#i do not know nearly as much as i should about gondolin but i love the place

[deer-with-a-stick]

Just had a friend ask me what my favorite places in Middle Earth were, fully expecting for me to say something along the lines of Mirkwood, Rivendell, or Lothlorien, and ended up staring at me when I said Erebor, Himring, Khazad-dum, and Gondolin.

[starsofarda]

So I am now going off with the meta I promised to @tolkien-feels aka:

Has anyone ever written meta comparing Rivendell, Lothlorien and Mirkwood to Gondolin, Nargothrond and Doriath respectively? Because if nobody has, somebody definitely should

And yeah, I usually suck at essays, so please don't ask me to put this in essay form. I will do my very best to expose everything as best as my undiagnosed ADHD mind allows me :)

I would like to start by saying that being able to write meta about what I love and actually being read is something that does not happen to me usually and I am so happy, but I am already digressing.

Everything will be under cut, I apologise in advance if this has too many words, no one usually listens to me blabbering about my special interests.

I am now going to mention this other post, because of the very good points and keys in my analysis, thanks again to @tolkien-feels for the insight and the big galaxy brain <3

To be able to digest the whole thing I am going to pick up the elements for comparison two by two starting with Gondolin and Rivendell, then Lothlorien and Nargothrond and finally Mirkwood and Doriath.

GONDOLIN AND RIVENDELL

Elrond, heir of Turgon: I am going to go to this hidden valley and build a place of safety and lore, the last refuge if all else falls to ruin - @tolkien-feels

To be able to compare the two I think it is important to define what these places are, who lives/lived there and what they represent.

Gondolin was built during the First Age of the Middle Earth by Turgon, and whilst I am not going to dwell for long on its history, whose summary you can find here and in more detail in The Silmarillion, I am going to take into account that Turgon was an exiled elf. He saw the Light of the Trees and although originally he had been against, he followed Feanor and ultimately stayed behind due to "Fingon and Turgon were bold and fiery of heart, and loath to abandon any task to which they had put their hands until the bitter end, if bitter it must be".

Basically he had a whole lot of pride, which really does not surprise me all things considering.

But the thing is, even though you are fare from home and cannot/decide not to go back, you do get homesick - I know the feeling, I have constantly this feeling due to me having had to abandon my country to be able to live.

You still want to find something you can call home even in a foreign land and I think that Gondolin was exactly that for Turgon. A place of solace, where he could find familiarity in what he saw. Because at the very beginning he did not want to leave Valinor and stayed in Middle Earth out of pride.

Gondolin itself was not ever heavily armed, the defenses were relying mostly on the fact that it was hidden in a valley and that barely anyone knew about it outside the valley. So we can more or less safely say that Gondolin definitely was not mainly a place built by warriors, so when it fell it was indeed a tragedy.

And here we can talk about Elrond, Turgon's great-grandson. He is an Elf who has lost a lot of things and people in his life.

He lost his friends, he lost his home, he lost his family - Elros, his twin, decided to take the mortal path, as they are both only half-elves due to his father being the child of an Elf and a mortal (an Edain).

His father became the Polar Star - and I deeply suggest you listen to the Song of Earendil by Clamavi de Profundis because it is an Experience(C). Anyway, I am digressing, but I am also sure that when Bilbo made Elrond listen to the song he cried a lot. His wife Celebrian, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, was kidnapped and tortured by orcs and then left for the Immortal Lands and ultimately Arwen became a mortal.

Now I am sad for Elrond.

There is more, like Isildur betraying him and being very much nearly one of the Elves decimated in Eregion, Gil-Galad dying (?)*, but this is to make the point of "Elrond lost so much that he does not want anyone else to experience what he has passed through and therefore Rivendell is born as a Homely House, where you can find solace, knowledge and ultimately a place he can call home.

Huh. Not so different from Turgon - and Elrond surely knows about Turgon. Tolkien is always pointing out parentages and genealogic trees, I am 100% sure none of his characters is immune to the Genealogic Tree Explanation.

So, to be concise: a place to call home, full of knowledge, solace and house for all exiled and lost ones, full of memories, full of nostalgia and magnificent, a remembrance of past times. Tolkien loves doing parallelisms and I apologise because were it not for the post mentioned I would have overlooked it.

And due to these similar motives both Gondolin and Rivendell were born. If we are looking also at the geography even Rivendell appears to be sitting in a valley, although it seems a little better defended considering how much waste Elrond lays of the orcs following Thorin & co. in The Hobbit, so I consider this a lesson learned.

After all, aren't the new generations always a bit more savvy

And I am so sorry, but this analysis hit a bit too close to home for me and I have to go and scream for 15 years. And possibly call my dad.

Anyway, I am now back.

I am going to keep going on my analysis in a different post, once I have gathered again all the knowledge I have on the topic.

[fuckingfinwions]

By the way, have you thought about writing Turgon/Maeglin? I love to think about their relationship, but there are too few fanfics about them! How Turgon was practically his adoptive father, raised him, but how Maeglin was needy, he didn't feel accepted in Gondolin, he didn't feel part of the family, he was desperate for love and Turgon was so serious.

So I had some thoughts about, and it kind of went in a different direction, and it became a ficlet. It's still Turgon/Maeglin, but less "adoptive father" than Maeglin seeing echoes of his parent's relationship.

__

Everyone looks to their parents as a model of how relationships and marriage works. Maeglin is no exception, and he heard the story so many time he can't recall when he first learned it, and accepts it as naturally as he accepts that the forest permits no sunlight.

Aredhel was traveling from her home and got separated from her escort. She reached Nan Elmoth, ruled by Eol, mostly by accident, when fleeing Ungoliant's spawn. Eol took the time to greet her in person, and to welcome her into his home. When Aredhel asked to leave, Eol forbade it, and forbade as well the speaking of her birth-tongue, or anything that might cause her to obsess over the world outside. After a few months, they married.

Maeglin travels with his mother to Gondolin. His parents die, leaving him all alone. He is forbidden to leave, but welcomed into the palace. Everyone around speaks Quenya rather than Sindarin. He is told that he should not worry about the world outside, Gondolin is safe no matter what.

It's not hard for Maeglin to guess what will become of him.

Maeglin eats dinner with the royal family every night. King Turgon tells Maeglin that he is part of the royal family as well, and of course that makes sense for the king's fiance.

