the kitchen table. “It didn’t look too badly damaged.”

“I thought—” Jackaby hesitated, turning away from the counter to look at Jenny. After a long moment, he finally said, “Seeing as how you seem to take pleasure from doing menial household chores with items you once weren’t able to touch—and tidying up my laboratory even when I expressly state I would prefer that you do not—I thought you might enjoy fixing something that did not belong to you, as you would not have been able to do so in the past.”

This was so thoughtful and so unlike Jackaby that Jenny was momentarily lost for words. “Thank you,” she finally managed, once again glad that her ghostly complexion didn’t allow for blushes.

Inclining his head, Jackaby pulled up two chairs, pouring a second cup of tea before holding it out to Jenny. Jenny took it, thinking back to that first time they’d taken tea together five years ago, and sat carefully down on one of the chairs.

“They’re new.” Jackaby sat down as well, taking a sip from his mug. “I thought you might like some vaguely kitchen-like chairs.”

“And where did you get these?” Jenny inquired, half-amused and half-reproving.

“Oh, around,” said Jackaby vaguely, waving a hand. “Don’t worry. They’re not magical, though they were owned by a family of fairly dreadful trolls. I thought two kitchen chairs a more than fair price for the havoc their owners had been wreaking downtown.”

“How reassuring.” Jenny’s sense of touch was slowly returning, enough so that she could feel the warm smoothness of her china cup. It was small, but it still made her feel happy. “Now, what exactly are you doing, sitting down and having tea?”

Jackaby looked somewhat startled. “Can’t I have tea?”

“Well, yes, you can,” Jenny replied with light sarcasm, “but generally, at this time of the day, either you and Abigail are running about trying to hunt down a monster or you and Abigail are holed up researching the monster that needs hunting down.”

“It isn’t always a monster,” Jackaby objected.

“You aren’t the sort of person to sit still,” Jenny finished, ignoring him. She wished she could take a dignified sip of tea to drive her point home, and settled for raising the cup to her lips.

“Have you developed the ability to drink tea?” Jackaby inquired with sweetly genuine interest—genuine interest, Jenny corrected herself firmly as she lowered the cup again. “I have heard of some unusual cases in which specters—”

“I’m not one of those unusual cases,” Jenny cut him off gently. “I suppose that I just like feigning normalcy.”

Jackaby nodded, then said almost to himself, “In this case, I do believe that feigning normalcy might be a disservice to us both.”

Jenny frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Miss Cavanaugh—Jenny—” Jackaby seemed to be fumbling for words. “When recently faced with the possibility of your absence—” He took a breath, placing his mug on the edge of a nearby table. Jenny rolled her eyes a little and got up to remove the mug from its precarious position, moving it to the middle of a stack of books and placing her own cup next to it. “Oh, don’t,” Jackaby objected, sounding almost relieved at the distraction, “that’s my Annotated History of—”

“Annotated History or not, I won’t have you breaking my dishware when you forget about the mug and knock it to the floor in the middle of an experiment,” Jenny informed him, sitting back down and fixing him with a pointed stare. “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

Jackaby was very quiet. Finally, hesitantly, he said, “When recently faced with the possibility of your absence from my life, I was also faced with the depth of my feelings for you.”

Jenny felt very grateful that she had placed the cup of tea in a safe location, as she was more than certain that she would have dropped it right then.

In their years together, not once had she heard Jackaby be this honest and direct with anyone. Certainly, Jenny knew that he cared for her—regardless of how guarded a man he was, and how much he attempted to pretend otherwise, Jackaby did care very much about the people in his life—but Jackaby himself was not the sort of person to admit to strong emotion. Too many people that he had lost, Jenny suspected. Too many people that he had let himself care for, gone before he could tell them.

She could understand. Empathize, even. She had loved Howard very deeply, and she had lived out fifteen years believing that he’d left her to die. Finding out that he hadn’t was wonderful, but it had also disturbed her; that she’d found it easier to believe someone would leave her than that they might have died for her. As much as Jenny judged Jackaby for his inability to let himself care about people, she found herself facing the same problem more often than not. In a different way, of course, but still the same in essence.

More shocking than that was how unsurprised she was to hear this from Jackaby. It felt inevitable, natural, to hear Jackaby say that he cared for her, and the fact that she wasn’t shocked at all was somehow the most unnerving factor; wasn’t Jackaby always so determinedly closed-off? Shouldn’t she be surprised to hear the man she was in love with say that he genuinely cared about her?

She let herself dwell on that last true statement, the first time she’d unintentionally allowed herself to admit her feelings without reservation, then said very carefully, “Some elaboration would be appreciated.” There was still a chance that she might have misunderstood.

“I am not—not one for romance, or sentiment,” Jackaby continued with awkward tenderness. Oh, Jenny thought, and she felt a fluttery rush. “Most likely due to my alarming inexperience in both of the matters. And I-I’m afraid that this may not be quite the passionate declaration of amorous intentions that I have heard women are partial to—”

It was the first time Jenny had seen Jackaby anything close to uncertain. Choosing her words with care, she answered shakily, “In my own personal experience, I’ve found that any declaration is enough if it comes from the right person.”

