#edhelquendi

[lachind]

continued from x || @edhelquendi​

The day has been utterly exhausting. She adores her children, of course, but some days when they wake up in foul moods, a single day can feel like a year. Such was the case today, with Carnistir waking tired and irritable, his temper even more brittle than usual, and ‎Curufinwë‎ clingy and whiny, refusing to settle anywhere but in his father’s arms, demanding with whimpers that Fëanáro be present even when he allowed himself to be passed to Nerdanel to breastfeed. She has not had a moment to herself today, except this brief, late-night bath in the sudden silence of the house after both children have been put to bed. At least Curvo is old enough now to sleep through the night, and she can have this brief luxury without fretting over the sleep she will lose.

The door opens. Nerdanel pushes down the urge to sigh. At the question she nods wordlessly, slides forward in the water so he can climb in–and he does so. Within moments she comes close, settles back against him, grasping his wrists and drawing his arms around her.

“How do you feel?” A soft question as she closes her eyes. It feels like it has been so long since they were on their own, able to check in with one another.

“By the look of things, a good deal better than you feel.” 

Nerdanel will always be beautiful, in his eyes; even as exhausted as she clearly is now. Fëanor is tired too, of course — he is not one to shirk his responsibilities to his children, or her, even when his responsibilities as High Prince weigh him further down — but there is nothing a night alone with her cannot mend. 

“My father has asked my presence at the palace tomorrow. Something about a trade deal with the Teleri he wants me there for,” he says, with a frown that betrays his irritation at the thought of tomorrow. He’d much rather stay home with her, for both their sakes. 

Her head rests back against his chest, and Fëanor folds his hands atop her stomach, craning his neck to plant a kiss on her cheek. 

“On the bright side, love,” he smiles, tucking red hair behind her ear, “we’ll both sleep well tonight.” 

[elenure]

Her legs wobbled as she took her first unsure step into the garden. The green grass was cool between her toes and the air warm on her skin. She took a deep breath, though fear and uncertainty gripped her heart, and opened her eyes to the strange land she had been placed in.

Heart pounding, she looked around frantically for anything that seemed familiar, but it was all new. This was not the oceanside palace she had grown up in, and even the gardens within the city walls were vastly different from this one. Where was she? Where were her parents? Where was Ereinion? Tears began to fall and her body shook with sobs that she had failed at trying to force back. After a moment of weeping, she looked up through her tears and found herself staring at a woman with familiar red hair. Her heart leapt with joy and hope.

The elfling wiped her eyes and sniffled, but stepped forward hesitantly. "Ammë?"

@edhelquendi

[feanors-daughter]

Continued from here

@edhelquendi​

They were not going to make it to Gondolin.

That much had become frighteningly apparent. Despite the fact that she had closed herself off from Eöl, he was trying to make sure she could feel their bond still–and she could feel his rage, and that he was catching up to them. They had slowed considerably since her injury–a deep, jagged gash in her side, from when a pack of wolves had pursued them despite Aredhel’s best efforts to communicate with them–but had not stopped completely. She was weaponless, for Eöl had somehow convinced her to give up her sword and bow in the earliest days, and she could never get him to tell her where they were. He usually convinced her that she didn’t want them anyway by the end of the conversation when she tried to ask.

Lómion was exhausted and hungry, and she had taken to carrying him for much of the day so that he could sleep, despite her own fatigue and the way it slowed their progress.

Someone’s coming.

Eöl. Who else could it be?

No. No. No.

There was nothing she could do. If he was here, she had no idea what he would do to her–probably kill her, she realized, and take their son back. Lómion slumbered on. Aredhel felt her breathing grow shallow and strained with panic, and with the last of her strength she reached above her and climbed with one arm several branches into a tree, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. It would buy them a few seconds. Maybe by some miracle he wouldn’t see them. But he probably would.

She closed her eyes and waited for the end.

Laurelin perched on a branch high within a tree, bow and nocked arrow resting in her lap as she waited patiently for a deer or any form of wildlife to cross her path. Though not her weapon of choice, a bow was far more successful in a hunt that her sword would be and her shot was good enough to down a target with a single arrow.