Maeglin does his best to get to know King Turgon. His course has been set for him, and all avoiding it will do is fill his wedding night with terror of the unknown. He is not so foolish as to disrupt his fiance's work, in his study or in the great throne room or with the council. But even a king must rest, and Turgon spends most evenings reading in his private room by the fire.

Maeglin spends nearly every evening with the one who is his uncle and his fiance and the ruler of the city whose word is law. Turgon is kind, and always welcomes Maeglin with a soft smile even when he does not speak. If Maeglin bring his own book, Turgon will allow him to sit next to him on the sofa, Maeglin leaning against his side. If Maeglin "forgets" to bring a book, Turgon will hand him one from his personal library, and Maeglin will learn about whatever facet of Noldorin society the king wishes him to know.

After a week, Maeglin cautiously breaks the silence with questions. He starts with simple questions that Turgon could brush off if he doesn't wish to be disturbed, what the main grain in the noodles at dinner was, which smith designed Turgon's necklace. Turgon answers them all patiently, but goes into little detail about himself. Instead Turgon will talk about Gondolin, how the harvest went last year, where its best mines for sapphires are. Maeglin soon realizes that the whole city is Turgon's masterpiece in a way, the life's work of an architect and politician rather than a smith. Turgon is delighted to show it to such an enthusiastic audience, who has seen none of it before.

Every evening, Maeglin goes to Turgon's room. Every night, Turgon ends their time by telling Maeglin to "go get some sleep". Then Turgon turns and goes into his bedroom - alone.

It's two months after the death of Maeglin's parents Maeglin's arrival in Gondolin that he brings the topic up. He is not particularly eager to go to his marriage bed, but if he had displeased his fiance it's better to learn before Turgon has to correct him.

Maeglin has asked plenty of questions about Noldorin customs. Hopefully another will be permitted.

"What are betrothals like in Gondolin?"

"They vary just as much as their members, in a way. Some have cast aside all the rituals of Tirion, and go for nothing more than a declaration the week before that they are holding a wedding feast. That seems rather tawdry to me, to be so unmoored from tradition, without even a single gift exchanged."

"Was it more formal in Valinor, then?"

"Much more. The proper term for an engagement is a year precisely, so that the completion of your betrothal is the same as its beginning, recalling the cycles of the seasons that the Valar have instilled. Some people even went for a year without either fiance seeing each other, to prove the depth of their devotion, though I myself found that too cruel a test to contemplate. There are rings exchanged at the start to mark the promise, and again at the wedding. Even without a formal announcement, the rings make the betrothal clear to all who care to know. Other gifts are exchanged as well, more personal to the couple, so they have insight into each other's interests. Does that resolve your question, Maeglin?"

"It does very well, thank you." Maeglin rubbed his fingers together, watching the light play over the ring inlaid with a Finwean sun that Turgon had given him. He thought of the forge set aside for his private use, and the dozens of bracelets sitting in his room, and the elegant robes he was wearing.

He had been neglecting his side of their relationship, however unknowingly. At least there were still ten months to make up for it.

__

Maeglin presented his fiance with a ring and an elegant inkwell five days later. The ring was inlaid with bright sapphires in a twisting silver band like flowering ivy. The inkwell was carved in the shaped of Turgon's throne, with the back as a pen-rest.

Turgon looked at them, and at Maeglin, impassively. He picked up the ring, and watched how the jewels sparkle in the firelight.

"So," the king said at last, "it was not an idle question, how betrothals work in Gondolin."

"It was not. I know there is much I have yet to learn, but I never meant to ignore you, or to be ungrateful for your gifts."

"You were barred from knowledge of our people for most of your life; your ignorance is no fault of your own." Turgon held the ring up a moment longer, and then slid it onto his finger decisively. "Sit down, please. There is no reason to be nervous about my love for you."

Maeglin did so, leaning into Turgon as had become a habit. He was surprised when Turgon tipped his face up instead, though perhaps he should not have been. Kissing was common between couples, whether wed or betrothed.

[iminye]

Chess

@tolkienocweek day one - shipping. Aracundo, Gil-Galad, a bet and chess, also cuddles and my very clumsy first attempt at romance. I should have gone with Headcanons instead probably.

It wasn't unusual for Aracundo to wait until way after midnight for him. Council meetings were a matter of long debates and advisors always found a way to make them even longer, mostly by discussing a topic that on other days would've taken mere minutes for such an extended period of time that it seemed downright exhausting for an outsider. But he knew that this was part of his husband's duties.

Husband.

The thought made him blush a little and he looked at the slim silver ring he wore on his right hand. Husband. They had only been married for four years and yet Aracundo was sure he would never tire of it. It made him happy in a way he hadn't been in a very long time.

Not since… not since ever actually. He couldn't recall a time in which he had been as happy or even happier than now.

His childhood had been a mess to put it lightly. He didn't like to recall it. His adolescence he had spent fighting in a war. His adulthood however he would spend married, loving and in peace.

He was sure of it. Now came a time of happiness. An eternity of love and security.

While he waited Aracundo used his time to run over some formulas that had been invented during the First Age and that had survived the sinking of Beleriand. Their purpose had been lost over the chaos of the war and the deaths of those who invented them but Aracundo had made the decision to rediscover their purpose even though they seemingly had none. Most of them he had quickly realised were indeed only brain exercises, theoretical concepts without any further usage.

But there were exceptions to this and whenever he found one he was overjoyed. His husband was very profound in putting them to use whenever or wherever they could be applied.

While he went through the sparse notes of a Gondolindrim scholar who had sadly not survived the Fall of Gondolin he glanced over to the table beside the large window where a chess game waited to be finished. A smile formed on his lips.

-

"Chess? What's so interesting about that?" Ereinion asked and picked up one of the pieces Tyelpë had carved for Aracundo out of soapstone. It wasn't his brother's best piece of work but Aracundo loved them regardless, it was the latest begetting day gift he had received, the first in their new home. He treasured them.

"It's a good exercise," Aracundo replied and smiled. He pointed to the seat across the chess board. "Why not try and learn? I can teach you."

Ereinion set down the piece again - not quite where it belonged but Aracundo was quick to fix that - and looked at him for a long time, without saying something.

"Why would you want to exercise in your free time? That doesn't make much sense. Free time is free time after all."

His logic didn't make much sense to Aracundo. Exercises were fun after all, especially when they had something to do with thinking and logic. What did Ereinion do when he had nothing to do? Did he just laze around in the midday sun and do nothing? Aracundo couldn't be able to do this. He would be overcome with the desire to do anything.