“I can understand that,” Jackaby agreed, looking up at her with half-hopeful eyes—as though he didn’t dare to push for anything more or better from her.

Very tentatively, Jenny reached out to Jackaby, almost afraid that her hand might slip through him. But it came to rest comfortably on his shoulder, and she could feel the scratchy material of his jacket. “Jackaby,” she began, not exactly sure what to say or how to say it. Or—truthfully, she had always known what she wanted to tell him, but even now, she didn’t know if she could.

She remembered her first kiss with Howard, years ago, back when she was brazen and bold and had so much less to lose. Howard, though, so different from Jackaby, had been openly smitten since the day he stumbled into Jenny’s life. Everything about Howard had been open, honest, easily read, and Jenny had loved that about him; back then, she’d been honest too.

But the Jenny Cavanaugh with her hand on Jackaby’s shoulder had kept secrets, some even from herself. And this was Jackaby, who had practically turned secret-keeping into an art. Was it really an honest partnership if the partners were too guarded to give anything important away?

She considered this. When push came to shove, there was really only one thing she had never wanted Jackaby to know; the one thing she’d tried to hide from him for such a long time. Ever so softly, she said, “I’ve always loved you, I think.”

Jackaby didn’t look surprised by this revelation, or at least no more surprised than Jenny had felt at Jackaby’s clumsy declaration. She felt that these feelings had been just below the surface for much longer than both of them had known; present, always, but never spoken of.

He looked happy, though, happier than she’d seen him before, albeit in a shy, tender sort of way. Hesitating, he raised a hand to her face. “As I love you,” he said, hand shaking very slightly as he caressed her cheek.

And Jenny realized right then that those were the only secrets that had ever really mattered to them both.

Fortune favors the bold, Jenny thought. But it had been so long since she’d had to be bold that she was almost afraid she’d forgotten how. The moment was right, and she’d loved him for so long, but not in the painful, passionate way of stories—even from the beginning, even without admitting it, she had loved him simply and without hesitation.

Jenny looked at Jackaby, who was looking back at her in a beautifully unguarded way she had never seen on him before, and she kissed the man she loved.

“You do have an uncanny talent for fixing things,” Jackaby said, later, examining the significantly-less-battered grimoire before handing it back to Jenny. “Unnerving, really.”

“What a way with words,” said Jenny, and kissed him on the cheek.

[edenfalling]

[Fic] “An Unexpected Meeting” - Enchanted Forest Chronicles

wistfulmemory said: I would love to claim the "picnic" prompt with Cimorene, Morwen, and Kazul having to deal with unexpected ambassadors.

Note: So that took way too long to write... *sigh* Also, if you find yourself curious about Thelistra and Andovan, you can read their earlier adventures (and the tale of how Morwen met Kazul) in The Affairs of Dragons, a story I wrote for Femgenficathon back in 2008. (3,525 words)

--------------------------------------------- An Unexpected Meeting ---------------------------------------------

One Monday morning two months after Kazul's coronation (and all the chaos leading up to it), Cimorene woke up completely and utterly out of patience for wrangling her new responsibilities. She was fed up with all of them: organizing the royal caverns, handling knights and princesses, talking excitable dragons down from rash ideas, translating and transcribing Kazul's responses to foreign correspondence into something slightly more diplomatic, and every other petty yet vitally important thing she'd shouldered so Kazul would only be somewhat overwhelmed rather than utterly inundated.

Eventually she hoped to get the dragons' old bureaucracy -- sadly neglected by their two previous kings -- back into working order, but for now she, Roxim, and Marchak were shouldering the same amount of work that her father had spread among three score advisors and staff, and Cimorene needed a break or else she might go crazy.

"We are taking a day off and inviting Morwen over for a picnic," she said as she cleared away the breakfast dishes.

"Not that I object to company or the chance of Morwen's cider," Kazul said in response to this pronouncement, "but why a picnic? And if you're set on a picnic, why here? Morwen's garden seems like less work for the same result." She idly picked her silver teeth with a wishbone left over from her meal.

Cimorene looked up from wiping the table and said, "A picnic because neither of us has been outside for more than five minutes at a time in the past three weeks -- possibly longer, but I only started keeping track then. Here in the Mountains of Morning because you're not a private citizen anymore. If you travel to the Enchanted Forest, we'll have to explain to the King why foreign royalty is visiting his country without visiting him, and I don't want to deal with diplomatic headaches on our day off."

"Fair enough," Kazul agreed. "But when will we have time? I need to call a council meeting tomorrow so everyone can shout about the latest border incursion from the Frost Giants; once they wind down, we might be able to start thinking of a practical response. The ambassador from Kaltenmark should arrive on Wednesday, which means we'll need to work up a formal dinner. On Thursday I have to meet with the delegation from Otterton about student research trips into the Caves of Fire and Night and Kalkiz wants to ask you about--"

"Tomorrow," Cimorene interrupted firmly. "Marchak can sit at a table and listen to people yell just as well as you can. Roxim is perfectly capable of organizing a formal dinner. And the longer we wait, the more chance of something unexpected happening that really does need your attention. Let's not give trouble more time than it needs to sneak up on us."

