#fem!maedhros

[tar-maitime]

initiate the heart within me

Rating: T Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekano, Ereinion Gil-galad, OCs Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon, fem!Maedhros/Fingon Additional: Long Peace, Gil-galad son of plot hole, also Gil-galad Russingonion, Adoption WC: 3.2k

The others of the scouting party are still picking through the settlement, but Maedhros already knows it won’t avail them anything. Orcish destruction on this scale doesn’t leave survivors.

Once, this was a relatively happy and peaceful place, with a mix of Noldor and Sindar and a few Avari all mingled together. Maedhros last rode through it only a few months ago, and there was as little foreboding of trouble as if they’d all been in Valinor. It just goes to show that none of them are ever safe here, not really.

Her second approaches her, looking grim. “My lady,” he says, “what would you have us do?”

They’ve already dispatched the band of orcs that did this. There won’t be anything useful to salvage; such raiding parties destroy or befoul anything they don’t take. “Bury the dead,” she says shortly. “We should have time and safety enough for that, at least - to give these people some dignity.”

He nods, and goes to relay the order to the others. This business should not take long. Even in this long peace, they have grown skilled in making graves for large numbers of people quickly.

Maedhros moves to join them, falling into the rhythm of searching half-destroyed houses for bodies and bringing them out to be arranged. It’s not until the fourth such house that something breaks her out of it, something she almost doesn’t recognize at first because it’s so out of place here.

There’s a baby crying quietly.

She freezes, momentarily sure she’s imagining it - but no, there it is again.

It takes her agonizingly long to search, scrambling, for the source, pulling open cupboards and drawers, checking increasingly unlikely spots. At last - it can’t have been more than a few minutes, but feels longer - she traces the cry to the bedroom, and a heavy wooden chest shoved under the bed. Somehow, someone had managed to bundle an infant, only a handful of months old, into the chest and the orcs hadn’t found it. Perhaps the child had somehow slept through it all; perhaps the attack had been so riotous that it was impossible to hear one small cry in all the din. However it happened, the child’s survival is nothing short of a miracle, of the kind Maedhros scarcely believes in anymore. 

Carefully, she cradles the baby against her chest, all too aware of her armor and the black and scarlet blood smearing her. It - he, she discovers after a brief investigation - ceases wailing in her hold, blinking up at her uncertainly.

He’s so small, so fragile. Nothing in her life has been allowed to be fragile in so long, no since she ceased to be so herself. And yet, once upon a time, wasn’t she so sure she would have this? A child in her arms, one of her own, hers and --

The bond is usually quiet these days, not from any lack of love but simply for the need to avoid distraction, but now it opens up without her conscious decision, letting her banked fire flare in Fingon’s mind leagues away. He answers instantly in starlight. Russë? Is everything all right?

Maedhros struggles to master herself. This is nothing she needs to involve him in. It is not anything at all, not to her, not beyond her duty to see the child into safety and care the way she would for anyone under her protection.

I’m fine, Finno, she replies. Don’t worry.

He retreats, leaving the faintest trace of skepticism behind. Maedhros is left to stare at the slightly squirming baby, until at last she makes herself get up and go outside.

The revelation of the baby prompts a second, more thorough scouring of the village, but no other survivors are found. They make shift to bury the dead as best they can. At the last minute, Maedhros gathers a few things that look like they might have sentimental value someday from the house where she discovered the child. Through it all, she can’t quite bring herself to pass him along to anyone else. 

When they ride away, back to Himring, the baby is lashed to her chest in a sling.

- - -

Himring is neither designed nor supplied with the needs of an infant in mind. Most places in Beleriand, so far as Maedhros knows, aren’t; elves don’t pour themselves into bringing a new life into the world lightly, and few have felt safe enough to do so since the Darkening. The folk of that destroyed village must have believed themselves very secure indeed, right up until they didn’t.

But despite this and despite the eventful centuries since her brothers were this small, Maedhros has not forgotten the basics of care. As soon as she can amidst the chaos of the scouting party’s return, of getting cleaned up and jotting down notes for a later report on the attack, she makes arrangements. For an improvised cradle to be brought to her chambers, for rags to be donated to serve as catchcloths, for their softest blankets available to be rounded up as stand-ins until she can figure out proper clothes, for someone to inquire among the Edain of Himring if any women are nursing - Men cannot seem to stop having children, and when some of them joined Maedhros’ forces, they brought or started families, to general elven bewilderment.

It does occur to Maedhros, at one point, that she could hand the baby off to someone else, and make all this their responsibility. She is the commander of Himring; she has the authority, and arguably better things to do. But she doesn’t. The baby stays in her arms, or within her sight, or lashed to her chest, through all the rest of the day. It has never been her way to trust anyone but herself with the really important things, and there can be nothing more important than this.

The corollary to this, which had not occurred to her, comes early the next morning when the Edain wet nurse, a sweet-natured woman called Aelfwynn, stifles a cry as the baby nurses. Maedhros, alert to every detail occurring in that corner of the room, frowns and leans forward sharply. “Is something wrong?”

“No, my lady,” Aelfwynn says quickly. “It’s only - I could’ve sworn I felt something tug at me, here,” she rubs at her breastbone, “but...deeper inside, somehow. Like it was yanking at my soul.”

Of course. Maedhros should’ve thought. Elven children need nourishment of the fëa as well as the body, and in the normal course of things, would receive both at the same time from the mother. But with an adaneth...things are different, for them. there is no way of knowing whether such a thing would hurt both Aelfwynn and the baby, but Maedhros thinks it likely.

“Give him to me; I can amend it,” she says, reaching out her arms, and when Aelfwynn passes the baby over Maedhros holds him against her shoulder, stroking his back with her hand, and hums quietly, reaching out with her fëa to the child’s. As poor an offering as it is, he accepts it eagerly - clearly, the day or so since his parents were slain has left him desperate. Maedhros pours into his spirit until he is satisfied, then continues to hold him, swaying slightly back and forth.

A flare of starlight in her mind. Russë, what’s going on? I thought I felt...

Briefly, Maedhros curses whatever prevented her from foreseeing this. She and Fingon are bound soul to soul; of course he would feel it when she touched her soul to another. Nothing. There is no need to be concerned; don’t worry about it.

I’m not worried, but I am increasingly curious. Fingon’s thought turns almost hesitatnt. Russë...do you have a child there with you?

Lying to one’s bonded husband is impossible, and Maedhros has carried a distaste for untruths since Angband. Yes, she admits, an infant I found in the ruins of a village near here that was sacked. There is no need to make a fuss, though, she adds swiftly, for she can feel Fingon about to do just that. As soon as I can work out a better solution than this, he will go there posthaste.

And yet, Fingon says far too knowingly, it is you and not another appointed for the task who is nurturing his fëa.

Maedhros doesn’t know how to explain that she hadn’t thought of anyone else, had simply seen the trouble and moved to fix it herself, in a way that doesn’t undermine her side of the argument she can see on the horizon.

Not that I blame you, Fingon continues, he’s wonderful, I can already tell. I’m coming to you as soon as I can, love.

There’s no need -- Maedhros protests, but receives no acknowledgment. This is exactly why she wasn’t going to tell him until it was all over. She wants to see him, of course; she always does. But there’s no point in him acting like...like this is a child they’re adopting together.

She passes the baby back to Aelfwynn to finish nursing, and makes herself leave to find something to do - but not before giving instructions to come find her when the baby is done.

- - -

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself, that the child’s dark hair curls almost like Fingon’s, that his soft skin is just a few shades lighter, that he looks like the child they can never have. It doesn’t matter that he laughs like sunshine, that his soul nestles trustingly against her battered one, that he watches her with serious eyes as his tiny hands reach to brush curiously over the scars on her face. It doesn’t matter that she’s started to remember the old lullabies she used in Valinor, to soothe him when he fusses. It doesn’t matter that she almost thinks she hears him sleepily call her “ammë” one night as she puts him down - she probably imagined it anyway.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the first entirely soft, pure, innocent thing in her life in too long --

No. That does matter. It’s why she absolutely cannot keep him.

- - -

Fingon arrives withing another week, clearly having come at top speed, and as always his mere presence is enough to make Maedhros start half-believing in impossible dreams. He greets her warmly with a kiss - their marriage is an open secret at this point; after his behavior at Mithrim there is little point in pretending - and at first trades pleasantries and news with her as if this is an ordinary visit, but once they have more privacy, he looks around and asks, “Where is he?”

Maedhros can just catch the edge of his thought - I would have expected him to be with you. In truth, she has kept the child with her at almost all times these past days, some reason or another always seeming to arise why she cannot pass him off to someone else, but today she had given him over to Aelfwynn as soon as the sentries reported Fingon’s approach. She cannot let him think she is attached.

(She cannot be attached.)

“He is with the wet nurse, around here somewhere,” she says, trying to sound vague and not as thought she gave Aelfwynn specific instructions so she would know where they were at all times. “I can try and find them if you want to see him.”

Fingon’s arm goes around her waist as he leans against her. “Love, I don’t think you’re fooling anyone but yourself,” he says gently. “If even that.”

Maedhros does not allow herself to bend. “There is nothing to fool anyone about,” she says firmly, leading Fingon towards the room wehre she knows Aelfwynn and the baby will be. “I would, however, be endlessly grateful if you could take the child with you when you return west, if you think you can manage it. “Dor-lomin and Hithlum should have a better selection of possible adoptive families than the March.”

Before Fingon has the chance to answer, they’ve reached the door, and Maedhros strides inside, her eyes automatically scanning the room. Aelfwynn is not immediately visible, and neither is the baby, and for one brief moment instinctive panic rises in Maedhros’ throat --

-- and then Aelfwynn comes around a corner - the room is shaped like a knight’s move - and the baby in her arms babbles happily at the sight of them, and Maedhros breathes again.