But hunting was hardly relaxing when so much was running through her mind. A few young elves had joined her troops and they had proved incredibly difficult to train. Though Laurelin had grown frustrated and passed them off to her second-in-command, they still did not seem to be progressing at all. It had already been nearly a year. Perhaps the soldiers would do better on a patrol until they matured, or perhaps they simply needed to be thrown into the thick of battle to realize how serious their training was. She hoped her second was making more progress now in her absence.

Her ears pricked and her thoughts were disrupted as the sound of rustling leaves echoed in the distance. The sound of footfalls followed accompanied by heavy, panicked breathing. Laurelin swung onto a lower branch, readying her bow and aiming towards the source of the noise. She took a deep breath and pulled back the arrow.

A head of dark hair appeared below, a small form clutched within the figure's arms. Blood trailed behind them, coloring the green grass with a deep crimson liquid. With their only free arm, the figure began to climb a nearby tree, branch by branch until Laurelin was only just higher than them. She stared, relaxing her weapon and replacing the arrow in her quiver.

These two did not seem to mean any harm, in fact, they seemed to be in need of help. Laurelin leapt into the next tree and lowered herself onto the branch just beside the two strangers. Something seemed familiar about the woman but it couldn't be, it had been so long. . .

"Írissë?"

[vezely-a]

         Cold fingers non-delicately grip an ancient scroll taken from Rivendell’s archives. A few hours before, the document, a mediocre map of the regions east of the Anduin, served as an initiation to what became an overlong conversation with one of Imladris’s young lords — a tendency of late. Current meandering on still unacquainted pathways show intent to return the record to its resting place --- lest she makes known the ones horded in her guest quarters. All is quiet and the presumption of solitude makes her more willing to loiter.

          Colorful murals draw her attention. Gaze takes to tracing their details as she walks. Their content seems to mock her unfamiliarity with legends never to pass her ears. But it is not this displacement from people she should call her own that overtakes her senses. Rather introspection born of prior conversation, to the words shared among a new confidant, of the trust allowed, upends her focus as she ambles backwards...and unsuspectingly into another. A shoulder is only lightly clipped, maintaining her balance though not her dignity. As awareness is brought back to the present, her brow remains flexed from prior consternation. In turning, neck cranes to inspect the face of the other, taller elf; his golden hair alarming, his eyes unreadable. ❝Apologies,❞ she manages, stepping away to a reasonable distance while adjusting the grip of the map in her hand.

@edhelquendi​ (Glorfindel)

[finarfiniel]

​@edhelquendi​ sent : finrod is 6'6 :)

send me ↕ + your muse’s height. accepting.

[eterunameo]

@edhelquendi || Banter Starter

He holds up his single hand to pause. His expression is a mask of neutrality that hides the storming thoughts behind his eyes. “Stop. Repeat that to me again, Carnistir. For, whatever you may have said, what I heard is that you are wedded.”

[warriorswithin]

edhelquendi respondeu seu post: what if I brought… Haleth… back…

I have moryo!

it’s settled, i’m bringing her back !!

[elenhest]

continued from x with @edhelquendi

He had not put up much of a fight. He had no weapons–they were really of no use, when he had one hand, and that hand was mutilated, some fingers fused together and his palm scarred beyond recognition. But he could have fought the soldiers off anyhow, simply with his superior size and strength.

But he had not.

They had started to bind him, but it made his stomach churn so badly that he had started to shake and nearly cry, and they had taken pity on him. They had instead blindfolded him, and led him along in the dark wood back to their campsite.

When they removed the blindfold, the red-haired woman was there.

Maedhros was fascinated, for lack of a better word.

It had been ages since he had seen anyone with hair as fiery as his own. The mark of his mother, and his grandfather–and not the one who was a king. It almost hurt, to look at this strange elf, tiny compared to his own stature, who brought back a sudden wave of pain, of memories, that he had long managed to avoid.