"You realize you've just invited trouble to show up as another picnic guest," Kazul pointed out.

Cimorene blinked, then thumped the heel of her palm against her forehead. "Bother. You're right. I blame overwork and lack of sleep; normally I'd have caught that before the words got anywhere near my tongue. But I'm sure we'll manage. After all, what could possibly be enough of a problem that you, Morwen, and I together couldn't... and I'm going to cut myself off before I gild and engrave the invitation as well."

Kazul laughed smokily and went off to inform the relevant people about their plans.

Cimorene finished cleaning the kitchen, opened the royal caves for Kazul's public audience hours, and went back to bed for an obviously much-needed nap.

-----

Tuesday dawned bright and clear, which had Cimorene casting suspicious glances at the sky all morning, wondering when narrative irony would whip up a drenching autumn thunderstorm. But the sky seemed determined to remain bright and clear, and eventually Cimorene resigned herself to the thought that whatever trouble she'd invited would take a less convenient form.

Weather was only weather, after all. People could get complicated.

She spent the morning preparing sandwiches and finger foods in both human- and dragon-sized portions (plus some cat treats, since at least some of Morwen's familiars were bound to tag along). Meanwhile Kazul indulged in a rather melodramatic novel about a long-lost princess and a poor woodcutter's son that she'd been putting off since her coronation, occasionally reading a passage aloud for Cimorene's amusement.

When Morwen walked into the royal caverns at precisely half past noon, trailing a trio of cats, she caught them in the middle of laughing at a particularly improbable declaration of eternal love. "Do I want to know?" she asked, raising one eyebrow above the rim of her glasses.

"Possibly, but it would take at least fifteen minutes to explain the context," Cimorene said. "Hello, Murgatroyd, Miss Eliza, Aunt Ophelia." The cats mrowled in greeting, and Miss Eliza deigned to twine briefly around Cimorene's right ankle. Murgatroyd simply leapt from a chair to the kitchen table to Kazul's shoulder, where he promptly began washing behind his ears. Aunt Ophelia remained on the table, tail twitching, and attempted to look uninterested in the contents of the human-sized picnic basket.

"Some other time, then," Morwen said. She clapped her hands, calling the cats' attention back to herself. "I've brought two gallons of cider, and I presume you have appropriately sized mugs somewhere in the room. Shall we head outside so we have half a chance of finishing our meal before the inevitable disaster finds us?"

Cimorene blinked as she fetched three mugs (one much larger than the others) and a bowl from her cupboards. "You think there's bound to be trouble, too?"

"I think two months isn't nearly enough time to set a reliable routine for a new job, particularly not for a job as big as Kazul's," Morwen said. "And on that note, I trust you're both setting up a system of delegation instead of trying to do everything yourselves."

"It's taking longer than I'd hoped to weed through Tokoz's staff and install some people with a bit more initiative," Kazul said as she slipped a bookmark into her novel. "But yes, we're working on that. I haven't developed any sudden love for politics, and I insist on carving out enough free time to attend my grandchild's hatching next spring."

"Another grandchild? Are your son and his partners having a third, or has your daughter finally found someone she's willing to reproduce with?" Morwen said, in tones of great interest. At her feet, Miss Eliza added an inquisitive chirp.

"Now you've done it; we won't hear about anything else all day," Cimorene said wryly. "Let's head out. You two can gossip while we walk."

"Don't be insulting. Dragons don't gossip about our families. We boast about them," Kazul said. She edged slightly closer to the table and added, "Anyone who wants a ride should climb on now. I won't stop to let you up later."

Miss Eliza and Aunt Ophelia joined Murgatroyd on her shoulders, and the small party headed out into the midday sunshine.

-----

Twenty minutes (and a temporary break from Kazul's bragging as her description of her son's cave renovations detoured into a discussion of Morwen's recent difficulties with finding a construction company willing to build extensions in magically indeterminate spaces), they stopped at the edge of Cimorene's chosen picnic ground: a short, narrow valley filled with wildflowers and a small pond at the base of a slow, rock-seep spring. It was a lovely location, which wasn't at all unusual in this portion of the Mountains of Morning.

What was unusual was that this particular location was currently occupied, and not by dragons.

At the far end of the valley, two humans were shaking out an impractically gorgeous embroidered blanket over the grass and remnants of late summer flowers. The man was lanky, ginger, and wore a mail shirt; a sword in a slightly shabby scabbard hung from his belt and he had a shield slung across his back. The woman also wore a mail shirt (which clashed a bit with her full lavender silk skirts) and had her blonde hair cropped short about her ears, but instead of a sword, the only thing hanging from her belt was... an embroidery bag? Surely not. But it did look exactly like a larger version of the fabric bags Cimorene's own mother and sisters used. (She'd never much liked embroidery herself, and had happily 'forgotten' enough bags that even her mother had given up making her carry one.)

Morwen peered thoughtfully across the valley. Then she wiped her glasses with a handkerchief pulled from her left sleeve and peered some more. Finally she said, "Kazul, you have better eyesight than I do. Am I imagining things, or is that Thelistra and Andovan?"