She feels Fingon’s I-thought-so as clearly as if he said it in her ear, but that doesn’t stop her from crossing to take the baby in her own arms, balancing him on her hip so she can see him properly. “There you are,” she murmurs, and then, remembering herself, “The wet nurse I spoke of, Aelfwynn. Aelfwynn, my guest Crown Prince Fingon Fingolfinion.”

Aelfwynn executes a deep curtsy. “I’m honored, my lord.” She moves past them towards the door. “Let me know if you need me again, my lady.”

Only once she’s gone does Maedhros fully register the sheer love and joy on Fingon’s face and pouring over their bond. He can’t seem to take his eyes off her and the baby she’s holding.

“Russë, he’s perfect,” Fingon breathes, coming closer. “He’s wonderful. I see now --”

“There’s nothing to see,” Maedhros cuts him off. “He’s not mine, I’m not keeping him, I can’t. There’s no way around it and you’re not going to change my mind, so just...leave it.”

Sorrow and something uncomfortably close to pity flit across Fingon’s face. “Why can’t you, exactly?” he asks quietly. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want to; I can see that you do - I can feel it.”

The words won’t come, for a moment. “I - there’s no way to take care of him here, not long-term,” she gets out. “It’s a wonder we’ve been able to manage at all for this long. If it weren’t for Aelfwynn, I don’t know what I’d have done. And the next time there’s an attack, or I need to ride out, what happens then? Or when Morgoth finally does break out and this place is on the front lines, where I wanted it to be? How am I supposed to keep him safe, give him any semblance of a normal childhood?”

The way Fingon is looking at her drags more words out of her, ones she hadn’t meant to let loose. “How - how would I be able to be a mother to him? I’m not gentle or nurturing anymore, Finno, you know that. I’m hard and dangerous, I’m not completely sane, I’m Oathbound and doomed, I wake up every morning and practically dare the Dark Vala to come at me. What part of that sounds like someone who should be keeping a child?”

Fingon just looks at her for a long moment, then carefully pulls her into a hug, baby and all. The baby takes advantage of this development to paw at Fingon’s braids.

“The part you left out, love,” he says, muffled against her shoulder. “The part where you clearly already love him and would do anything for him, where you would protect him from anything including yourself.”

“That isn’t enough,” Maedhros protests. “It can’t be.”

“It can,” Fingon promises. “You can let yourself love him, and I can help you and love him right alongside you, and he can have family and love and care from us. Everyone wins. Anything else is just logistical details.”

Maedhros almost, almost lets herself relax into the embrace. “How can you love him, though?” she protests. “You’ve known about him for a handful of days; you met him just now --”

Fingon pulls back, and carefully takes the baby from her. “For one thing,” he says, holding the child close and rubbing soothing circles on his bac, “he is manifestly lovable; it would be more surprising if I did not. For another - he is your child, Russë, that much is clear. If we were Edain and you surprised me with a baby in their fashion, I would love him at once if only for that, and I can do no less even if the child in question is not ours by blood.”

That, finally, makes Maedhros break down. She begins to weep, and they end up in each other’s arms again, the baby held carefully between them.

“Ssh, there, Russë,” Fingon murmurs, his thumb stroking across her spine as he holds her. “It’ll be all right. It will.”

- - -

In the plan they eventually end up working out, Fingon will take the child back with him to Barad Either - eventually. For now, they deem it best for the baby to continue with Aelfwynn as a wet nurse until such time as he can be weaned, and since it would be impossible and ridiculous to ask her to relocate to Barad Eithel, the baby has to remain at Himring as well, for the time being.

This, Fingon declares, means that he will be staying for a while, too.

“Won’t you be needed in Hithlum?” Maedhros asks, trying to be practical despite how much the idea raises a thrill in her.

“I can be spared away for some months, for something like this,” Fingon assures. “Since Dor-lomin was given to Men, there has been much less for me to do. And my father will understand if it is for the sake of a new grandchild.”

Particularly one that hasn’t vanished into wherever Nevrast’s people went.

Maedhros hums, thinking. “You could probably tell everyone that he’s our child by blood,” she points out. “Everyone who doesn’t already know better, I mean.” The news of Sauron leaving her unable to bear children had only been shared with a few, thought her brothers and Fingolfin were among them.

“Perhaps,” Fingon says noncommitally. “I can think on it. We have time to decide.”

He lifts his head. “And you know this means you must come west to visit more frequently, of course. A few months out of every year, at least. Maglor can hold Himring at need, and he will for this, you know it.”

Maedhros does know it. “I will work out a schedule with him,” she promises. “First I must work out how to tell him that I have acquired a child in the first place.” A thought occurs to her. “And he should have names. We can’t just keep calling him ‘the baby’; it’ll get ridiculous.” She had held off on any naming so far in an attempt to not get attached, but that’s not really a concern now.

Fingon hums, thinking. “Ereinion,” he says at last. “Scion of kings - and I do mean scion, not son, for I dearly hope there is never a circumstance where I must become king.”

“You would do well with it,” Maedhros says, because Fingon does well with everything.

“It would not be worth it, to have inherited it from my father,” Fingon says quietly. Then, “But Ereinion, I stand by it. Have you thought at all of an amilessë?”

Maedhros has, for all her trying not to. “Gil-galad,” she murmurs. “Starlight. He looks so much like you, and --” She can’t say it, but even when she was trying her hardest to keep her distance, some tiny corner of her had dreamed of Fingon taking him as his own, letting him be hers at least by proxy.

“A good name,” Fingon says, nestling closer against her side. “A beautiful name. Ereinion Gil-galad. Ours.”

They stay curled up there together with their son between them until evening is well on its way.

[dalliansss]

You look just like your dad for the prompts please ! 🙏🏾

- @elaiahsstuff

the largesse of the sea maiden.

When Narwë received word that her son Artanáro would be joining her in Himring for the summer, she had to read the missice from Nargothrond about ten times before the point sank into her mind. Her son, her only child with Ingoldo -- the son which she carried for a year, birthed -- and then sent to Nargothrond -- would be coming here. Coming to Himring. A tumult of mixed emotions arose in the Lady of Himring's chest. When she and Ingoldo wished for a child, she had thought herself well and capable of raising one of her own. After all, did she not raise six brothers, and helped with her cousins beside?

But imaginings and daydreams were oft incomparable to the real thing, and after a difficult birth and when the midwife handed to her the swaddled infant, Narwë, instead of feeling overwhelming love, could only feel fear and great hesitation. It wasn't that she didn't love her child; no -- it was a complicated web of feelings that even she could not make sense of. Certainly, she and Ingoldo tried to raise their son together, but as the months crawled by after the birth, Narwë was getting more distressed, such that the only option they could truly have was for Ingoldo to finally return to Nargothrond with their infant. Narwë had not wept as hard then, not even when Fëanor burst into flames before her and her brothers' eyes.

And how the years have rolled by! Artanáro, her son, was now writing correspondences for his father, signing missives in perfect Tengwar that would have made Fëanor proud:

Artanáro Ereinion Prince of Nargothrond

How Narwë trailed her gold-and-mithril fingers over the letters, and in the privacy of her suites in Himring, how many times has she pressed the parchments to her nose and lips, kissing the name of the child she let go, imagining she could smell his perfume, or find the lingering warmth of his fingers...

Summer could not come to Himring fast enough. But as the last few tendrils of Spring gave way for the summer colors of the flowers of the Lothlann tundra, Narwë, Red Lady of Himring, looked south of her towers and battlements.

And one morning, the banners of Nargothrond were seen fluttering in the high breeze on the south road, and she rushes to the courtyard, if only to be the first person to welcome her son -- her grown son -- to Himring. The drawbridge was allowed to come down. She stood there, wrapped in her dark furs, her red hair drawn into a ponytail, and she watches as a beautiful dun stallion comes galloping into the courtyard of Himring.

She peers up at the young elf on the saddle. Strawberry blond hair drawn into a practical bun-hairstyle, riding clothes in the color of the earth, and a deep chocolate colored fur coat. But the eyes --- Artanáro's eyes were Ingoldo's, summer blue, and Narwë found that she would not have willed her only child to look this and that.

She stepped forward. Artanáro looked at her in silence, for a heartbeat, but then he dipped his head and extended to her the elven greeting, which she returns. "Amil," he greets.

"My son," Narwë hears herself say. "You look just like your Atar. I hope your roads gave you little trouble. Welcome to Himring."

Artanáro dismounts his horse, and he allows a stablehand to lead away the magnificent creature. He stands before her, and Narwë eagerly studies his features. I have missed most of the important milestones in his life, she thinks. I did not hear his first word, nor shared Ingoldo's joy when he took his first steps. I was not there when he had his first substantial meal, nor saw when he first held his practice sword, nor nursed him through small scratches and little injuries that woudl have been gone come the morrow. There is a painful pinch in her heart. But her decision to send him to Nargothrond was the best she could make for him under their circumstances.

Narwë does not offer a hug. She does not yet know if she has that right. And Artanáro does not embrace her either. He makes a small show of pulling off his fur-lined riding gloves, and Narwë thinks that even his perfect fingers he got from his Atar.

"Let's go inside," she says instead, gesturing toward the Main Keep with her gold-and-mithril hand. "Your Uncles Maglor and Caranthir are no doubt eager to see you."

Artanáro nods, and he absently pats at his strawberry blond hair. "Lead the way, Amil." He says quietly. "I will follow."

Narwë wants, more than anything, to hug him, kiss him, and hold his hands to her cheeks. But she refrains, and instead she turns heel, and Artanáro follows close behind.

@elaiahsstuff

[fistfuloflightning]

A deadly attraction

Anti-villain Maedhros and vigilante Maeglin

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Castle on the Hill

Thank you to the anon who sent in this request for Mae x fem!reader angst.

As it was an anon prompt, I do not know the person who requested this and/or how familiar they are with my writing.

So, I have taken anon by their word. The only thing I am not sure about is whether this will count as "x"...

Words: 1473

Characters: Maedhros x Female Elf reader

Prompt: Grassy Hillsides

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, the Doom of the Ñoldor

As you made your way into the fortress, shamefully bedraggled and unspeakably weary, you were terrified of what you'd find.