"It's also a lot of fun," Aracundo tried. "At least for me. But if His Highness isn't interested in learning I wouldn't blame him."

His attempt at getting out of a discussion before it began took an unexpected turn for him. Instead of nodding and turning away to go and laze around, Ereinion frowned, pulled back the chair on the other side of the table and took a seat.

"It isn't that I'm not interested," the prince stated, avoiding Aracundo's eyes. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "It's just that I've never played before…"

Aracundo beamed.

"Then I'll teach you!"

Ereinion blushed and nodded.

-

"You win every time…"

"I have more experience than you, Ereinion. When you have played some more and figured out a strategy I'm sure that you will be able to best me. You learn really quick after all."

Ereinion looked at him with skepticism but didn't say anything more. Aracundo wanted to laugh but didn't as he arranged the chess pieces once more in their starting position on the board. His new chess pieces - ones one of his distant uncles had brought with him from across the sea, originally meant for his mother who like him loved to play - too pretty and expensive for the old run down board they were using. Wood was rare these days. Aracundo didn't want to waste even a little bit on something trivial like this.

"Do you have time for another game?" he asked his friend with a smile. Ereinion nodded.

"As long as nothing comes up I should," he said. Both of them knew that something could come up at any moment, that these peaceful games were the most leisure Ereinion got these days. As High King and as General he had a stacked schedule and had to be ready for battle at all times. Aracundo on the other hand just like Tyelpë had been removed from all battle activities because of his Feanorian blood. No soldier from across the sea or native to Beleriand wanted to fight on the side of s Feanorian. It didn't bother Aracundo. He could work with the tacticians while Tyelpë repaired weapons and armour.

"Well then," Aracundo said as he finished rearranging the pieces. "Since you lost, you may begin."

Ereinion looked at the board thoughtfully. It was the sort of look he got when he was thinking about something that he was very serious about. Aunt Lalwen had said that he looked very much like his father when he did so but Aracundo couldn't testify this.

"How… about a bet," he said after a while, his gray eyes sparkling. Aracundo raised an eyebrow.

"A bet?"

"Yes a bet, not that I'm going to win it any time soon but if I win just one game you have to grant me a wish, no matter what."

The smile Ereinion gave him made Aracundo's poor heart skip a beat. A bet. Oh dear that could end one of two ways and Aracundo wasn't sure if he was ready for either.

"I won't humiliate you!" Ereinion added hastily. "It will be harmless I swear!"

"No swearing!" Aracundo said automatically, very serious and sincere. No swearing. That was a rule.

"But I mean it. I won't humiliate you, won't force you to do anything you don't want to. Promise."

Aracundo nodded.

"Alright…"

-

Throughout the war he didn't win a single time. For some reason though he didn't seem bothered by this at all anymore, instead any time he lost he seemed more and more eager for the next game. Aracundo could feel himself falling for this stubborn, stubborn man.

Oddly enough this made him anticipate the day the other one finally won even more.

-

The day he did win was some few years after the war. They were seated in one of the many gardens of the royal palace, on a blanket amidst the flowers Aracundo had planted himself. Their chess board was new, made and decorated by Ereinion himself, yet they weren't using the new pieces along with it. Ereinion had insisted that they use the old ones made by Tyelpë.

"Like when we were children."

Aracundo could not say no to him, not anymore. He had discovered quite a while ago that he couldn't deny the other man anything anymore, no matter how silly or trivial. Only a few days ago they had gone and collected seashells and lazed around on the beach the entire afternoon. Aracundo had forgotten what it was like to be without worry and as it seemed so had Ereinion.

Their chess games were a wonderful distraction. The only time either of them felt truly free from any duties. The only leisure time they allowed themselves, even though the bet was an ever present factor during their games.

The bet that was now over. Aracundo looked at his king, trapped and with no way of escape. He had lost. They had played this game consistently for nearly a century and a half and this was the first time Aracundo had lost. He couldn't be more proud.

He looked at his smiling friend.

"Congratulations!" he said and Ereinion nodded seriously but instead of demanding his price here and now he sat up and began to put the chess board and pieces out of the way, back into their chest, making room on the blanket in between them. He took his time but Aracundo could see how his hands were shaking with excitement.

Once finished he shifted a little, seemingly uncertain of what to say. That was new. Ereinion had never been someone who struggled with his words.

"You promised no humiliation," Aracundo reminded him. Ereinion nodded, his ears red.

"Not for you," he said, voice cracking.

"Why would you want to wish for something that would be humiliating for you?" Aracundo found himself asking.

"Because I know I would also like it very much. It's just that I don't know if you will like it the same way I would…"

Ereinion shifted a little closer, their noses touching.

"Because," he said. "I wish for this."

Aracundo's first kiss was not like how he had read about first kisses in those romance novels the Edian tended to write. There was too much nose, too little experience on both sides, the feeling of other lips on his was weird but it was the best possible outcome for this bet.

He felt like it was the perfect first kiss regardless.

-

He awoke when soft lips touched his earlobe. His mind had drifted away from the waking world too caught up in his thoughts. He slowly blinked away the fogginess that had settled in front of his eyes and was met with his husband's gentle smile.

"You should not wait for me, Aryo," he said quietly and kissed his brow. Aracundo made a small noise in protest. Of course he would wait for his husband. It was only fair… yet he had drifted off again instead of staying present and awake. A shame.

"Rest is important for you. Your mother was very clear when she ordered me to take care of you on our wedding day, you know? And if we're both being very honest with one another, I fear both her and your brother more than most things…"

Aracundo huffed a little and lifted his head from his papers. One of them stuck to his cheek but was swiftly removed by his husband's gentle hand. One more kiss was placed on his face, this time on his forehead.

"Are you coming to rest with me?" Aracundo asked. "Or do you have more meetings to attend?"

"In the morning again but for this night I'm all yours my dear."

He held out his hand for Aracundo to take and let him past the side table with their unfinished chess game and past the balcony where the two wine flukes were still waiting and past the normally closed doors into their shared bedroom.

Aracundo could only stand still as his husband lifted the circlet from his head and removed any ornaments, earrings, rings (save for their wedding band), bracelets and necklaces that he was obligated to wear because it was Noldorin tradition.