Kazul stopped her attempts to shoo the cats off her shoulders and craned her neck around. A startled hiss of smoke escaped from between her teeth. "You're not imagining things. That's definitely Thelistra and Andovan. What on earth are they doing back in the Mountains of Morning?"

"Before we speculate on that, can someone tell me who Thelistra and Andovan are?" Cimorene said. "A pair of adventurers?"

"No, my last princess and her knight," Kazul said in a distracted tone.

Cimorene blinked. "Oh. Really?" The two didn't look much like any princesses and knights she'd seen in Linderwall or among the dragons: Andovan was far too lightly armored and Thelistra wasn't nearly delicate and frothy enough. Even aside from that, once a knight rescued a princess, the traditional procedure was for them to return home, claim the promised reward from the princess's family, and settle down to manage their new lands, not go blithely picnicking in lands claimed by the same dragons they'd previously had trouble with.

"Yes. They moved to Kaltenmark about five years before you left Linderwall, and I didn't expect to ever see them back here," Kazul said. "We parted on awkward terms."

"'Awkward,' in this case, means that there was a mix-up involving a magically disguised artifact that a previous king of the dragons had given Thelistra's grandmother. I helped them untangle the mess," Morwen added.

Cimorene thought this explanation raised more questions than it answered. However, the two strangers had caught sight of them and were waving their arms in greeting, so she shelved her curiosity for later. "Well, they seem to have noticed us. We should go say hello and ask why they've returned."

"Yes, let's," Morwen agreed, and hurried downward toward Thelistra and Andovan, calling hello as she went. Kazul caught up within three strides, cats still clinging to her shoulders.

Cimorene followed at a slower pace, willing to give the others time to get reacquainted. She could always get their own picnic set up while she waited for a good time to introduce herself. Lugging a filled basket didn't seem like a lot of work at first, but by this point she'd be glad to set it down.

-----

When she reached the far end of the small valley, Andovan was trying to coax the cats off Kazul, to mixed success at best. Meanwhile Thelistra had slung her embroidered blanket back over her shoulder and was so engrossed in conversation with Morwen that neither of them noticed Cimorene's approach.

"--municipal sorceress of Elsburg for three years now," Thelistra said in a voice that chimed like a choir of tiny bells. "It turns out I'm happier doing magic professionally and sewing as a hobby than the other way around."

"I know how that goes. I enjoy cross-breeding magical flowers, but I don't think I'd want to do it on order," Morwen said. "Are you still self-taught or did you find a mentor?"

"Kaltenmark's a bit short on magicians right now, unfortunately, so no mentor." The bells that wreathed Thelistra's voice shifted briefly into Phrygian mode, then brightened to Mixolydian as she continued. "I do write to my father's court sorcerer for advice now and then, and of course I inherited a very good (though slightly outdated) library from my predecessors."

"Which I've been organizing," Andovan added over his shoulder, in an improbably cheerful tone.

(Cimorene, busy shaking out a picnic blanket and shooing Aunt Ophelia away from the basket, thought of the state of Kazul's library when she'd first encountered it, and bit back a remark on Thelistra's good fortune in marrying someone who understood filing systems. Judging by the meows drifting down from Kazul's shoulders, at least one of the cats shared her opinion.)

"Which my darling Andovan has been organizing, as part of his duties as municipal clerk," Thelistra agreed. "We've been researching fairy blessings most recently, since I'd like to get rid of mine. Ethereal chimes aren't really appropriate for anyone except damsels in distress."

Morwen nodded sympathetically. "Remind me to introduce you to one of my old classmates from Stokey's Academy. She had a similar problem, and while each blessing needs its own personalized counterspell, you might find her research helpful."

"Oh, thank you!" Thelistra said, beaming. "I've been looking at Sternberg's theorems of sympathy and antipathy as applied to intangible concepts, and I thought that maybe if--"

But before she and Morwen could dive into a full-on discussion of magical theory (which Cimorene would not have minded, even if she tended to have trouble following the more technical jargon; it would have made just as nice a change from royal responsibilities as Morwen's home improvement woes), Kazul interrupted.

"That sounds fascinating, and I'd even be willing to lend you some of my own books that touch on fairy magic, but right now I need to know why you're back in the Mountains of Morning. You're not a private citizen anymore, Thelistra, and as Cimorene reminded me yesterday, government representatives can't walk unannounced into other countries without starting diplomatic incidents."

"Cimorene?" Thelistra said.

"That would be me," Cimorene said. She rose from setting out napkins and sketched a brief curtsey in her plain cotton skirts. "Cimorene of Linderwall, Kazul's current princess."

"Drat, I got distracted and forgot introductions again," Thelistra said. "Please accept my apologies. I'm Thelistra, lately of Veritand, Kazul's former princess, and this is my husband Sir Andovan Marginalis, lately of Raxwel." She made a curtsey of her own, more graceful than Cimorene's even though the embroidery bag and blanket ought to have affected her balance.