“Whose child are you, then?” he asked in Sindarin, and his voice was soft. He glanced at the guard who had his bow out, pointed, ready to shoot if Maedhros made a single wrong move. “I thought I had accounted for all members of my family, but evidently I am mistaken.”

“Family?”  

It was nearly an an insult, at least from her standpoint; she’d almost not believed it when her patrol told her who they’d found.  Maedhros Fëanorian.  It was as if he’d come to the forest straight from the history books she’d read, and what stories she had heard from those few survivors of the kinslayings.  He thought to compare her to his family?  

“I highly doubt you know my parents.”  Even sitting on the ground, Tauriel can tell he would potentially tower above her, so she draws a dagger and lifts it to his chin before he might try to move.  

“You will not speak,” she says sharply, her grip tightening on the handle, “until you are spoken to.  You will not try to move until we have a few soldiers holding onto you, and you will not stand unless I order it.  Aye?  We will bring you back to the palace and organize an audience with our King, so that you can explain to him why you have trespassed-- and I will not hesitate to bind you again if I must.”  

[kyelek]

@edhelquendi​ said: "i am mine. before i am anyone else’s." (celebrimbor) quotes from pinterest | accepting

     “You are your father’s son before you are Artaresto’s footman!” And did not Celegorm’s flaring temper speak his true mind now; in these days he’d often held it back, for his nephew’s sake. No more. He would not truly raise his hand... but were Celegorm’s fingers elsewhere but his collar Celebrimbor would need gasp for breath.

“Tyelpë,” Hollow affection in that name. “you know that he and I would suffer anything to shelter you.”

[atariince]

"But I made this choice with my head and not my heart." (from Celebrimbor)

Sentence starters

@edhelquendi​

It couldn’t be.

Among all the eventualities he had ever imagined, this situation had neverbeen an option. And he could still not believe it.

But Tyelperinquar was there, standing in front of him with the arrogantdetermination so typical of their family. His chin high, a resolute pout as heproudly held his gaze. And those words, which ripped through Curufinwë’s heart,tearing it open with both anger and grief.

Behind him, the agitation among the people of Nargothrond. He could hearthe chats, the pitter patter of the feet upon the cold stones, the gasps andthe growing indignation that threatened to erupt among Artaresto’s party. It nolonger meant anything to him. Not even the insults, the injustice, the betrayals.There was only his son, and his eyes filled with an odd alliance of cold disappointmentand burning sorrow.

Curufinwë didn’t understand, although in the back of his mind, burieddeep down beneath his illusions, he knew. He had always known. This day was tobe expected, this very moment had been foregrounded long before. This wrench couldhave been anticipated.

But it was yet too soon to admit it. Too soon and too painful. Curufinwëwouldn’t let this shame overtake him. Not again.

He exhaled, briefly. A sharp sigh.

No giving up. No surrender.

“You are being ridiculous, Tyelperinquar.”

Silence. A pause. He was hesitating but he refused to show it.

“You cannot turn your back on your family, on your legacy.” On me, he wantedto add. But he didn’t. He opted for authority, dismissing the emotionalcapitulation. “You shall do as I bid and come with us. Are you not smart enoughto see through their scornful lies, to shun their pathetic judgement, so fullof envy? That is what your head, this brilliant mind of yours, should dictateyou.”

He would have insisted again and again, all night long, he wouldn’t haverelinquished until his son could finally see. But wasn’t it too late? Hadn’t healready lost?

The tension in his jaw was increasing, he could feel it, turning intopain. But he couldn’t move, his whole body a cluster of tensed nerves, rawbitterness and scorching frustration. And in his heart a black hole; there wasguilt hiding there, somewhere. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Grey eyes narrowing, pinched lips. The taste of ashes in the back of histhroat. He would not break down. There shall be no tears, and regret shall beswallowed back.

Curufinwë shook his head, slowly, as if to shake off the wince thatthreatened to distort his proud features.

“My son shall not be a traitor tohis bloodline. Or he shall no longer be my son.”