Aracundo had never really cared about Noldorin traditions that much, his mother being Telerin and him growing up being surrounded by mainly Sindar and Edain. But when he wore the small trinkets Ereinion had gifted him over the years of their courtship made his husband's eyes sparkle with happiness.

So he continued wearing them.

The small smile that graced his husband's features was worth any annoying tradition.

When they were done undressing and changing into simple light nightgowns they huddled together under the covers seeking each other's warmth and comfort. Aracundo buried his face in the other man's neck, breathing in the smell of ink and pine trees, while soft fingers combed through the long white strands of his hair.

"I'm exhausted," Ereinion proclaimed quietly. "Here I was thinking that ruling would be easier once the war is over and we all can return to a peaceful life. And yet.. yet they come and ask about taxes and land and legal privileges."

"You are doing great I'm sure," Aracundo replied and looked up at him. His husband smiled fondly but there was still a frown in between his brows. Aracundo was determined to make it go away.

"You think so, Aryo? Or are you just saying that so that I don't feel bad?"

"No, Ereinion, you're wonderful at organising and planning. You will most definitely find a way to make the people happy. It will just take some more time and effort. Tirion wasn't built in one day either "

He earned a kiss on his bare shoulder and one on his cheekbone for this, as well as a smile half hidden in the comfortable darkness of their room.

[tolkien-feels]

Ahhh for the character ask game, Glorfindel or Ecthelion? Or Turgon? Honesty anyone from Gondolin that you have Thoughts™️ about

I was emoting about Turgon on my own a few days ago so I'll go with him. (I also...... Just generally love him a lot......)

one aspect about them i love: It's almost unfair to say this because I know it's a byproduct of how much we know about him, but I really enjoy his complexity! So many Silm characters have one-note personalities that require extensive scholarship, but Turgon has like, a symphony personality, if I can invent this phrase lol

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: There's literally no scenario in which Turgon can be both High King of the Noldor and King of Gondolin successfully. He has to prioritize one of these things, almost by definition. While I (admittedly having no head for politics) find all the discussions about this fascinating, I think they should be done with the understanding that Turgon was in a very difficult position where every decision is always going to be the lesser of two evils, not the greater of two goods or a only-one-right-choice situation

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: When he was younger, he was every bit as stubborn as his siblings. But after losing his wife, he's developed a tendency to value loved ones even above his own wisdom. This means that he learns to compromise (good!) but also that sometimes he goes along with plans he knows are unlikely to end well (bad!) so who's to say if that's a character upgrade or downgrade

one character i love seeing them interact with: Aredhel. I know they don't share a lot of screentime (so to speak) but the little we see is just great! It has both conflict and love and that's catnip for me

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: Fingon. I feel like we don't know nearly as much about them as you'd think given their importance! Fanon for them is great, but I do wish we had more canon to work with

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: I don't know how this isn't a running gag in the fandom: Turgon and Finrod's beloved baby sisters are born on the same year. Plot twist, Turgon and Finrod don't get along because they're wise, it's because they share a bond forged by gushing about sisters who are growing up so fast and are so perfect and fair and bold and and and and

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

[blankdblank]

My Pearl Pt 13

Tags –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars,  @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @queenoferebor, @thestorybookmistress, @abiwim, @here2have-fun, @onewithleaf

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - 

… bit emotional and heated in the start, trip to Rivendell ...

…

Cross legged atop your bed Thorin found you resting beside your sealed suitcase staring at it aimlessly while stroking the ankle band with your thumb. At the dip in the mattress from his sitting beside you your head snapped up to give him a gentle grin, “I’m finished packing.”

A grin flinched on his face in return then he asked, “Where were you, just now? Is this about this morning?” Your lips parted for a moment then closed, “It’s okay if it is. That was a heavy weight for you to take on, and then to go on through the show-,”

You shook your head, “It’s, just.” Wetting your lips he nodded at your eyes meeting again, “It’s terrible, but for so long I questioned everything.” At your voice cracking he inched closer, “That I did something,” his arms smoothed over yours with lips parted guessing what you could mean, “That it was something I ate, or I worked too many hours, or I didn’t sleep enough.” Pulling you closer he folded you against his chest tightly in his arms closing his eyes in the pressing of his lips to the top of your head at your soft sniffle. “Is it bad, that I feel-,”

“Relieved?” You nodded unable to say the word, “Not in the least. You are so strong, and have carried this weight for so long. It was not your fault, never was, I do not doubt Naule would have been very much loved and provided for. Same with any future children you may be blessed with, I couldn’t imagine a more determined mother,” with a smirk he added, “My own relatives excluded.”

Softly you giggled and he let out a weak chuckle and you drew back wiping your cheeks through another soft sniffle, “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.”

Wetting your lips you peered up at him easing your hands over his thighs, “I don’t believe I ever got the chance to thank you properly.”

“For?”

“For giving me a chance at that sink.”

“You didn’t-,”

“I do, need to. I know you all would have preferred me waiting tables. I’ve done that before. To be honest I had ulterior motives on insisting on the sink.” Making him smirk, “I hoped I could catch on, and manage to dazzle you with how easily I picked it all up.”

Again he chuckled raising his hand to cup your cheek, “And dazzle you did, you in all your sudsy whirlwind glory.” Making you smirk in return, “And those potatoes, sealed it. I can’t place the exact moment I was yours, but somewhere between that first knife you passed me and your helping on the show in that yellow shirt of yours,” the growl inching into his voice made your smirk deepen, “And that beaming smile of yours that foolish Elf chef so undeservedly gained from you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Lumo was reminding me of his cousin I met in Gondolin, Wile. We used to get into such trouble. He used to try to slip random ingredients into my recipes and I kept retaliating by swapping out his.” Making Thorin chuckle only to smooth his hands over your arms as you said, “I just hope I can pay you back one day.”

He shook his head, “You already have. You are brilliant inside and out of the kitchen, all you needed was a nudge and look at you now. Your own dessert menu, reserved dinners lined up for months in advance, a spot as lead baker on our show, and that is just career wise. Look at the leaps and bounds you’ve grown at home, long lost relatives falling from the sky, you have grown so much past a woman in need of a helping hand. When, honestly, given just a bit more time I am certain you would have gained it all without my claiming you.”

You nodded, “I suppose I owe it all to the man who flipped that table then.”

He rolled his eyes, “We owe him nothing.”

“That was the first time since the pot incident you had touched me.” Making him smirk again, “I recall you being surprisingly gentle for your size.”