The grassy hillside you had clambered up reminded you of home and of better times you were hopeful to regain—despite the bold claim that it was summer here, you felt a sickly chill seep through your travelling garb and settle beneath your skin.

Never would you have been able to predict how heavy and miserable you'd feel in this strange land when you had set out—with high hopes and a joyous heart—to bring back the one you felt tethered to still despite his long absence from the shores of your home.

Before the so-called Flight of the Ñoldor, your family had led you to believe that a match with Nelyafinwë, firstborn of the firstborn, would be both possible and desirable.

From the moment you had first laid eyes upon him, you had never demurred again.

He had been named quite aptly for his blinding beauty, but it was his dignified demeanour and eloquent speech that had won your maiden heart.

You shivered violently as you were ushered into a draughty hall, awaiting the pleasure of the Lord of the castle. Through a narrow, charmless window, you could see the grey grass swaying sluggishly in the damp breeze—you turned away, overwhelmed with home-sickness and a devastating sensation of loneliness.

Would he even remember you?

You had been but another maiden at court, staring longingly at the gorgeous and exceedingly desirable descendants of Finwë behind coyly lowered lashes.

Steeling yourself against this onslaught of disastrous doubt, you tried to improve your appearance as much as possible without a looking glass or the proper tools.

It would not do to appear before this paragon of strength and nobility in so unapologetically dishevelled a fashion.

"Milady," a heavy, raucous voice said, and you whirled around to face a door you had not hitherto noticed. "How can I be of assistance?"

Pressing your lips together, you took in the apparition of doleful distinction approaching you with measured steps.

Nelyafinwë looked both much the same and completely different—the noble reticence you had once so admired had hardened into stern dispassion and his delicate features seemed sharper and more cutting in the flickering light of the sconces.

Evidently, he did not remember you—his smile was perfunctory at best and your courage flagged.

As you were frantically flipping through the catalogue of empty, pretty phrases one was supposed to use when in the presence of an Elda of his standing, your gaze brushed against his right wrist as against an open wound.

You flinched involuntarily—your host gave you an almost mocking smile.

Finally, he met your wide, shocked gaze and, by the way he retreated a wavering step, you could tell that he realised instantly whence you had come.

"I have come to take you home," you blurted out, understanding with sudden clarity that this world was nothing like the one you had grown up in.

This was not the time nor the place for polite conversation and pleasant platitudes—not when the unobtainable dream of your radiant youth stood there, swaddled in heavy furs, and stared at you in reluctant wonder.

"Home?" he barked; it sounded as if he had not laughed in a very long time. "And where would that be, pray tell?"

"To Valinor," you replied in a faltering voice.

This was not what you had imagined when you had planned your victorious quest to redeem the Dispossessed. In your visualisation of the scene, he had always been relieved and eager to follow you back to the Blessed Realm where peace and plenty were awaiting him after a period of humble atonement.

"What for?" he hissed and scanned the room quickly before localising the carafe of deep red wine standing on a bare, scratched-up counter.

Without heeding your attempts at redressing your impassionate, imprudent exclamation, he moved over and poured the liquid into two finely wrought crystal goblets.

"My Lord," you cried, "you are not beyond saving. If only you would come with me...there could be forgiveness and healing."

His piercingly cold eyes swung around to settle heavily upon your blanching face. A flicker of acknowledgement of your ever-youthful beauty passed through his gaze but it died as soon as it had flared up and was promptly replaced by the unyielding wall of patient distance.

"A wife," you added softly—renewed, unquenchable hope flared within your soul and voice once more as you extended your hand to him.

Handing you one of the goblets unceremoniously, Nelyafinwë cocked his head as if earnestly fascinated but not in the least otherwise affected by your words.

"A wife," he chuckled. "What would I do with a spouse of any denomination?"

He rubbed his brow with the same long, slender fingers you had watched write important notes in the margins of official texts an eternity ago.

They were now pale and bony, marred with scars and covered in callouses, but they were still the most beautiful digits you had ever beheld.

"Love her? Be happy?" you whispered, hating yourself for sounding so unsure of a scheme that had driven you across the sea and through countless perils.

"A wife, happy, love," he aped you, his own voice booming and bouncing off the unadorned walls of the chamber—an unbearable echo of his disbelief and derision.

"I have sworn an oath," he then added in a softer tone, "and it takes precedence over any other vow I might have made. I am bound to it and to those who share my ball and chain. There is nothing else. There is nobody else. There never will be."

The fire of resentment and resignation burning in his eyes did nothing to dispel the trembling that had drained your limbs of all strength.

"You've done enough," you protested vehemently, "you have lost so much already. Come back with me and be made whole."

He bristled at that, retreating even further from you as if he was positively disgusted by the tableau of pardon and peace you were conjuring up.

"I am what I am," he said coldly, "and there is nought you or anyone else could change about that. Go home, this is no place for...the innocent."

Though he did not speak the devastating verdict, you could hear it reverberating in his tone. There was no place in his castle, in his life, or in his heart for naïve maidens such as you.

Your hands started to shake so much that you had to hide them within your sleeves—you had prepared and rehearsed every single sentence you had wanted to say to him but, in the face of his unrelenting refusal to even listen to you, you were constantly finding yourself at fault and at a loss for words.

"Please," you begged brazenly, "this is folly. You'll die."

Another burst of mirthless laughter cut your pleading short.

"My grandfather is dead," he answered calmly, "so is my father. Ever since leaving Formenos, every step I've taken was steeped in destruction and death—I know what awaits me and I am unafraid."

Letting the goblet fall to the floor, wine spilling across the flagstones like the blood he had referenced a moment prior, you extended both your hands in a shameless display of supplication.

"Go home," he scoffed, "there is nought you can offer that I'd desire. I have chosen my lot and I have all I'll ever need in this accursed land we've paid so dearly to have and to hold."

The travesty of notions and phrases usually found in wedding vows cut you to the core and, finally, your desperate, violent burst of selfless petition abated.

"I wish you'd reconsider," you sighed.

"I wish you safe travels," he replied in the even, polite voice you remembered from his speeches at court. "May you find all the bliss you've tried to hawk so fervently."

Draining his cup and giving you a crisp, perfunctory bow, he strode out of the same door he had entered through.

A moment later, an armoured soldier appeared by your elbow to escort you either to your horse or to a room in case you wanted to rest before your departure.

"Will I see him again?" you asked dejectedly.

"No," the soldier informed you, his terrible, insulting empathy hurting you more than Nelyafinwë's polite dismissal, "he has left to confer with his kin."

"Then I shall take my leave as well," you said, mustering up every ounce of self-respect and dignity left within your shaken soul.

As you exited the keep, bitterness crept into your veins along with the pervasive cold that made your bones ache.

He did not remember you and he had not even deemed you worthy of an apology…or a goodbye.

Thank you anon for the request and I hope this was acceptable.

Writing this, I have found that I am unable to write a lovestory between Maedhros and a female character that would be anywhere near functional or successful. I am sorry.

Lots of love!

@fellowshipofthefics: On track for week 3 as well :D

[arofili]

heart-to-heart

Maitimo has something important to tell Findekánë. It turns out Findekánë has something important to share, too.

a belated entry for @finweanladiesweek Day 7: Freeform/Genderbending!

Rating: T | No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon Characters: cisfem!Fingon, transfem!Maedhros Word count: 2.1k

READ IT ON AO3!

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

Okay I am going to completely re-write my maedhros/fingolfin fic. I realized the story would make more sense if it were a fem!maedhros au instead of a trans!maedhros au since I’ve made her craft fiber arts in that fic and it would make a perfect foil to Finwë/Míriel as Fingolfin was said to be most like his father in looks. I read a hc that fem!maedhros would’ve looked exactly like her grandmother but with red hair and I’m going to run with that concept. Imagine the angst that Finwë would feel seeing his first wife’s likeness marrying and having many children with his likeness. The angst that Feanor would feel seeing his eldest, the heir to the throne, marrying his half-brother, whom he was ambivalent towards (before melkor). The conflict he must feel towards supporting his only daughter in her marriage and his own conflicting feelings towards Indis’s children and how that might translate to his interactions with his grandchildren later on.

The og fic was real grimdark like warhammer 40k levels of grimdark and I don’t vibe with that anymore so I’m going to make a fix-it fic without all the kinslaying and betrayal but maybe keeping some elements of the start of the first age just so there’s angst in this fic. I don’t think I know how to write fluff fics anymore lmao. The last fluff fic I’ve written was 6 years ago and that still was angst with a happy ending. Maybe this re-write will turn into that too since I believe that without the first kinslaying the doom of the Noldor would not be proclaimed.

Thinking about how if Maitimo was born slightly before Nolofinwë and then went on to marry him and have kids, Feanor wouldn’t be so arson happy at Losgar. Maybe having grandchildren that shared blood with Indis may have made him less antagonistic towards them and made him more or less ignore them unless it was Nolofinwe who is the husband of his baby girl and must be glared at™️.

Thinking of maybe including some of my more “grimdark” plot lines into this new fic like maedhros still being held captive but it’s her son rescuing her instead of her cousin but make it more gut wrenching that her life was then traded for her youngest sons life or something. The og fic included the burning of the ships and Argons death when they set foot on Beleriland and she didn’t know that her baby died until she was recovered enough to ask for him only to find out that he died and breaking down from it like no torture from Angband ever managed to do. So many possibilities. I have so much time on my hands I’m going to write as much as possible just so I can read the fics I want to read lmao.

[doodle-pops]

Show Me Your Devotion

CEO! Maedhros x reader

Kinktober 2023: Cockwarming

A/N: I decided to forgo adding the requests to the post since they were released before over here » List of Requests

Requests: fem!reader, cockwarming, exhibitionism, mean Maedhros, jealousy

Words: 2.2k

Synopsis: Becoming friendly with your new co-worker does not bode well with your boss. Unfortunately for you, his method of teaching a lesson lacks decorum.