"Pleased to meet you, and please forgive me for not bowing," Andovan said, as he attempted to juggle Murgatroyd and Miss Eliza, who seemed to be arguing over who got to perch on which of his shoulders. "I hope you and Kazul are doing well together. If you're not, I can send word around the hedge-knights' network and have some of them write to you, to see if you get along well enough to help them arrange a rescue."

Cimorene blinked. "Arrange a rescue?"

"Of course! It would be terribly rude to barge in and carry someone away from their home and friends unless the person agreed to that beforehand," Andovan said, still sounding improbably cheerful. "Besides, the comparative natural advantages of humans and dragons are such that, without a fair bit of jiggery-pokery, the dragon almost always wins. It's much easier to set up favorable circumstances if you have an ally on the inside."

"Exactly," Kazul agreed. "It's against the rules to interfere in honorable combat, but there aren't any prohibitions on getting magical aid beforehand. Hedge-knights notice that loophole a lot more often than knights from noble families."

Cimorene blinked again. "Clearly I should have spent more time talking to hedge-knights and less to the princes my parents dangled me and my sisters in front of."

"Oh, princes," Thelistra said, and made a terrible face. "I had one of them try to rescue me every day for nearly a month even after I told him I'd rather be turned into a toad than marry him. I finally convinced him that I couldn't leave Kazul's service for another seven years without dishonoring my family, which was ridiculous but fit his silly misinterpretations of chivalry. I think he went off and got himself killed fighting a sphinx down in Serethryn because he was too proud to buy the standard riddle guidebook."

"It's astonishing how many people can't follow simple advice, assuming they think to ask for help in the first place," Morwen put in.

Thelistra smiled, a bit ruefully. "Yes, well, I have gotten better, especially now that I tend to be the person giving advice. But in any case, Andovan was much more respectful, and didn't have any trouble asking me for some magical assistance in battle." The smile she turned on him was practically soppy with love; he returned the expression with a similar level of sentiment.

At this point, Cimorene had a realization which she later compared to knocking herself silly on a low-hanging tree branch, but without the accompanying pain: namely, the stone prince and Alianora weren't as much of a statistical anomaly she'd assumed. Thelistra had also found a man who respected her, and who was both intelligent and sensible enough that he didn't make Cimorene want to tear her hair out after less than five minutes of interaction. Happy endings didn't have to be a stark choice between accepting or rejecting every last piece of the traditional roles Cimorene had run off to the Mountains of Morning to escape. It was possible to pick and choose. There were other people out in the world also picking and choosing, and presumably some of them would want whatever set of options she eventually settled on.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a convenient time for revelations, so she tucked it away as best she could (along with her curiosity about exactly how Thelistra and Kazul had parted ways) and said, "I'm quite happy where I am for now, but I'll keep your offer in mind if I ever want to move on to other things. Anyway, we've gotten off-topic. Like Kazul said, what brings you to the Mountains of Morning? I didn't think we were having any problems with Kaltenmark."

"You're not, unless one of the younger dragons has done something improbably stupid since we left Elsburg," Thelistra said. "But I suspect you are having problems with the Frost Giants."

"They have been testing our northern border more these past few years," Kazul admitted. "Several of us tried to get Tokoz to take measures, but he never got around to it. I assume they're causing similar problems for Kaltenmark, since we're expecting an ambassador tomorrow, but I don't see what that has to do with your visit."

"Well, you see," said Andovan (now with Miss Eliza on his left shoulder and Murgatroyd balanced precariously on top of his head), "when my darling Thelistra was appointed municipal sorceress, we had to meet with the Assembly of Notables for her official investment and then there was a party afterwards. When the Law-Speaker got onto the subject of dragons, I made the mistake--"

"We both made the mistake," Thelistra corrected.

"--of mentioning that we knew you personally, so naturally when your coronation was announced, the Assembly jumped at the chance to add a personal touch to a request to turn the current non-interference treaty into a formal alliance, and then knock sense into the Frost Giants before they do serious damage to either of our countries," Andovan continued.

"In other words, we're the ambassadors you're expecting. We arrived a day sooner than we planned, so we thought we'd take a little time for a picnic lunch before getting down to business," Thelistra concluded. She looked down at the blanket and dishes Cimorene had spread over the grass and added, "It looks like you had the same idea. Do you mind if Andovan and I join you? I can access our enchanted pantry in Elsburg through my bag, so food won't be a problem."

"So long as you don't talk about politics, that sounds fine," Cimorene said. "Unless Kazul objects?"

Kazul smiled, showing all her silver teeth. "Not at all! I was just getting ready to tell Morwen all about my third grandchild, and I never turn down a willing audience -- especially not if the audience brings lunch."

"A third! You only had one when I left," Thelistra said. "Two eggs in under ten years is awfully fast. Tell me all the details."

Cimorene, who had heard all the details a dozen times over, deftly plucked the embroidered blanket from Thelistra's shoulder and shook it out over the grass beside her own plainer and more practical picnic cloth. After a moment, Andovan grabbed the far corners and helped her pull the fabric flat, while Morwen began pulling cider bottles and mugs out of her sleeves. The cats prowled around, staring hungrily at the picnic basket and Thelistra's embroidery bag with its promised link to additional food (though considering how woefully underequipped Thelistra had left Kazul's kitchen, Cimorene had to hope her enchanted pantry did most of its own cooking).