Lowly he chuckled, “I was concerned. And curious.” Your brow inched up, “I caught a glimpse of your tattoos, wondered what sort of bird was at the end of those feathers and what flowers you had chosen.”

Rocking your shoulders teasingly he grinned raising your legs onto his lap to stroke them up to your knee under the elastic band on your sweats there, “And here I was wondering what tattoos you had hidden yourself.” Deepening his returning smirk, “Just off of Dwalin’s arms alone I might have let my imagination get away from me.” With a giggle you shifted your legs to straddle him luring his hands to smooth across your back under his baggy tank top while your hands smoothed over his chest and shoulders, “I almost dropped a pan myself hearing you barking out orders across the room,” making him chuckle.

“Used to hear Fili and Kili grumbling about some stories here and there about your helping to raise them while Vili was going through school. Sort of made it hard to be afraid of you after hearing about you dressing up like a lion for their first play.” Making him laugh and glance away only to into the forehead tap you had given him in his glance back again with a grin smoothing his hands across your skin, “Do all Dwarves want boys too, or is Bombur the luckiest alive with nine girls out of 14?”

Thorin chuckled lowly rumbling back, “I suppose it depends on the Dwarf, though daughters are cherished, and yes, Bombur has been very blessed.” Inching his head back he looked over your face, “Just curious, do you have a preference?”

You shrugged, “Depends if they have facial hair of not,” making him chuckle again as you giggled out, “I think your boys with the mustaches are adorable.”

“They are, and they love bragging about them.” His fingers rose to brush your hair behind your ears, “Personally, I think your ears would be adorable on an infant.”

You rolled your eyes, “Elven infants can go days without sleep.” Making his brow inch up and you nod, “We would need reinforcements.”

Thorin chuckled, “No doubt Feanor would be moving in.”

“I don’t doubt it, along with the majority of my brothers I’d wager. The baby having babies, no less than astounding bringing them all in droves. What they tried so hard to do last time.” After a pause you said, “I do hope it stops being a mood dulling subject someday.”

He shook his head, “No dulling here.” He said inching you closer to his chest claiming a tender kiss, “And I hope I’m not adding any pressure by saying I had hoped one day to rival Bombur and his brood.”

Giggling again you nuzzled your head to the side of his neck, “14 babies, hmm. I can’t imagine beating Feanor with his eight unless I manage to have a few sets of twins thrown in there.” Easing your arms around his back his eyes shut in folding around you, a deep sigh left you at his warmth wrapping around you lulling you to snuggle more against his chest, “You are wonderful you know that, you would be an incredible Adad.”

“All that can wait. For now, we should get dressed. You remembered your dress and fur?”

Inching back your fingertips slid down his back inching out his grin that dropped in the stealing of another kiss, “Of course I remembered the full outfit of your envisioned moment.” Making him chuckle again, “No doubt you’ve chosen a stunning suit.”

He nodded, “Yes, which compliments yours perfectly. Nice and comfortable for when you take the limelight away from everyone.”

You rolled your eyes again and cupped his cheeks leaning in for a quickly deepening kiss that muffled your eventual giggle at his rolling you over in your stripping fumble for a quick tumble before the long flight.

.

Comfortably dressed in jeans, a stolen sweater matching Thorin’s for your hand in hand stroll through the airport joining the lines of people for your tickets, then security shortly after which led you to your gate where you spotted a few more Dwarvish chefs also taking the flight out to the award show. This year Thorin’s show hadn’t been up for an award, but Frerin’s had, and in their normal fashion they preferred to swap places to accept on the other’s behalf with equally as embarrassing acceptance speeches they had written on behalf of the other. Even you had been roped into the show with a couple last minute presenting offers for you as well. The long flight was perfectly used for a snuggling nap Through which Thorin was grinning the entire time at being able to hold you again while you slept.

Upon landing you both waded through the flashes of the greeting cameras capturing the glowing necklace resting across your chest especially matching those of quite a few of the other guests. Lines of cars sat outside and with your bags in hand you joined the others to your assigned cars for the ride through the waterfall filled kingdom straight to one of the best hotels in the Elven kingdoms. Each of the top chefs and their dates lined up to accept the packets with keys enclosed for their rooms. Giggling to yourself you squeezed in against Thorin’s side between the other chefs, who all slipped into the same contagious set of giggles at the large number of you crammed in around the single luggage cart wielding bellman trying not to chuckle himself.

Freed onto your floor you each leaned in like a bunch of children ooing and awing at each until you were the last couple eying the final door which when opened for you nearly made you gasp as you entered. The serene room with a view overlooking a waterfall feeding into a calm pristine pool in the distance behind the sheer curtains billowing inwards from the balcony you walked to. Looking you over Thorin grinned thanking the bellman, who turned his head with a grin of his own at your peaceful glow in the pale moonlight luring him to join you at the locking of the door behind him.

Against your back he folded with arms easing around you as his lips pressed against the skin under your ear then he hummed lowly, “Do you like it here?”

“It is a lovely place to visit.” He chuckled as you added, “Though I would miss your pirate ship terribly.”

Kissing along your neck he hummed, “Our.” Tilting your head your shoulder drooped granting him more space to kiss lower.

“I think I heard something about a bed.” He hummed contently in his next open mouthed kiss ending abruptly at your turn to face him.

Open mouthed he gasped only to smirk against your lips that crashed hungrily onto his, in a blind fumble you brushed his hair over his back looping your arms around his neck at the planting of his hands on your lower back. A sudden lift from you drew a muffled chuckle from him as your legs folded around his hips dropping his hands to your thighs. Turning around the doors were managed shut and in a few parting glances around the room between the continued fevered pecks across one another’s skin and lips found you planted into the bed. Melting together the kiss deepened again mingling contented hums from the both of you at his tightening your hold on him. Relishing each moment you had together until the sure to be heavily publicized award show marking your first official public couple outing.

.

Naked across the top layers of the plushy comforter you turned onto your back with a curious furrow of your brows in a searching squint for the source of the noise pulling you from sleep. Sitting up you continued to search until you spotted a pair of birds on the balcony, one male circling the female in an awkward dance making you giggle and turn back to Thorin. Laying flat you nestled against his side easing your arm across his back to start stroking your fingers across his broad shoulders stirring pleased hums from him as his body nestled more into the comforter. Small circles grew to larger ones and spirals across his back and down to his hips, which caused him to turn over earning a giggle from you at him sudden place above you to kiss down your back after pinning you on your stomach.