“I hope you won’t mind showing your friend that you belonged to another, and he shouldn’t stare shamelessly,” he stated, a self-assured smile playing on his lips.

Extending his finger in a beckoning motion, he signalled you to come around the table. It didn’t take long for you to grasp the implications of his intent. This wasn’t the first time you’d been beckoned like this; each occasion held different motivations. As the reality of his proposition sunk in, your heart quickened. You understood what he was suggesting—a daring move that defied norms and boundaries. The anticipation in the air was palpable as you considered your choice, navigating the delicate balance between professionalism and intimacy.

With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, you approached him, each step carrying a weight of significance. The space between you diminished, the world around you fading as you settled before him. He occupied your grey office chair with a composed ease, his fiery ginger hair pulled back into a neat half updo. His attire harmoniously blended with the monochromatic palette of greys and blacks that dominated your workspace. The minimalist design of your office found contrast only in the ceiling-to-floor glass walls that adorned two sides, offering a glimpse of the outside world, while the remaining two sides boasted laminated black oak wood.

Those silver eyes remained unwavering, fixed on you from the moment you stepped closer. Sharp and narrow, they roamed over your form—your teal dress, the modest slit at the back, the simple sweetheart neckline—all components chosen to exude professionalism and poise. Though his expression remained firm, a knowing smirk played at the corners of his lips, hinting at a twist in the confrontation. “I see he’s due to deliver summary reports within the next,” he glanced at your desk clock, “half hour. I have a proposition—a way to put an end to this drama.”

Was it shameless of you to easily be dissuaded by the severity of the situation and abandon it all for a taste of dick? You wrestled with a sense of shame as you contemplated yielding to his proposition despite the seriousness of the situation. It seemed unprofessional and unethical, especially with your co-worker’s impending visit. You couldn’t predict what else Maedhros had in mind, and his demeanour only fuelled your desire to wipe the self-arrogant smirk from his handsome face. It wasn’t fair for someone as perfect as him to wield such power and make demands. You found yourself on the brink of willingly dropping your underwear—reserved solely for him—and complying with his audacious request.

You urged yourself to exhibit a modicum of decency, especially after he had accused you of potential infidelity. It was becoming increasingly evident that his persuasive abilities were far-reaching, particularly when it came to manipulating your emotions.

Suppressing a sigh and rolling your eyes, you decided that this would be a brief encounter. Awkwardly and hastily, you removed your lacey panties under your dress and placed them into his outstretched hand. He accepted them with an air of expectancy and placed them into his pocket, gesturing for you to come closer. As usual, he took a hands-off approach, leaving you to initiate everything—typical behaviour after his initial accusations.

You nonchalantly unzipped his pants, pulling out his length as if it were a mundane task. Holding it in your hand, you noticed it appeared more robust than your previous encounters; the head was flushed and beads of precum formed, while the veins stood out, reflecting both frustration and irritation. Time was of the essence, so you reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it upward. But as it reached mid-thigh, you froze, casting a panicked look toward Maedhros, then darting your gaze toward the open door. His voice cut through your thoughts. “Don’t worry about the door. Nobody will see unless they deliberately enter. And if they do, and they speak about it...they’ll be dismissed. Now, hurry up and take your place.”

Rolling your eyes at his casual attitude, you glanced at the still-open door and refocused on the task at hand. You pulled your dress up to your waist, shivering as the air hit your skin. Maedhros’ hungry gaze met yours, and he impatiently gestured for you to approach. You complied, allowing him to guide you into position. Sliding closer, he settled you on his lap and aligned his cock with your cunt, toying and rubbing the tip throughout your folds before slipping in.

Both of you sighed with a mixture of satisfaction and pleasure as you settled onto his lap. The sensation of your warm walls embracing his length, your arousal coating his cock and gathering at its base, elicited a moan from both of you. His fingers pressed into your waist as he relished the feeling, while your ass blocked his usual view, he knew that your arousal was likely creating a pool of cream at the base of his shaft. He could sense your muscles clenching and releasing around him, longing for more than just a stationary connection.

After allowing a moment for the sensations to settle, you shifted slightly, adjusting to the sensation of being impaled on his cock. The size and texture filled you deliciously, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the sensation of being stretched by him. However, your movement was halted as he stopped you, pulling you into an embrace against his chest. “Not so fast, princess,” he murmured. “I said to sit, not to ride. Consider this a payment for the rumours I had to endure about us.”

Scooting his chair closer to your desk, he shifted within you, the movement causing his cock to glide against your inner walls. Each motion sent sparks of pleasure through you, and you could feel your body responding to his touch. The pressure against your sweet spot was almost unbearable, and you felt yourself on the brink of release. The weight, size, and curve of his cock all combined to create a tantalizing sensation that you were denied the full pleasure of experiencing. Your role was simply to sit there as he desired, warming him for later use if he deemed it necessary.

“Mae are you serious?” you whispered, a mixture of frustration and disbelief evident in your voice.

He hummed softly, his chin resting on your shoulder as he placed a gentle kiss at the base of your neck. “Yes. Now, be patient and wait while I go through your reports,” he instructed, nonchalantly flipping open the folder and scanning its contents.

“All this because I decided to be friendly with a co-worker of mine,” you huffed, voice oozing with annoyance. As you articulated your thoughts, you found yourself growing increasingly frustrated at the need to explain such a straightforward situation to the CEO—a man of maturity who must have faced his share of rumours over the years. Your exasperation mingled with your deep affection for him, creating a blend of emotions that left you torn between the desire to defend yourself and the disbelief that he’d give credence to such baseless accusations.

 “No sweetheart, all this because your co-worker doesn’t know to keep his eyes himself and requires being taught a lesson,” he corrected.

As you sat there, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, you looked at him incredulously. Accused, then made to sit and wait, either until he was ready or until your co-worker entered and bore witness to this unholy situation. Fuelled by the belief that you could provoke him into a quick encounter, you involuntarily clenched your inner walls around his cock, hoping to stir his arousal and prompt him to take more decisive action. But instead of the response you anticipated, he merely pinched your thigh and returned to casually flipping through the papers, humming softly to himself. “Behave!”

As time went on, your excitement and desire only increased, resulting in a steady flow of your arousal onto him. His pants around the base of his cock were damp from your essence, yet he seemed unaffected by it. Knowing Maedhros, he likely had a spare set of clothes somewhere in his office, a lesson you’d learned from the years of passionate encounters that had taken place on his expansive desk.

“Mae, come on! Do I really have to sit here and warm your cock until my co-worker comes in?” you turned to observe his unbothered disposition. “Can’t you just, you know, bend me over your desk and get on with it?”

“Is that what you desire of me, or do you want your friend to see you taking my cock?” He chuckled before breaking into a round of laughter. The more he laughed, the more you could feel him stirring inside you, and more cream oozed and dribbled down his shaft. His presence causes your body to react with a mixture of frustration and arousal. You were even surprised that without movement, your arousal was able to escape and coat his entire length, knowing how girthy he was and him boasting about how your lips would always grip him like there was no tomorrow.  But you knew he was enjoying this more than he should; purposely dragging out the situation to see your reaction.

Life felt so unfair in these moments, especially when you considered him your boyfriend and yet he teased you like this.

Still feeling a bit vengeful, you squeezed around him, half expecting a series of amused reactions from him. What you didn’t anticipate was how quickly time seemed to pass. You had just fifteen minutes before your co-worker arrived with the summaries, potentially walking in on you warming your boss’ cock. It was as if life was throwing you a curveball, and you were stuck in a strange kind of limbo.

“Mae…” you whined softly, feeling a mix of frustration and impatience. His bite on your shoulder caused you to clench around him, and finally, you received a response as he let out a hissing sound.

“Y/N…” he mimicked your tone, his voice teasing and playful. “Oh Y/N, my dear. What’s the rush? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Busy?! Busy doing absolutely nothing important! The chief accountant is the one responsible for reading my reports, not you. You’re just overdoing it now!” you protested with anger written all over your face as you wiggled in his lap causing his cock to become stimulated.

You weren’t sure who released the first moan, but you knew you both moaned at the sensation from your movements. His fingers dug tightly into your waist to stop your actions while he growled at your defiance. “If you haven’t noticed, you have twelve minutes before your best buddy comes walking in. I’d choose my next actions carefully—”

“Or what Mae? Do you really believe that he was being overly friendly with me?” you countered.

“Or I’d leave you here unsatisfied,” he whispered an octave lower against your earlobe. “I know when a man is being too friendly, I should know it when I see it,” he responded with haste and annoyance in his voice. A clear sign of him not being pleased with you being oblivious to something so important to him. Rocking back in the chair, he took you with him and allowed you to lean into his chest, prompting all the weight from his cock to press heavily against one side of your walls and elicit gasps from you.

Wiggling in his lap was futile were it not for his iron grip around your waist, to prevent the slightest movement. He truly wished to bask in the warmth and suffocation your cunt was giving him—drooling all over his length and massaging it with your muscles. As much as he was hissing in annoyance at your acts of defiance, the enjoyment and pleasure echoed in every sigh he released as he sank deeper into your chair. He was a vile and horrid lover; you couldn’t comprehend how you could love him when he tortured you this way—the epitome of having his cake and eating it too. “If you continue squirming, I’ll withdraw without a single touch, or I’ll bend you over this table, have my fill and depart. Or you can be a good girl and I’ll fulfil your request.”

“I hate you,” you protested and turned to catch his eyes closed with a satisfactory smile on his face.