Kazul would move on to other topics eventually. In the meantime, Cimorene intended to eat lunch, enjoy the sunshine, and relax in the knowledge that even the inevitable complication hadn't managed to spoil her well-earned day of rest.

---------------------------------------------

End of Fic

---------------------------------------------

Victory is mine! \o/

[prophetkristy]

slayer of stars

Twenty years ago today, I came down the hill from my History 101 course with my brain a-whirring, made my way to the computer lab in the dungeon basement of my dorm, logged onto Usenet [1], and posted the following to alt.fan.wedge:

Subject: SW and animism From: Kristy <…@uidaho.edu> Date: 1997/08/28 Message-ID: <872787391.28561@dejanews.com> Newsgroups: alt.fan.wedge

Okay, I just got back from my History of Western Civilization class, and I have to vent. It’s no secret that GL got his ideas from other cultures and traditions. So it wasn’t too surprising when my teacher(who’s pretty awesome, IMO) was explaining animism today, he used SW as an example. (it sure made taking notes a lot easier. ::g::) Animists believe that the universe is alive, i.e., the Force is there. And they have shamans who are basically Jedi knights. I identified with evrything he was saying until he got to explaining their general classes of gods. Here’s what they have: the old father god, the young warrior god, the young goddess of war/love, and the trickster. There were parallels here to SW: trickster=Han Solo, wise father=Obi-Wan, goddess=Leia. But my teacher went on and on about how the young warrior was the coolest of all, he went off and fought battles and monsters and all the cool stories were about him. So who else would he choose for the SW parallel but Farm Boy. Bleah! I _almost_ went up to him after class and protested. Farm Boy isn’t the coolest warrior! _Wedge_ is, of course!

Yet another example of the oppression Wedge fans suffer at the hands of Farm Boy…. ::sigh:: Well, he’s guaranteed I’ll remember _that_ part of the lecture.

How about: Vote Wedge. He’s the true animist warrior god.

Thank you for listening, you’re the only people who would ever understand. :-)

–Kristy [2], off to an astronomy lab

Palpatine’s dead. Vote Wedge. –Antilles/Celchu ‘00–

From such humble [?!] beginnings was the True Animist Warrior God movement born. (Some time later I printed out a post signed with the TAWG [3] campaign slogan and taped said slogan onto my history notebook.)

This was not to bag on the history course. It was only the second day, as far as I can tell from my notes [4]. I had wanted to take the honors section of the course, but it wouldn’t fit in the schedule of other classes I was taking [5]. It turns out that I don’t regret this, as I very much enjoyed the class. It was actually taught by a graduate student, IIRC, and he was very good; he described many events in a human context with the emotions and motivations of the players. [6] Really, the worst thing about the course was that it was at 7 am—a less than ideal way, shall we say, to start college [7]. (Oh my TAWG, I’m going absolutely berserk with the footnotes! My brain keeps going off on tangents, but I don’t want to interrupt myself all the time. wheeee!)

(Interestingly, the next semester I continued on with Hist 102, which this time was taught by a professor. Who wasn’t nearly as interesting as the grad student!)

According to my heading for the Animism post in the Classic Threads section of the AFW website [8], I previously linked Star Wars to the Sumerian epic Gilgamesh–where Farmboy was Gilgamesh, taking all the credit, and Wedge was Enkidu, doing all the work. I think now this might be a little revisionist history. I can’t remember in which course I read Gilgamesh, but it’s likely that it was Lit of Western Civ that same semester (high school Senior AP English was British lit, where we watched every Jane Austen movie Ever Made *gag*). The earliest post of mine I can find referencing the two was actually the *next* week or so, in the midst of the Epic, Historical “Fantasy Toys” Thread, in response to Quiara:

> We understand you, dear. Where else could I admit to writing a Hero > essay about him in the same year that I did a book report on Rogue > Squadron?

I really want to write my Lit of Western Civ essay on the parallels between Gilgamesh/Enkidu and Luke/Wedge, but I could never get four pages out of that and have my teacher actually like it. ::pout:: [9]

Both of these posts were commenting on what I felt (still do feel, to some extent) was a sad state of affairs in being a WedgeFan. Namely, that Wedge was a lot cooler than most people give him credit for. (And, underlying that feeling, a WedgeFan’s natural disdain for Luke “Farmboy” [10] Skywalker.) This would reach its fannish culmination in the Book of Wedge, but had real-world significance in the woeful lack of a separate carded Wedge Antilles action figure. As well as the lack of Wedge awareness among those who weren’t huge pilotfans.