[tallowes]

@edhelquendi​ said:“ i’m not scared of consequences. ” (elladan for faramir) VIKTORIA | ACCEPTING

He looks up from his preparations. ❝ Really ? I am. ❞ the journey back will be long and perilous and much has been laid on his shoulders. He looks over his saddlebags again, trying to make sure nothing had been forgotten before he speaks again. ❝ There’s too much at stake not to feel some fear. Lives rely on my actions, my people look to me for answers. I cannot fail them.  ❞

[lachind]

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” 

Nightmares are all too common, now — for Elrond, they are all but nightly. It has made for an exhausting several months for the both of them. Of course, Elros tries to help. It is natural for him, and he is in a better position anyways, seeing that he can bring himself to speak to —— their captors? 

But by now, even he is becoming overwhelmed. 

“It’s not so bad, Elrond,” he whispers, sitting up in bed and pulling his twin closer. “They’re not — Kanafinwë — he’s not going to h- hurt us. They would have hurt us by now if they wanted to.” 

plotted starter || @edhelquendi​

[elenure]

Continued from here with @edhelquendi

It is foolishness.

When has that ever stopped Elladan before?

He has known Ereinion for his entire life, but has realized newly of late his beauty. And what does he have to lose? At worst, he runs the risk his…proposal being rejected, and at best he earns a night or two of fun. Maybe more.

So he takes Ereinion’s hand, pulls it to his lips.

“May I have this dance?”

Ereinion stared into his glass of wine as if the ripples in the liquid were the most fascinating thing in the world when, in reality, he was trying desperately not to stare at Elladan. Everything about him was captivating. For so long he had watched from afar, too terrified to say or do anything.

When he felt the presence of another before him, he looked up quickly and immediately his heart seemed to stop. A deep red blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and he could hear himself stuttering a reply before he even knew he was speaking.

Those lips upon his knuckles, the way Elladan looked at him, those eyes, that smile, everything about him was. . . perfect.

"I-I. . ." Ereinion swallowed and took a deep breath. "I am not any good, I have never really. . . I can't dance."

[feanors-daughter]

Continued from here with @edhelquendi

He was seated in bed, leaning against the pillows with a book in his lap, reading by the light of the lantern on his bedside table. He did not look up at the sound of small feet on the floor until the little body settled into the curve of his side, and he rested one hand on the top of his sister’s head.

“What are you doing up still?”

Little hands clutched the fabric of his shirt as she buried her face in his chest. Another nightmare had plagued her rest that night, shaking her from sleep so soon after her mother had finally gotten her to bed. Tears welled in her eyes but she held them back, forcing herself to be tough.

“I couldn’t sleep, Moryo.” She lied, looking up at her older brother, her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she pleaded with large blue eyes. “Can I stay up with you?”

[silvercrowned]

Continued from x

Celebrían was rather taken aback by his tone, but softened and accepted his hand in hers.

“Elrond,” she spoke gently, “I only worry for you.”

She sensed how exhausted he was-constantly, and it worried her a great deal. But it worried her even more that Elrond seemed determined to never rest. Even her mother was wearied when she welded Nenya- and she was the greatest of elven women. If Elrond grew too tired, unable to weld- she stopped, refusing to follow that line of thought and turned her attention back to Elrond.

“Its alright. You bear a heavy burden.” she spoke in a gentle voice, reaching to cup Elronds cheek. “I know. I know the delicate state we are in, but please tell me how I can lighten your burden? It pains me to see you so.

@edhelquendi

[eldatarin-blog]

@edhelquendi, 𝕿𝖚𝖗𝖌𝖔𝖓 ❤️’d

     “𝕴f you let her know that it bothers you, she’ll keep doing it.” Something he’d learned at Turukáno’s...insistence, back in time, though he won’t say it now. Even as with Írissë as their only sister some things were different, much was the same Findekáno felt.

“What will our cousins say, if they find you in hiding from our sister?” Now he teased too, if more briefly and less meaning — although Tyelkormo surely would delight in that. There’s something more heavy but heartfelt yet. “You’re older, Turvo, you need stand above it.”