“I know princess, but all this will be over soon, and I’ll get what I want.” His warm breath brushed against the shell of your ear before he playfully nibbled on your lobe. The arms that encircled your waist slipped beneath your dress, exerting pressure on your lower abdomen where his presence was prominent. The sensation of his bulge nestled against your core was both exhilarating and maddening, leaving your mind in a whirlwind. Sluggishly, his hands travelled south and froze as the tip of his fingers contacted your clit; a gentle pat was delivered earning a gasp from you. “Just bear with me for a few more minutes,” he cooed as his fingers began snail’s pacing against your clit, making your head spin, “good girls get rewarded.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part 5

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Soft

Warnings: Secondary character has mild panic attack | Brief mentions of bruising

Wordcount: 1.6K words

Summary: Y/n and Nitiel talk while preparing dinner for themselves and the other servants.

Minors DNI

A/n: This is more of a filler chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it.

A/n 2: the previous chapters can be found here Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Y/n POV

The crown prince did not seek her out, but he kept to his promise the few times they did come upon each other. Thranduil was more courteous and respectful, even going so far as to instruct Feren to discreetly see to her welfare.

Feren called on her whenever time permitted, always asking brief questions about how she found life in the palace and how she was being treated by the others. Y/n answered as honestly as she could, and then the crown prince’s steward would take his leave of her before others saw and tongues wagged. One day, he even asked to see the bruise along her wrist. His lips curled in distaste upon seeing it, but he said not a word. Y/n considered it strange but kept her own counsel.  

He called on her again tonight, and he departed only after pressing a glass phial containing a thick, pale ointment into her hands. Nitiel had seen them, and the phial that had been placed on the little table that was used for the cutting of vegetables and herbs and fruits. She swore to guard her tongue.

“Arnica.” She removed the cork and breathed in the scent after Feren took his leave of them. “Comfrey.” She smelled it a second time, and a third. “Yarrow. For bruises.” The cook put the cork back in the phial and regarded y/n with barely disguised curiosity. “You are full elf. Your parents were born in the Blessed Realm, no less. Why would you need such a thing?”

I suppose my secret would not remain a secret for long, y/n told herself. She lifted the sleeve covering her left arm and revealed the still-healing bruise along her wrist. It was now a strange shade of yellow, but y/n considered it an improvement on the black and blue and purple from before.

“This is why,” she replied, sitting down on a chair. 

Nitiel took her hand into hers and hissed softly. “How did you get this?”

“I… I would rather not say.” Y/n thought it would not be wise to reveal what took place between her and the crown prince that day in the gardens. Nitiel had proven herself to be a kindly woman, but y/n believed the revelation could still go badly against her if she said anything. Thranduil was well loved by his father’s people.

“You would rather not say,” Nitiel repeated. She studied y/n keenly, determined to learn more. Then she sighed and let go of her hand, as if she had changed her mind. “Well, this ointment is not going to apply itself. Give that clean cloth to me; we need to get this done before anyone else sees it.”

It did not take them long to apply the ointment and cover it with a thin strip of dressing. They talked while Nitiel went about her task, and they talked while y/n helped her make supper for the servants. The others were away, clearing the dishes in the great feasting hall above them, leaving them alone. The cook had so many questions about life before the War of Wrath, about life in Nargothrond and Himring, and about the sons of Fëanor themselves.

“They say your father had hopes of you marrying one of Lord Fëanor’s unwed sons.” Nitiel dusted flour onto a thin slab of wood and rolled out the dough she had prepared for a wild-berry pie. In the hearth nearby, a stew bubbled away in its copper pot. The pie would be brought to the table much later, but the stew would be served as soon as it was done, along with thin, flat disks of bread and muled wine. Even in the kitchens, everyone ate and drank well. “They say you even met some of them. Pray what were they like?”

Y/n reached for a sharp knife and began to peel new potatoes for the stew. “Lord Maedhros was everything the songs made him out to be,” she began. Peelings fell without a pause onto a kitchen cloth she had laid out on the table. “But he looked so worn, as if the burdens of the oath were beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Lord Maglor looked no different, but his eyes were softer, and kinder. Of the twins, we saw little. They were always abroad, hunting, and had little time for politics or council meetings.”

“Lord Caranthir?” Nitiel asked, crossing to the other side of the kitchen. She reached into a cupboard that had been mounted onto the wall for a pie pan. 

Y/n stopped peeling. “He kept to himself mostly, and he always looked so angry with the world. Lord Curufin, on the other hand, did not keep to himself.” She returned to her task—wild carrots this time. Thin orange flakes fell over thin brown ones, and she found the sound of it all rather soothing. “And his tongue was as deadly as a scorpion’s tail. Many took care to avoid its sting.”

Nitiel shivered. “And Lord Celegorm?”

Y/n stopped again. Out of all the brothers, Celegorm stood out the most in her eyes. Almost as tall as Maedhros and just as fair, he was a maiden’s dream-made flesh. More than one lord’s as well, if the rumors of his many appetites were true.

“Captivating,” she said. “Others would gather around him at many a feast like moths drawn to a flame. He knew how to drink. How to eat. How to laugh. No matter the hardship, Lord Celegorm always knew how to laugh. He was an elf who was as wild and free as the Vala he once served. And he was dangerous. Yes.” She carried the vegetables to a clean bowl of water to wash. “He was dangerous. More dangerous than all of his brothers put together.”

“You make it sound like he was comfortable being drenched in blood and gore.”

“That is the thing. He was.”

“And it is best if the two of you are not heard discussing them.” Angon stood by the open door, his arms crossed, his countenance full of worry. The women were startled. They did not know he was there. Y/n bowed her head out of respect. “Not even here. Not even amongst yourselves,” he continued. “These walls have ears. Do you understand?”

The king, thought y/n, he must have spies everywhere.

And y/n believed the need for hidden eyes and ears may have been due to her. Still, she decided not to dwell on it, for it would only distress her if she did. She smiled and lifted the lid of a glazed jar instead, saying, “Came for more tarts, my lord?”

Angon threw his head back and laughed. “You know me so well.” He joined them and made himself as comfortable as possible in the chair Nitiel pulled out for him. Angon was every inch a warrior, all tall and proud and fierce, and the chair only helped emphasize his great height and size. Today he was garbed in the deep forest green robes he often favored. Nitiel once said the color brought out the green in his eyes. “Yes. I am not ashamed to admit that I have indeed come in search of more sweets. Though I must confess, my fair lady’s kisses are far sweeter.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my love,” Nitiel countered, blushing. “But I suppose it would serve just this once. Now stay here and make yourself content with what I place in front of you.”

They talked again, this time of Angon and Nitiel’s plans for the future and of Nitiel’s new role, now that she was the wife of a high-born elven lord. There was no queen for her to serve as a lady-in-waiting; Thranduil’s mother, along with many others, departed for the Blessed Realm after the Elder King’s herald, Lord Eönwë, invited them to do so. There was no princess, either. Thranduil had no sisters, or brothers, for that matter. Oropher, Angon said, had decided that Nitiel would aid his own steward until Thranduil took a wife. Then she would serve her as a lady-in-waiting. 

“Father and mother have also come around,” he announced, his eyes filled with a great sense of relief. Marriage without the blessings of either side of the family was always received ungraciously, and this was a good sign. “They agreed to welcome you properly into the family. Three nights from tomorrow, my love. Many of our kin are gathering for a small feast. The king agreed to attend as well, along with the crown prince.”

The pie pan and all that it held shook in Nitiel’s hands. She barely held on to it, saving it from falling and spilling its contents all over the polished stone floor. 

“Oh,” she began, flustered. “Oh dear. Your parents… your kin… all those nobles, the king… his son… Y/n, you must help me. Please. My clothes, my hair… so much… so much…”

Angon was the first to reach her, leaving his seat without so much as a sound. “Sit here, my love,” he said, guiding her to the nearest chair and taking the pan out of her hands. “And breathe.”

“Should I fetch her some wine?” Y/n asked, equally as concerned as he was. Nitiel was pale and was clutching desperately onto his hand while she tried to compose herself.

“Wine is the last thing she needs right now,” Angon returned. He left the pan on the side and began to rub Nitiel’s shoulders. “Fetch her some water, my lady. Or that chamomile tea, if there is any of it left. Nitiel needs a little time to rest. That is all.”

“I will help you,” y/n promised. She prepared a fresh pot of chamomile tea while Angon fussed over his wife. “With your hair, your clothes, everything. Now drink this,” she urged after she came back to them, and pressed a warm cup into Nitiel’s hand. “You will feel much better after.”

tags: @deadlymistletoe@lemonivall@coopsgirl@tigereyesf@thranduilseyebrows​ @cupids-got-me​ @jane0error@asianbutnotjapanese

[eunoiaastralwings]

Hi Eunoia, this is my first time requesting so I'm hoping I'm doing this correctly (I've read through your rules as well), but could I request a mini fic/headcanon about fem!reader reuniting with her lovers Fingon and Maedhros in Valinor after the Ring has been destroyed? (Plot: Reader stayed in Middle Earth after Fingon and Maedhros' deaths to look after Elrond, and only returns to Valinor on the last boat with Elrond, Bilbo, Galadriel, Frodo and Gandalf after Sauron is gone?)

Haven Reached

featuring maedhros x fingon x fem reader

fandom tolkien-the silmarillion

warnings slight angst

a/n i reply after 1658565 years - I hope this is what you intended hun sorry if it isnt as you hoped to have

You stepped onto the shores with help of the son you had raised.

As you did – many fair elves turned to you, captured by the beauty and elegance you carried effortlessly without fail.

With eyes that spoke wisdom of many passed ages and kindness that could sweep the many ellon or elleth right under their feet – you stepped gracefully into the shores of Valinor from the last boat.

For a moment – your eyes looked back into the seas. . .Arda seemed almost a distant memory now and while you were supposed to return to Valinor many, many years ago to heal your aching heart and crying soul for your beloveds. . .

As a mother – you stayed behind, willing to put your heartaches aside to the twin sons you had gained.

Even though one of your adopted sons, Elros had chosen a different path in life. . .a short mortal life, you still failed to return, staying behind for Elrond.

For deep down – you knew he needed you and would fare well if you departed Arda so soon.

But suddenly your thoughts were grasped away when a voice called your name – mending a part of your heart with the lightness of that gentle voice.