Warmly his lips traveled lower and then up again at your right leg shifting outwards stirring a smirk onto his face. His right hand lowered to plant on your knee traveling upwards making you arch more under his touch until your soft gasp at his easing inside you. Stolen glances backwards brought his lips to yours each time. Against your left leg his hand planted to inch you higher for what you thought to be his planting you on your knees for a quickening of pace only for his right arm to fold across your chest raising you upwards against his chest to sit on his lap. Stretching his finger upwards it trailed along your jaw turning your head easing his claim of another kiss in his first move to guide you in rocking above him at his fingers trailing downwards to cup your breast as the other eased closer to stroke you teasingly down your navel to your core.

A backwards arch against him in the climax he brought on left you and in keeping his subtle strokes right where you needed him to keep you on that cloud your body slumped forward in his shift to all fours holding you up against his chest. Trembling in his arms he continued to tease your folds in his thrusts that steadily pressed deeper and firmer shoving you towards a second climax at his clueing pulses inside you marking his place right after you towards that ledge. A final press of his hips to yours in the calming spasm of thrusts at his finishing he laid out above your back panting as you tried to calm your own breaths. Tenderly his hand trailed along your right thigh at his lips planting between your shoulder blades retracting for him to purr, “Let me know when I can pull out.”

Softly you giggled making him chuckle and inch up to kiss your lips in your glance back at him. “You can, I’m not that sensitive.”

He chuckled and nipped at his lip easing out in a trail of his fingers across your back, though in his move to kiss your lower back you turned onto your side at the knock on the door. Chuckling again he pulled the comforter over you purring by your ear, “I ordered breakfast for us last night. I’ll get it.” Hopping out of bed he found his pants he pulled on and smoothed his fingers through his hair on his way to bring the food in.

Breakfast led to more snuggling and then onto the inevitable shower and primping stage. Anxiously Thorin waited, hearing the blow dryer switch off and the shifting of the hair pins you had chosen for the evening coated in shimmering stones forming tiny clusters of flowers shimmering the brighter in your pitch black hair. In a series of braids you wove the ends back into a twisted bun topped with the pins leaving your bangs to sweep back behind your ear in adding your makeup.

Simple yet elegant, a swoop of black liner across your top lid under the neutral colors and after a nip at your lip you chose between two shades to pick the deep maroon stain. Perfectly it matched the look and inhaling steadily you raised your dress from the counter to step into it and wiggle it up enabling you to add your arms and close the zipper up the back as far as you could manage after.

Stepping out with it locked just below your shoulder blades you caught Thorin’s sharp turn with brows raised taking in each detail of you at your asking, “Could I borrow your hands?”

Nodding in his rush over to you a giggle escaped you as you turned until his lips met the side of your neck at the hiding of the raised zipper. Stepping back his eyes raked over you in his low purr of, “Marvelous, my Dearest.”

You giggled again resting your hand in his offered palm to guide you to the bed where he had set out your heels and fur wrap. “Thank you, you look quite dashing yourself.”

Dropping to his knees he purred back easing his fingertips along the back of one of your legs in lifting that heel, “I am not here to dazzle.”

You giggled again, “Oh yes, simply to fade into the background and embarrass Frerin in the speech you planned, should he win.”

Thorin chuckled, “Oh he’ll win. Always does.” Pressing his lips to your knee when the straps across the top of your heel were secured before moving to claim your other foot, “Excited for your presenting tasks?”

You giggled again at his next peck to that knee when he secured your heel and remained on his knee to keep peering up at you a few moments longer as you smoothed your fingers over the necklace across your chest after having left your grandmothers with Naule’s tag at home. “I just hope I don’t fumble or trip.”

Rising up he reached out raising the wrap he eased around your shoulders in a loving gaze locked on yours, “You won’t.” Sealing the securing clasp he grinned easing his fingers along your arms that rose to adjust the yellow tie standing out against his charcoal suit and dark grey shirt. Folding his hands around yours he kissed the knuckles on each and nodded his head, “Come on. Let’s get to it.”

Releasing your hands you turned feeling his arm ease around your back guiding you into the hall to join the line of immaculately dressed Dwarves and their partners. The Dams especially wearing furs larger than yours over their longer gowns making your stomach clench as if you weren’t dressed up to par.

.

The long lines of cars let out their passengers to join the long lines of famous faces. The wave of white in your first exit welcomed you among them and as it died out you caught glimpses of the Elven guests stealing glances back your way. More than a few with more sentimental grins as they folded their fingers around the necklaces you had ensured were returned to them through Feanor. The Dams you share a floor with seemed to not be the standard for dress greatly easing your worries in the path towards the door. A few pausing stops for more pictures and interviews for Thorin later and you were shown into the sea of seats.

A wave of cheers followed your separate presenting spots that eventually returned you back to your seats again. Just in time for you to fold against Thorin’s side and clap for Thranduil at his being named as winner for his own award. Eagerly he chuckled in a smiling glance at you in his trot up the steps onto the stage towards the mic adjusting his mother’s pendant draped across his chest.

Holding the mixing bowl shaped trophy complete with multicolored glass whisk pressed into the side with orange faked mixture inside for the category he glanced to you again and said after a short list of people to thank. “I was asked when I first started to cook on screen who my greatest inspiration was for my so called fearless mixture of flavors and tastes. And I was unable to give the proper answer at the time, so I will try to keep it short, but I would like to share the answer I couldn’t give then.

Many of you know I was born and grew up in Doriath, but out of all the chefs I knew, my greatest influence was my best friend. My tiny fearless best friend. As two of the only children born after centuries of war there was a lot of reminders for our little town on just how we could instill hope in these twins. Now as the grandchildren of an infamous Chef cooking and baking was a given, with a surplus of chefs and bakers to aid in their studies. One of them being the head Professor from Gondolin. Now Jay, he was automatically promised a spot if he wanted it, and when Bunny asked what she needed to learn to gain admittance she was told on the spot that women weren’t allowed to attend.”

Gasps from the Dwarves rippled through the room as the Elves began to grin as you tried to bite back your brewing giggles as your fingers curled in front of your lips making Thorin smirk and ease you more against his side. “To which she promptly declared herself a Pirate, and that she would claim a spot by force if necessary.”