Despite that, 1997 was a fantastic year to be a WedgeFan. Maybe if you weren’t Quiara, Brett, or myself, it was different—we three were quite chatty—but I never heard anyone complain. ;-) [11] It wasn’t actually our most active year, but it was the beginning of what I think of as the “golden years” of AFW. The first four X-Wing books (by Historian of Wedge Michael A. Stackpole) had been released by January 1997, and Mike actually lurked and occasionally even posted. I joined in the spring of 1997 as a senior in high school (with a very embarassing post which will not be reproduced here). Quiara was in high school. Brett wasn’t being challenged too much by work or life, because he also apparently had a lot of time on his hands. Somehow the three of us had some mojo (and also probably high blood sugar content) that just led to wacky hijinks. Quiara declared Wedge’s candidacy for President in April, a story which would last well *past* the 2004 election. I declared him TAWG in August. The Fantasy Toys thread was started earlier in August, thus cementing me into the AFW madness and keeping me frequently posting even when I probably should have been paying attention to college. (eh. I gradutated.) The “the world is falling down…” thread was that year, too.

Of all the Internet friends I have, interestingly it’s Quiara and Brett whom I’ve never met in real life. I actually haven’t heard from Quiara in years; she dropped off the radar at about the time she started college, I think, thus proving her work (study) ethic. ;-) I can’t say I really knew her all that well—AFW was almost exclusively the limit of our interaction—but I still consider her to have been an early partner in crime. I still hear from Brett occasionally, and I actually can’t believe I haven’t found myself visiting his city before now. Brett holds a special place in my memory not only for being such an integral part of that first crazy year on AFW, but also for scoring me the Wedge action figure I like to call “biceps Wedge”–the one from the Milennium Falcon carrying case, which his comics store was selling loose for some reason.

Resorting again to Google Groups (we never know, when we’re making history, that we are doing so, and as such fail to keep track of these things), it looks like I first styled myself Prophet Kristy on October 8, 1997, in a short thread titled “Random Thoughts.” [12] Quiara, bless her heart, actually accused me of being humble:

> –Kristy, Prophet of the Great One

Just a prophet? you could make Cardinal at least, if you wanted.

(Yeah, maybe I could have—I am Catholic, after all—but, y'know, “Prophetess” works better on the back of a kickball shirt that “Cardinal”. “-ess.” Er, see what I mean?)

One month later (AFAICT) I first signed a post as “Prophet Kristy”–and the rest, as they say, is history.

I could go on and on with the AFW nostalgia——but I should probably get to work on actual, you know, work. And this is getting LONG. However, I do want to mention one other thing in relation to the TAWG / Prophetess thing.

The Book of Wedge was my default icon on LiveJournal—a little cartoon made by terrathree, originally for Terra Group, that she kindly made 100x100 when I started LJing. I didn’t actually come up with the idea for the Book of Wedge—the document I wrote was largely an adaptation from “The Adventures of Wedge Antilles” written by Mike Scorsch and posted on his late web page Corellian Bloodstripes. I’d always been greatly amused by the idea of revisionist SW history with Wedge being the person behind *everything*–especially having Wedge actually blow the first DS as well as the second. Having declared myself a Prophet, I also felt it was only fair that I write a Holy Book. Thus was born the Book of Wedge, wherein Wedge not only blows up both Death Stars, but also shoots Greedo, fights off the Slave I with a blaster, and generally saves the day. In it, I declared Quiara and Brett to be Apostles of Wedge along with Jim and Marji, two others who were in the thick of AFW in late 1997. And generally had a blast being silly and fangirly.

Quiara followed this up with the Book of Quiara, a short history of the campaign and other silliness. And much later, terrathree expanded on an observation I’d made about the constellation Orion looking like an X-wing and wrote the tale of the Hunter of the Sky.

These are only a few of the many, many tales of Wedge spawned by AFW, but they are the Holiest. So sayeth the Prophetess of the Great One, Wedge Antilles, the True Animist Warrior God. *makes the Sign of the Exploding Death Star*

I imagine our old IRC chat server probably doesn’t even exist anymore (is IRC even still a thing??)–Feast Days used to always be Chat Days–but have a good Feast Day of Wedge, won’t you all? Do the Ewok Dance, drink some Ewok Juice, bag on Farmboy, and revel in the glory of the Rebellion’s Greatest Starpilot.

[1]=Yeahhhhhh, Usenet. Back in the day. [2]=As you see, I didn’t self-identify then as Prophetess; that was to come later. Wow, I’d forgotten I used to use my fanfic Knave Leader and the ASCII parked X-wing in my .sig. Nifty. [3]=I’m almost positive that Morwen was the one to coin that acronym. Once again showing us all up with her mad language skillz, especially considering this isn’t her native tongue. [4]=yes, I’m enough of a nerd that I’ve kept my freshman history notes. [5]=probably this was a good thing, since I was taking the honors sections of Chemistry 111 AND English <memfault—Literature of Western Civilization>. [6]=I haven’t been able to turn him up by Googling, but I hope he found himself a faculty position somewhere; he deserves it. [7]=I cordially loathe all those students who boast of arranging their schedules to never start before 10 or 12. I was never able to do that—there was always a class I needed that was a 7:30 or 8 or 8:30. Pout. [8]=Yeah, I know it’s gone. It needs a new server space. And its webmistress needs to pay attention to it. I’ll just have to link to Google posts here. [9]=It looks like I had dropped the Knave Leader by this time, but was still not calling myself Prophet Kristy. [10]=How much do I love that Mara always calls him Farmboy? [11]=Oh, no, that came much later, spurring the Project Boussh Polite Flame War of '01(?). [12]=this was also apparently the thread that spawned the phrase “rakish rebel scum”, which Brett quickly hailed as a great band name. And it was only a 7 post thread! aaah, for the time to just read and relive the posts of those years.