“Melda. . .”

Your heart fluttered – then turning your eyes immediately those nestling browns of one of your lovers made half your soul crying out to him.

“Finno. . .”

Your voice – soft, delicate, and beautiful just as he remembered -like the early spring breeze.

“Y/N. . .”

He didn’t waste a moment longer to swiftly embrace you in his strong arm – caging you to his chest as if you were the air that he longed to have.

“You’re here. . .”

He said almost breathless – as if he was unable to believe his own eyes.

His hand came to rest on the back of your head – cradling your head as he pressed a kiss to your head, lingering there for a few moments longer.

“You’re here. . .”

He repeated – holding you tighter. If you listened carefully, you could hear an emotional tinge in his voice.

“Finno. . .”

You whispered – the tears you had suppressed for so long coming in with full force and Fingon did not hesitate to soothe you.

Soon gently lifting your face and locking your lips firmly in a familiar and almost forgotten kiss – soothing half of your crying soul as he embraced you with his tender affection and love, with touch of his desires he was forced to hold back as you were still standing among the shores.

The kiss was nothing short of what you had imagined with Fingon on your countless nights dreaming of meeting him – it was tender, loving, tearful and blissful.

“Come . . .”

He softly whispered.

“We shall meet Maitimo – otherwise he will think I have whisked you away all by myself, melda. . .”

Your heart fluttered as his loving tease just as you remembered came.

You smiled – cupping his face and stroking his cheeks – the imagines of his death finally leaving as he held you. . .your soul slowly reached that peace you had always dreamed of.

Fingon lips stretched into that charming smile that never ceased to flutter your heart.

The softest of red coated your cheeks and her fingers gently traced that smile you longed to see for many ages now.

Fingon reached forward and kissed your forehead – soon taking your hand to guide you to your Maitimo.

You momentarily looked over your shoulder – your motherly instinct making your eyes search for your son.

Elrond met your eyes and nodded encouraging – silently telling all was well as he embraced your daughter -in-law.

“I always knew you would be a wonderful mother – I am very much proud of you, my love – in everything you have chosen to do, no matter how gravely we missed you. . .”

Fingon softly whispered as his hand protectively held your small hand in his strong large hand.

“Thank you, melda. . .”

You smiled -Fingon’s ears perked up recognizing the change of your accent now.

If anything, it pleasantly surprised him – and he endearingly loved how your accent changed to hold only a tinge of your former Valinor accent now – now vastly an accent of Arda with a tinge of your old accent.

His eyes sparkled getting used to the change – realizing how much he already loved it.

“You sound beautiful. . .”

He said – cupping the side of your face gently for a moment.

***

Fingon led you towards the gardens of Lord Irmo – your hands were delicately brushing the flowers of the garden, each one unique to the next.

A vast variety of textures and color you couldn’t find in Arda – making you realize just how long you have been away from your birth place.

Maitimo saw Fingon walking towards him from the corner of his eyes – immediately standing tall.

“Where is she? I heard the last of the boats have-”

But Maitimo seemed to have cut himself off seeing your small figure treading up behind his male lover.

A shaky breath left Maitimo’s lips as his eyes locked with your eyes – the part of his soul that had being missing about to be reunited.

But you could see the clear hesitance in your other lover’s eyes.

Fingon turned to you – giving you the soft encouraging nod as you step past him towards your other lover.

Maitimo’s entire body froze – his eyes wide as you approached him.

It pained you to see him so nervous and scared – he gulped now that you were so close, only a foot or two away.

You knew why he was hesitant and scared – for Maitimo did not even spare you a glance or even spoke to you one last night as he fled from Eonwe’s tents with the silmarils.

He knew you broke your heard as he discarded you for the sake of the oath – he had placed the oath above you.

“Russo. . .”

You said softly reaching out to cup his face – he flinched stepped back a little.

Your heart ached at the sight. He must have seen the flash of hurt that crossed your eyes – because then he left out sigh closing his eyes heavily, before he fully crouched before you.

“Y/N. . .meldanya. . .forgive me. . .”

He whispered – a heartbroken whisper.

You sighed reaching out to cup his face and gently stroked his cheek – he instantly closed his eyes leaning into your touch and kissed your fingertips softy.

“Oh. . .Russo. . .”

You called him softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead as he broke into tears in front of his two lovers.

Fingon came forward – laying a comforting hand on Maitimo and an arm around your waist, his thumb caressing you softly.

“We’re here now. . .together”

Finno whispered laying another kiss to the side of your head – as Maitimo finally had the courage to find your lips in a soft kiss realizing you had forgiven him.

“Together. . .forever. . .”

You promised the two of them – now had you had your lovers back you weren’t going to give them up again.

Taglist form

tara's taglist:@mismaeve @fizzyxcustard @wandererindreams @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @asianbutnotjapanese @bunson-burner @floraroselaughter

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

[tar-maitime]

not a victory march

Rating: G Characters: Maglor | Makalaure, Maedhros | Maitimo, Turgon | Turukano, Fingon | Findekano Relationships: Maedhros & Maglor, Fingon & Turgon, Maedhros/Fingon, fem!Maedhros/Fingon Additional: post-Nirnaeth, Grieving, Siblings WC: 1k