Earning chuckles through the crowd as a blush spread across your cheeks, “It wasn’t much longer after the stunned Professor had left that people suddenly started to be roped up and drug off the streets.” Lips parted through the crowds until he added, “Where they were promptly tied to chairs and force fed the Pirate’s creations, including the fearsome Feanoreans, who at the staggering age of 43 gave the pair a matching set of honorary Sils. Long story short, after centuries of loss and not knowing if my best friend survived the endless war, I can finally say she is safe and is back to her conquering ways. If it wasn’t for our fearless Pirate I wouldn’t have had the courage to try half of what I had. So I owe everything to my best friend. Thank you.” His eyes settled on you with your hand stretched across your face as you giggled to yourself widening his grin in his trot backstage for an interview.

Leaning in Thorin purred his joking comments making you giggle more until the next category was called and you were escorted back again to present another award, through which you spotted Thorin’s trot up onto the stage to accept the award with a widening smirk. His reaction stirring expecting grins on the faces of the other Dwarves knowing the game the brothers played at these events contrasting their serious façade. A few minutes was all it took and his grin doubled at the eruption of the crowd as your hands covered your face to muffle your own loud laughter that made others laugh at the adorable squeaks following each gasp for air muffling in Thorin’s path to you for a stolen kiss before heading to the waiting cameras.

Celeborn, Elrond, Celebrian and more joined the others in showing off their returned jewels and managed to lure you both into a group dinner to celebrate their wins and nominations once freed from the final obligations of the show.

Pt 14

[on-a-hill-by-the-sea]

Silver - Beleg Cúthalion x human!reader

In which the reader, of our world, finds herself in theirs-- capturing one night the attention of a certain archer.

A/N - I'd like to think that this was during a small slice of a happier time, despite the impending doom that made up the First Age.

I'm not quite sure where I originally planned to go with this, considering I wrote the first half about a year and a half ago (procrastination at its finest), but I wanted to finish it aand here it is!

(Also, I know it’s very unlikely that Beleg had silver hair due to his ethnic group but I've always pictured him with it. So..for once, my stickler self is bending the likely-canon. Just a little.)

Sindarin Translations: Hiril vuin- my lady

The night was clear and calm in Gondolin as I gazed up at the vastness of the sky; a light breeze whispered over my fingertips while I raised an arm to trace through constellations. After several moments I let it land back at my side with a quiet sigh. From where I sat overlooking the city, nostalgia was already beginning to set in with an intensity I did not anticipate. I was to leave in the morning. Beleg Cúthalion, a Sindarin Elf who, as I was told, was once a Marchwarden Chief of Doriath, had arrived in Gondolin not six days ago to deliver important news to King Turgon that he had overheard in his travels; I was drawn to him immediately and he, it would seem, to me.