[dalleyan]

Spoils of War (LoTR story, ch 7 posted, 4-10-21)

The end to a war is always a good thing, but for Eomer it brought unexpected spoils. [Complete in 11 chapters plus a short Epilogue.]

 Chapter 7

Eowyn was a beautiful bride, and Lothiriel had never seen her cousin so blissfully happy.  It both thrilled and pricked her to see it. She could not help feeling envious of what the couple had found in each other, particularly since she was beginning to seriously doubt that she could hope for anything similar.  Her eyes had wanted to twitch toward Eomer at that thought, but she refused to allow it.  He was no longer an option.  He did not love her, and now that she had rejected him there was no chance of an alliance in the future.  She must look elsewhere for some semblance of the love she desired, something vaguely resembling what she was witnessing today between the happy bridal couple.

The entire City celebrated long into the night, and though Morwen attended the wedding itself and the wedding feast, she did not linger for the dancing and merriment afterwards.  Only because she thought it might raise questions she was reluctant to answer did Lothiriel remain most of the evening rather than retire when Morwen departed on Elphir’s arm.  She smiled and danced and sipped wine, but under the circumstances her heart could not fully be engaged with the activities.  Eomer did not approach her to dance, for which she was grateful, though to be fair he danced very little with anyone.  She had seen him dance before, even been his partner on several occasions, and knew he was quite good at it, so clearly it was not lack of ability restraining him.

Lothiriel had received with mixed emotions word from her father that the young king would be coming to Dol Amroth during the summer.  Imrahil had spent a great deal of time at Minas Tirith, counseling with King Elessar as they got all in order, but by then it was expected that the Prince could finally return home.  Occasional visits and regular correspondence would likely suffice going forward, though Elessar confessed a reluctance to release Imrahil.

It seemed all of Middle-earth was seeking to find its place in this new world.  With Imrahil spending so much time in the north, Elphir had taken on a more active role in ruling at Dol Amroth, and the Prince had admitted he was hoping to see his heir continue even once he returned home.

Morwen had recovered quickly from her indisposition, and after the wedding, Lothiriel accompanied her back to Lossarnach for a fortnight’s visit.  Once there, she saw how much the lady and Morlach enjoyed being reunited, and on impulse she invited them both to come to Dol Amroth when they sailed in two months’ time.

“I am not sure that is wise, dear,” Morwen said with a smile.  “Remember what Morlach did to your garden at Minas Tirith.”

“Yes, but we have kennels where he can stay.  There is plenty of room for the dogs to run, or the kennel boys take them for walks. And I can take Morlach down to the beach to let him really stretch his legs and work off his excess of energy. Besides, I know you will be happier if he is nearby so that you can visit him more often.  I was aware of how much you missed him while we were in the City for the wedding,” Lothiriel explained.

“I did miss him, you are right,” Morwen acknowledged, stroking the little dog’s head as he sprawled contentedly in her lap.  “I know he can be disagreeable, but I adore him.  He has proven to be a devoted companion to me.”  Her eyes misted at her words, and Lothiriel could guess the reason – that perhaps he had been the woman’s only true companion for some time.  She had never said so, but it was clear that the enmity with her grandchildren hurt her a great deal.  When she couldn’t be with them, it was not so hard, but now that they kept seeing one another, it was difficult not being able to overcome their bruised feelings and establish a new, better relationship.

“Then it is decided!” Lothiriel asserted.  “Both of you will come with us.  I know you will enjoy the sea, and likely Morlach will love being able to so easily dig in the sand!”  They both laughed then.  The little dog did seem to take inordinate pleasure in making holes in the ground.

“You are too kind to me, my dear, but I thank you for it.  I have so enjoyed having you with me.  I shall be sorry when life is back to its usual routine and we are parted by distance without reason for such frequent visits,” Morwen said, sorrow tinging her voice.

Lothiriel felt her regret and was no less lamentful of the separation that would eventually come. “Well, then I shall simply have to make greater effort to come north and visit,” she said decisively.  “And you are always welcome in our home, in Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith, whenever you wish it.  You do not need an invitation – I make one to you now that stands forever. You need only make sure we are not already overcrowded with other guests.”  She smiled at the little dog and added, “And I will even invite Morlach, whatever repairs I need to make to the garden afterwards!”

Morwen laughed, but understood that the offer was most sincere. “Ah, dear girl, you are a delight! I am so very glad your father did not leave you at Dol Amroth during the War.  You have been a ray of sunshine during much bleakness.  Now, come, help me up and let us go decide what I need to pack for the seashore, not that I am likely to actually spend much time on the sand – I have enough difficulty on solid ground!”

 continue reading on AO3:

              https://archiveofourown.org/works/30160710/chapters/75475406