This is very definitely inspired by this cover of Hallelujah specifically.

~~~

The usual songs aren’t working.

Maglor has known Maedhros - Maedhros, the harder, stronger, and yet more damaged version of his sister, not golden Maitimë - for centuries. He took on the greater part of her care during those hard years between her reaching the strength to come away east and her truly reaching a manner of stability. He knows how to help her, or he should.

And yet Maedhros seems to have retreated somewhere he can’t reach. She still goes through all the usual motions, performing her duties and running this fortress they’ve retreated to and sparring more viciously than ever. But there’s an emptiness behind her eyes that shakes Maglor to the core, that he’s not seen before.

He’s not a fool. He knows why this is happening. He was there when, in the thick of battle, Maedhros’ knees buckled and she let out an awful, broken cry, and he knew at once that Fingon had died somewhere out there. He knows what that means to Maedhros, what it’s doing to her. He just doesn’t know how to fix it.

“It’s not your job to fix Nelyë,” Caranthir tells him bluntly, the one time Maglor lets his thoughts slip out in words. “Who knows if anyone can, at this point? Which isn’t your fault.”

It doesn’t matter what is or isn’t his fault. He needs to fix this for Maedhros, as much as he can.

So he hums the old songs from Mithrim and the early days at Himring, and slips into Maedhros’ room late at night to sit beside her as she lies awake and sing to her. Once upon a time, after all, Fingon’s song - ordinary and without power as it was - had reached Maedhros amidst her torment and she had sung back. Perhaps Maglor’s songs can reach her in the torment she’s in now.

It hasn’t helped yet, but it has to, soon. Something has to.

- - - 

Turgon knew this would happen eventually. That doesn’t make it any better.

He’s back in his city now, the one meant to keep at least a remnant of their people safe. It’s kept his daughter and nephew safe, and himself, and his sister for a while. But there was never anything it could’ve done for his older brother, and the knowlegde aches hollowly in Turgon’s chest.

He knows exactly when it all went wrong. There was a festival to Nessa in Tirion, and Turgon had looked over had his brother and seen him watching the Fëanoriel, who was dancing with two of her own brothers a little ways away. It had been clear, right then, tha Fingon was trapped and doomed, although the full extent of said doom hadn’t even been imaginable until much later.

It hadn’t been enough for the Fëanoriel to ensnare Fingon and marry him and drag him to this Valar-forsaken land and keep him wrapped around her finger. She’d had to drag him into her hopeless Union, right on the front lines, then leave him to die alone in the mud.

Turgon had tried everything, the last time he saw his brother, to get him to abandon the line and the whole doomed venture and retreat back to Gondolin. Fingon had refused. He’d believed even then that his precious Fëanoriel would break through and come to him. When Turgon, in desperation, screamed terrible things at him, he’d screamed right back as bad as he got.

Those were the last things they ever said to each other, and Turgon can’t decide if he hates the Fëanoriel, or Fingon, or himself the most for it.

- - -

Maglor doesn’t realize at first that anything is different. He’s sitting on Maedhros’ bed as usual, this time singing bits of a lament he’s been working on for the Nirnaeth since he can’t think of anything else, and resigned to Maedhros ignoring him entirely again.

Then she shifts, and rolls over to look at him. “Káno?” she says quietly.

He nearly startles, but suppresses it in favor of reaching out to grip her hand. “Nelyë. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” she echoes, and squeezes his hand. “He’s not. But I can try to be. Thank you for waiting.”

“Of course,” Maglor vows.

When he starts singing again, Maedhros falls asleep within a few minutes.

- - -

Turgon takes a slow first look around the Halls of Mandos. They are much as he expected, dim and a thousand shades of gray and casually infinite. 

The brush against his spirit that feels like a hand on his arm is unexpected. He turns, and sees Fingon there, gleaming faintly silver and regarding him with a rueful half-smile.

“I did actually want to see you again,” he says, “but I was hoping you’d be patient enough to wait for me to get out of here.”

“Finno,” Turgon says, out of all other words, and does his best to pull his brother into a hug. It seems to work mostly on the principle of very firmly ignoring any possibility that they couldn’t, but Turgon can work with that.

“I wanted you to not be here in the first place,” he chokes out. Then, after a moment, he decides to let it drop. He doesn’t want to have the whole ugly fight all over again for even less point.

Instead, before Fingon can say anything, Turgon pulls back and says, “Have you found Irisse and Atar in here? Do you know where they are?”

Fingon looks at him for a moment, then seems to take this as the flag of truce that it is. “Yes - I can take you to them both. They’ll be - well, not glad to see you as such. But we’ll all be together.”

Turgon nods, even as he suppresses a wince at having to tell Aredhel what became of her son. “Let’s go to them, then,” he says, “brother.”

They’ll still probably need to apologize to each other at some point, and Turgon is even less happy with the Fëanoriel than he ever was, after Doriath. But that can all wait. If Námo’s proclamation was any indication, they’ll have plenty of time to get to it.

[imakemywings]

Below will be fanfic recs for ASOIAF, 80 DAYS, THE BURNING KINGDOMS, and TOLKIEN. Once again, I’ve tried to break the Tolkien recs down by character groupings but you all know what a thankless task that is. (。・ω・。)

(Photo credit to Michael Anfang on Unsplash.)

Past fanfic rec lists

80 Days

One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy by Prox - T - 11.1k - Fogg/Passpartout - Wonderful characterizations; the author really captures Fogg's voice and keeps it feeling in-character throughout his tribulations.

ASOIAF/GOT

It's a Long Way from the Red Keep by Storytelling_Necromancer - T - 703 - Cersei/Jaime - The Lannisters and the Folgers incest commercial. What more needs to be said?

The Burning Kingdoms

Cautionary Tale by @meadowlarkx - M - 1.4k - Malini/Priya, Mani Ara/Priya - Lark blows it out of the water with the character dynamics here, and Mani Ara preying on Priya post-TOS when she's vulnerable, particular wrt her feelings for Malini, feels so on-point.

Tolkien

Sindar

A Word and a Kiss by Miss Kitty - NR - 1k - Luthien/Thuringwethil -  An oldie but a goodie–this take on Luthien and Thuringwethil has me foaming. Exquisite vibes!

Duet by @welcomingdisaster - E - 4.2k - Daeron/Maglor - Lena plays with a really interesting take on the emotional power of song on the singer in Tolkien’s verse. And some lovely Daemags sex!

Everybody Needs a Second Chance by myliobatis - G - 1.2k - Thingol & Turgon - This fic was just such a delight, a funny little fic about Thingol and Turgon meeting in Aman.

Interlude in a Minor Key by yletylyf - M - 2.5k - Aredhel/Luthien - Cute PWP with Aredhel and Luthien.

It Would Make Every Nightingale Sing by eye_of_a_cat - M - 6.6k - Elwing/Maedhros - The pairing is certainly unusual, but this author makes it work so well and follows such a captivating arc of development for it.

Love is Not Love Which Alters When it Alteration Finds by i_did_not_mean_to - E - 3.5k - Melian/Thingol - Delightful Thelian piece which just revels in the strangeness of their relationship and how much each of them enjoys it.

More Precious was the Light in Your Eyes by @searchingforserendipity25 - G - 1k - Daeron/Man OFC - Such a tender look at Daeron’s growth post-exile.

The Myth Hanging Heavy Over You by stormfallen - G - 1.1k - Elrond & Elwing - UGH so painful and tasty Elrond parental angst. I really love the framing techniques of this piece.

No Sacrifice Without Blood by everythingnumbs - M - 18.9k - Luthien/Thuringwethil -  F/F LONGFIC! A tasty 18k of Luthien imprisoned by Celegorm and visited by whom she thinks is a servant of his…all the while plagued with unsettling and lurid dreams…

Stained Glass by @polutrope - G - 400 - Elrond & Elwing - Bittersweet tenderness when Elrond arrives in Aman and seeks out his mom. Love this for them <3

Untitled by @swanmaids - NR - Dior/Nimloth - I looove the uncertainty here where neither Dior or Nimloth really know what to expect from their experience with children because of Dior’s strange blood. Also, love the use of the Silmaril for their own needs.

Wildflowers: The Tale of Aredhel and Luthien by lightofthetrees - G - 10.3k - Aredhel/Luthien - A sweet AU fic where Aredhel escapes into Doriath with Maeglin, who grows up there instead of in Nan Elmoth. I really enjoyed the glimpses into their lives in Doriath and the ending suited them very well!

Wild-Wandering by Wood and Glen by @meadowlarkx - M - 1.7k - Daeron/Luthien - Beautiful writing which so brings you into the physical and emotional space of this tragic fem!Daeron/Luthien story.

Winter Glowed on her Leaves by BloodwingBlackbird - M - 1.2k - Galadriel/Luthien - Luthien is a powerful force on Galadriel and I love her as a perpetual “what-if” in Galadriel’s memory.

Woman Into Bird by arriviste - T - 6k - Earendil/Elwing - Beautiful, heartbreaking Elwing piece. The final scene is a gut-punch.

Noldor

Berries and Starlight by Narya_Flame - T - 829 - Indis/Miriel - Indis and Miriel out during the winter <3 Does an excellent job capturing the natural atmosphere and I love the energy between the women!

Crescendo by Gilithlin - E - 3.7k - Daeron/Maglor - Fantastic Daemags; I was just delighted with Daeron’s character portrayal here.

Fouled Water by @grey-gazania - G - Another touching look at Elves and the land they inhabit, and the tragedy of Beleriand.

Her That I Call My Own by LiveOakWithMoss - M - 644 - Indis/Miriel - Tasty Mindis smut with feelings <3

Glasshouses by @searchingforserendipity25 - 2.5k - G - Glorfindel/Turgon -  Ahh such a sweet relationship here and wonderful characterization of both Glorfindel and Turgon <3

Indissoluble by @polutrope - E - 2.5k - Idril/Tuor/Voronwe - P does such a great job showing characters are are comfortable with each other and really beyond being embarrassed about their sexual foibles. This fic also does a great job balancing a committed three-way relationship!

The Kinslayer in the Woods by @elvain - T - 4.5k - Daeron/Maglor - Love this portrayal of Daeron, as well as the games he and Maglor play to avoid having to be who they are.

Life in Miniature by @thescrapwitch - G - 2.8k - This is SUCH a lovely little fic surrounding the memory of Gondolin in Aman. Author does an excellent job of weaving in the views and feelings of many characters and it feels so true to Elves’ strong memories, particularly to places.

Like I'm Set on Fire by corollaire - M - 808 - Indis/Miriel - Tasty Mindis oral; see Miriel on her knees for Indis.

One Whole with My Other by lonelyvisitor - E - 4.2k - Indis/Miriel - Now obsessed with the idea that Miriel and Indis are legally married to each other vis-a-vis Finwe. The author does a wonderful job with the feelings here.

Peaches We Devour, Dusty Skin and All by @niennawept - M - 2.2k -Aredhel/Elenwe -  Some very tasty Aredhel/Elenwe! Their dynamic here is sexy and the pull towards each other warring with Elenwe’s goals for herself 👌

The Most Precious of Treasures by AroaceMoon - E - 651 - Celebrimbor & Sauron - SHIT this dialogue is tasty and ever so painful. Silvergifting.

The Love I've Found by Corollaire - 1.4k - M - Indis/Miriel - Modern AU Mindis fluff with bonus kid shenanigans from Feanor. It’s so cute!

Picnic by @swanmaids - E - 1.6k - Aredhel/Vana - Ahh! Here we get the Aredhel/Vana partner relationship to Celegorm/Orome and I love it!! Vana is so carefree and relaxed here, but still concerned with Aredhel’s feelings <3

Pity For Your Hurts by @thelordofgifs - 666 - G - Finduilas/Gwindor - Finduilas and Gwindor before his capture </3 This piece captures a very ~courtly love~ kind of feel in their relationship and despite differences, you can see how much they care for each other.

The Plans We Make, the Memories We Record by LadyBrooke - M - 1k - Indis/Miriel - Bittersweet Mindis (w/ hints of Finwe/Indis/Miriel) as these women struggle to move on in the wake of everything that’s happened.

Sawdust by @starspray - T - 559 - Findis & Finwe - I love this exploration of Findis’ relationship with Finwe! I feel like that’s one that isn’t often explored and it’s done very well here.

Shadow-Song by Arveldis - T - 730 - Finrod & Sauron - This ficlet does an excellent job capturing the power play between Finrod and Sauron, as well as making Sauron terrifying.

Shadows of Valiance by Midnightjynx1813 - G - 2.5k - Azaghal/Maedhros - Azaghal and Maedhros bonding! This author works poetry into the fic to great effect and I really enjoyed how much Maedhros comes to rely on Azaghal.

Sometimes Too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines by @welcomingdisaster - M - 2.6k - Celebrimbor/Narvi, Celebrimbor & Sauron - Crunchy look at the dynamics between Celebrimbor, Narvi, and Sauron from Sauron’s perspective.

To Give Up Control by @jouissants - NR - Maglor/Uinen - Ahhh just delicious Maglor/Uinen…Alix’s descriptions are always SO vivid and beautiful.

Two Queens by LiveOakWithMoss - E - 262 - Indis/Miriel - Miriel sure knows her way around a strap.

Untitled by @that-angry-noldo - Finrod at torment with Sauron :’) Author really does well with Sauron’s otherworldly presence and the fear that causes.

Untitled by @jouissants - NR - MY FUCKING HEART. Five sentences and I’m gone. Finrod stop hurting me challenge 2k24.

Untitled by @tanoraqui - NR - Feanor & Fingolfin - Love that tasty angsty awkward post-rebirth Feanor-Fingolfin bonding.

Untitled by @polutrope - NR - Daeron/Maglor - Beautiful little Daemags fic…<3 Really enjoy the touches of Maglor’s nostalgia and I’m a sucker for him treating Daeron like a treasure.

Void-Junk by arriviste - G - 2.2k - It’s so juicy, Maedhros finding his way onto Vingilot.

White Flowers by @starspray - T - 841 - Aredhel & Turgon - Weeping once again over Nolofinweans, especially Aredhel and Turgon.

Men

A Monster in the Shadows by @hobbitwrangler - G - 3k - Eowyn & Theoden - Really cute but also heartbreaking bonding between Eowyn and Theoden, when Eowyn is new to Edoras and still recovering from her parents’ deaths :( Author does a great job capturing how that grief might manifest for a child!

Celebration by maitimiel - NR - Tar-Miriel/OFC - Crunchy tasty Tar-Miriel’s favorite handmaidens sleep with her ft. her and Ar-Pharazon’s marital issues. Excellent look at the dying Numenorean state.

Courting Gifts by Muccamukk - G - 1k - Arwen/Eowyn, Aragorn/Arwen - This is such a cute Arwen/Eowyn piece focusing on the cultural differences between Arwen and the Men around her.

Cousin, Sister, Lover, Queen by broken_pencils - E - 11k - Eowyn/Lothiriel - This one is so good and so bittersweet and hit so many real notes. I’m just aching for Eowyn. The author does a great job of balancing her inherent unhappiness as a lesbian in a marriage with a man with the deep platonic love she obviously has for Faramir, and Lothiriel is such fun in this.

Fade by Lady Ash - E - 6.2k - Denethor/Gandalf - Can I say something other than "Denethor/Gandalf BDSM relationship" that would entice you more?

Ode to a Nightingale by @maironsbigboobs - E - 1k - Aragorn/Arwen -  Some light, fun, Aragorn/Arwen smut.

Plentiful as Sand is Plentiful by @searchingforserendipity25 - G - 675 - I so love this look at Aragorn and Elrond’s relationship <3

Shake Loose All Your Garnet Jewels by lastwingedthing - T - 2.8k - Arwen/Eowyn - Lovely lovely fic on “what if Arwen and Eowyn had been part of the Fellowship?” Absolutely cinematic!

Untitled by @swanmaids - NR - Annael & Rian - Rian :((( Her story is so sad and yet there are at times griefs that cannot be overcome and Heather captures that very well here.

Without Dawn, No Evening by pscoptera - M - 4.6k - Arwen/Eowyn - If you want a truly historic fic, this one was originally written before the Return of the King film had released. A really interesting look at Eowyn’s sexuality and desires with what feels like realistic muddling of the issues in her mind.

Hobbits

On These Hither Shores by Arveldis - G - 3.2k - Boromir & Frodo - Boromir and Frodo bonding (sort of)! This fic does a great job capturing their feelings.

The Power of Tea by @hobbitwrangler - G - 1.8 - Bilbo & Gilraen - Fantastic character dynamics! And Bilbo feels so in-character.

Twist to Uncoil by katajainen - G - 1.3 - Bilbo & Thranduil - Ahhh lovely lovely look at Thranduil and Bilbo’s relationship as Bilbo recounts his time living in Mirkwood unseen.

[taur-en-faroth]

fem!maedhros would have such a chokehold on the wlw community. unimaginably targeted to lesbians.

[man2al]

fem! maedhros

twt doodle account: @Ma_n2_al

Do not repost, reupload, save or use my work elsewhere

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

My 2023 Fic List

I posted 78,856 words this year! It might not seem much, but it's a record for me. So here's the list of my 2023 works sorted by date.

Four Ficlets

Written for the SWG server's instadrabbling challenge - Elwing and Idril's First Meeting (124 words, G), Elwing and the Silmaril (76 words, T), Gil-galad and Cirdan Clean Up After the Kinslaying (228 words, T), Ancalagon's Death (106 words, G)

Gifts and Favors and a Trip (3560 words, M, Maedhros/Fingon)

My 2023 entry for My Slashy Valentine. A bit of angst, a bit of sexual tension, lots of fluff and a great deal of pining. Idiots to lovers.

Angsty Ficlet (792 words, G, Maedhros & Maglor)

Maedhros wakes up in the middle of the night, panicking for reasons unknown to himself. Maglor helps. An angsty ficlet with a little twist in the end.

Alone in the Unknown (4752 words, T, Maedhros & Maglor)

The latest part of my canon divergence AU. Maglor and Maedhros wander all alone - Maedhros nearly catatonic and Maglor trying in vain to reach him. The angstiest thing I've ever written.

Helcaraxë Cannibalism Ficlet (500 words, T, warning for cannibalism and character death)

Fingon doesn't want his body to be consumed after his death.

Maiar Hate This Simple Trick (2234 words, T, background Celebrimbor/Narvi and Galadriel/Celeborn)

My entry for Tolkien Remix 2023 is based on @elentarial's Desperation and Defeat. A series of letters between the main figures of the Second Age, trying to solve the mystery of Annatar running away from Eregion. Humor.

Proxy (5912 words, E, Maedhros/Fingon, Maedhros/Maglor, warning for dubious consent and unhealthy relationships)

Maedhros's love for Maglor is unrequited, but luckily for Maedhros, Fingon is hopelessly in love with him and somewhat resembles Maglor. A terrible love triangle between three terrible people. A deviation from my usual themes and characterization (and ratings), but the prompt in the kinkmeme spoke to me. I wrote almost 6k in a couple of days, which is a rarity for me.

Orodreth's Letter to Fingon (307 words, G)

Orodreth does everything he can to eviscerate Fingon in his letter of refusal concerning the Union of Maedhros.

Maedhros and Fingon Talk Cannibalism (247 words, T, warning for cannibalism and self-cannibalism mentions)

Another cannibalism snippet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maedhros and Fingon share their experiences with the subject in a light-hearted tone a little inappropriate for the discussion.

Lady Makalaurë Fëanáriel Dying of Poison, Late Second Age, Artist Unknown (8671 words, T, past fem!Maglor/Maglor's wife, warning for death and suicide mentions)

One of my two fics for TRSB 2023. Based on @independence1776's edit. In her space wanderings, fem!Maglor comes across a planet and finds out things that force her to return to Eldarin civilization. I always wanted to write a sci-fi AU, and I'm really glad I got to do it.

Now a Quill, Now a Sword (11817 words, T, Maedhros/Fingon, warning for character death and implied suicide)

My second TRSB fic, written in collaboration with @melestasflight. See their beautiful art here. It's a canon-compliant fic (with a bit of post-canon at the end) that tells the story of Maedhros and Fingon's relationship from the beginning to the end.

Two Ficlets

In this one (735 words, T), Fingolfin and Fingon discuss if Maedhros can be trusted. In it's companion (1082 words, T), Fingon and Maedhros talk about the same subject.

The Hunters (2016 words, E, fem!Maedhros/Aredhel)

Another kinkmeme fill. Baby's first PWP. (Proxy doesn't count. It has a plot and I tried to make the sex horrible.) Aredhel and Maedhros - two princesses of the House of Finwë - are cousins with benefits. I really enjoyed writing it, but I don't know if it's any good because I haven't reread it since posting.

Kaleidoscope (1436 words, M, Fingon/Sons of Feanor - all of them but not at the same time except Amrod and Amras)

Inspired by @melestasflight and @polutrope's The Seven Trials of Fingon the Valiant but darker in tone. Fingon sleeps with all of the sons of Fëanor. Why? Who knows? Up to interpretation. The fic doesn't make much sense, but I still like it and I'm really glad I wrote it. The third kinkememe fill.

That's all for last year. In general, I'm more happy than not with my writing. Hopefully, it will continue this year.

Thanks to every single person who's read, liked, reblogged, left kudos and comments on my fics. You make me want to keep writing.

[meadowlarkx]

10 first lines

tagged by @swanmaids and @polutrope to post the first lines from my last 10 fics, tysm 💖

There are streams in Mirkwood that travelers cannot drink from. (Less Wise, fem!Maglor/fem!Thranduil)

“Remove your helm." (bite thy wings and let thee crawl, Melkor/Maglor)

“Yet your position is vulnerable.” (Mapmaking, Maedhros/Maglor)

Stiff parchment crackled under weathered fingers as another page turned. (Scripts and Tongues, Gandalf/Círdan)

Afterwards, they went back. (elvenkings, Menegroth drabbles ft. Thranduil, Oropher, Elwing, Elrond)

Maedhros’ eyes were on him—he could feel them even when he turned upstage. (dress rehearsal, Maedhros/Maglor ficlet)

The cavalry of the Union of Maedhros was a haphazard affair, to Maglor's eye. (ere the morning, Maedhros/Maglor ficlet)

Ensconced by the bookcase, Makalaurë strummed a minor chord. (homing instincts, Maedhros/Maglor ficlet)

The prayer was granted—he had felt the currents of the world assembled and heard them answer yes. (the longed for that cometh beyond hope, Eärendil/Elwing ficlet)

The sweet cup overflows its brim. (pursuit, Nessa/Tulkas)

tagging @jouissants, @searchingforserendipity25, @i-am-a-lonely-visitor, @aipilosse, @undercat-overdog and anyone else who wants to do it!

[doodle-pops]

Hey Mina

I love your content, istg it gives me will to live. You are so talented - I can’t even. Anyway back to the prompt.

How would the male elves react to a really good fem warrior? (Namely feanorian & gondolin)

I was thinking about it and was like hmm would they be disgusted or impressed because honestly I have no idea.

a/n: I don't see anyone being unimpressed when great skills and swordsmanship are being displayed. More amazed if anything. For this, I see Feanor being both impressed and prideful as well :)

They would stand under the shade, arms folded across their chest and a heavy look upon their faces. Deep in focus as they observed your fluidity and agility. They were spellbound at how lithe and graceful you were, dancing like a petal in the wind. Any moment again and they would have mistaken you as a dancer and not a warrior. The sheer skills and strategy you displayed within a short moment would provoke them to usher to your side and wish to learn from you. “You have caught my eyes with your remarkable skills, My Lady. Perhaps you would be kind to teach another warrior your ways?”

Feanor, Maedhros, MAGLOR, Amrod, Amras, Celebrimbor, GLORFINDEL, ROG, EGALMOTH, Galdor, Ecthelion, MAEGLIN

Their posture and expression were readable, they were impressed but too prideful to admit your skills. Knowing themselves to be great warriors having fought with more than just creatures and building their swordsmanship, to meet another just as amazing as them would urge a prideful response. Mentally admitting you were good, yet still attempting to find some little fault in your movement. They are the batch who needs to be sparred against in order to have them swallow their pride. But of course, when you do prove your excellent swordsmanship skills, you expect a request for training. “Hm, you fight well, better than I expected. Perhaps we can train together and exchange techniques.”

Feanor, CELEGORM, Caranthir, CURUFIN