Perhaps it was his attire that first caught my attention—always ready for travel, for adventure, life on the road, each day an adornment from a seemingly different land; his lack of flowing robes and elegant embroideries that I was so used to seeing in the Royal House was a refreshment to say the least. It reminded me somehow of home. Maybe it was even his hair—always tied up in some way, whether in a topknot, a plait slung over his shoulder, a tail hung down his back with strands framing either side of his face. Such a comparison to the free-flowing locks laced with intricate little braids and twists that I saw everywhere around me. He was wise and brave, though his spirit light, and always kind. The lingering smiles and lengthy conversations we had already shared was something I was trying to keep off of my mind. My decision came earlier this day. He was to set out from Gondolin on the morrow, heading to meet up with Túrin, his closest friend and companion; a man he taught from childhood. It was for similar reason, Beleg had said, that he first took notice of me. I was human. After much heavy pondering over the course of his stay, I made the choice to go with him, to the quiet dismay of the King and his daughter; Turgon had taken me in as his ward when I was found all those months ago lost and confused with no way of getting back home nor a House of Men that would claim me. It saddened me to leave him now. He realized, however, that it was something I needed to do; I didn't fit in here among the Elves, couldn't find my happiness, no matter how much I loved the city and those residing in it. The time was come to search elsewhere. Unable to get any sleep, I had come outside to a quiet area where the light of the moon and stars were my companions and a fresh spring breeze wrapped me in its arms. 'I really will miss it here', I thought to myself, and was so lost in pondering that I didn't even notice the figure that now sat at my side. "Hello." The sudden sound of a quiet voice sent me nearly jumping out of my skin; I turned with widened eyes towards the Elf, whose own brows were lifted. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to frighten you." Amusement was tugging at his lips. "Beleg," I sighed, releasing a breathy laugh. "You were so quiet..I didn't hear you." He shrugged, turning his gaze to the stars with a small smile. "Such is the nature of Elves." While his attention was focused elsewhere I took the time to observe him; he was adorned in a simple sky-blue tunic and dark breeches, feet bare, and for the first time since meeting him I realized his hair was free of any plait or twine, a cascade of flowing silver waltzing with the breeze. The light of the moon reflecting off of it made him appear almost as a star itself, handsome face glowing, grey eyes gentle and bright. I was in awe. My staring must have been a bit too obvious, or perhaps it is just too difficult to be sneaky in the presence of an Elf—or probably both—because again he smiled and cast his gaze from the stars to meet mine instead. "What is it?" He asked, as if he already knew. He did that often. "N-Nothing," I stammered. My eyes flitted to the fidgeting hands in my lap. "It's just, um.." I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I glanced back up at him. "You're just..very beautiful." His serene, almost teasing expression changed to one of surprise. "I—I mean, forgive me, I-" Sputtering like a fool, I mentally scolded myself for even saying anything in the first place; my awkward spiel was interrupted, however, as he reached out a hand and delicately tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I stared. My mouth was probably still open. "You are very beautiful as well." He said, gently, and with the softest smile. I snapped my mouth shut. A beat of silence passed and thus I offered my most clever response yet—well-thought-out indeed, masterfully planned—I looked directly at him and said: "What?" The unexpected bout of laughter that bubbled grandly past his lips had me thinking some sort of enchantment was at work; and I swore in that moment that it was the most melodic sound I had ever heard. He was grinning widely now. "I believe the proper response would have been, 'Thank you.' Although I suppose yours works as well." My cheeks were on fire. I suddenly became very interested in the fabric of my skirts as I mumbled in weak defense, “It would do you well not to fluster me, Beleg Strongbow.” The smile was still on his face as he leaned back on his hands to gaze once more at the stars. “I only jest, my lady. Although there is no doubt of your beauty—in that, I speak true.” My heart fluttered at his words and suddenly I was nervous for the coming week. With him and his compliments as my only companions until we met up with Túrin, I could only hope I wouldn’t become like a bumbling child in his presence. My thoughts traveled back to the reason why I came out here in the first place. As if reading my mind, Beleg said, “You should be sleeping. We have a long day ahead of us on the morrow.” He looked over at me, able to tell that my night had been restless. I answered his questioning gaze with a sigh; “I know,” I murmured. “I just...can’t seem to wrap my head around things.” I shook my head to myself as my eyes passed over the ethereal city. “Since waking up with no idea where I was or how I got here, and being found.. Gondolin is all I have known of this world. Turgon and Idril, my only sense of family. And now..” Beleg’s brows were gently furrowed, a tender look in his eyes as he listened. “Now I am leaving it all behind. Leaving it for a road I can’t even see the end of. A place that I am not sure I will even be able to find.” The following silence was only broken by the soft breeze, and suddenly a warm hand took hold of mine. “Whatever may come of this journey, hiril vuin, know that I am with you for every step. You need not be afraid—“ I looked at him, and our eyes met— “There is a place for you.” The wind carried his warmth towards me, the smell of trees and fresh air and flowing rivers, and his eyes shone with starlight. There is a place for you. His voice, soft and strong, was in that moment almost as mesmerizing as his laughter. “I am glad to be with you, then,” I whispered after what felt like an eternity. He had told me some days ago of the story of King Thingol and his Queen, how they remained for long years sustained by nothing other than each other’s gaze—the fact that I was reminded of this, sitting there, looking at Beleg, made me feel almost foolish. Yet the way he looked at me in turn began to tell me otherwise. “I must admit,” he spoke very quietly, “in this short time since our meeting, I have grown very fond of you.” It was almost as though he were speaking to himself, his words not meant to be heard by my ears; his eyes so focused as they moved across the features of my face, yet in likeness to a trance all the same. I sat with baited breath. Finally his eyes came up to meet mine again and with a sudden but subtle switch—as though waking from a daydream—he said, in normal tone this time, “I have noticed your interest in the stars.” He released my hand and I shivered at the quick loss of warmth, yet his smile made up for it as did his closer shift in my direction while he looked up towards the sky, and I did my best to ignore how his hair seemed to glimmer beneath the moon. Elves really are something else, I thought in bewilderment. “Look,” he murmured, pointing upwards with a slender hand, “Do you see that grouping of stars just there?” I followed his sight and nodded. “That is Soronúmë. Eagle of the West, in the common tongue. And over there—“ he leaned closer, “is Telumendil.” He turned a wide smile down at me, his face inches away, and I therefore kept my focus trained on the sky. I could already feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I finally did look at him, however, when he continued, “I can tell you everything about our stars as we travel.” The joy shining in his grey eyes made him seem—somehow, bizarrely—even younger, so full of the starlight he spoke of that he almost appeared to be glowing with it. My fascination with the Eldar’s love for the night sky never ceased, even in all the months I’ve aboded with them. Beleg somehow made it all the more beautiful. “I would like that very much,” I grinned back at him, suddenly hoping that I would never have to lose sight of that smile. The simple kiss he then placed on my cheek filled me with such a burst of warmth that I nearly fell over. As he continued to point out constellations, the names of them rolling smoothly off of his tongue, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes from his face; the way his lips formed each word, the elegant structure of his jaw as it moved, eyes bright and smile soft, hair caressed by the breeze. He smelled of the earth and the good that is in it. When the night drew on and a comfortable silence had settled, and he idly sat tracing my fingers with his own, I breathed deep and allowed myself, finally, to not be afraid. ‘There is a place for you.’ Perhaps I would not have to look so far after all.

[wynja2007]

Gondolin, the Hidden

Chapter One: Birth

The birth of any City requires the blood of three individuals; a woman in childbirth, a warrior, an old person. This is the real reason there were few elven cities; elves were created immortal, and although childbirth and battle hold similar risks for elves as for humankind, old age is not something they know, just the weariness of ages.

Beautiful Tirion of the musical voice, he was born from the wisdom and sacrifice of one of the Maia, who foresaw the need for Cities, who had heard them sung softly in the Song of Creation, but it had been a brief threnody, growing stronger only when the theme of the rise of Men joined the melody. This one had thought it worth his life to take age upon himself and sit in the tallest tower of the city until the weight of his borrowed years crumbled him to dust that blew away through the open windows to be carried in the high winds across the land. Some settled like a blessing on the streets of Tirion, sparkling and glinting gold in the corners, for this was where his heart had ever dwelt.

(But some of his life force carried across the continent to fall elsewhere, to prepare the ground for further sacrifices).

The mother of Fëanor, Míriel Serindë, died shortly after he was born, but the deliberate sacrifice of all her strength to pour it into her fine, bright, doomed son began sooner, so that it was childbirth, his birth that began the process which took her life, and her essence of death was caught by the Maian sacrifice and mingled in the earth, waiting for the birth of the City. A son of Tirion, new to weapons and armour, died at Alqualondë, defending his friends amongst the shipbuilders, weeping as he saw friend turned against friend, brother against brother, and prayed for an end to kinslaying. (The same events saw the birth of Alqualondë from the ashes and flotsam of its broken fleet just a few days later, while Valmar, first of cities in Valinor, was last to gain her personification in the darkness following the silencing of the lamps.)

The Maia’s sacrifice, then, gave three cities the chance to grow and thrive. But this story concerns Gondolin, firstborn city of Middle Earth.

*

He was nearly born from the ice.

So many deaths, so much emotion, such need, calling out to anyone who might help, the sense of knowing the help sought would not come. The despair, the need, the need.

He stirred in Vinyamar, turning and stretching and testing out the bounds of the dark womb around him, but something held him back, some power outside himself, something with pity in its heart and awareness of his nascent agitation.

Finally, though, it was on the plain of Tumladen when the land shook, and shook, and shook that finally he broke free of the earth and stretched and stood tall, bewildered and exhausted from his difficult gestation and long-deferred birth.

Around him was a wide spread of the greenest grass, crossed with rivulets and streams. Above, the sky was unbearably blue and the sun was warm on his naked back. Around his feet, bursts of colour; Larkspur in bloom.

He felt a tug, a yearning in his heart, and started to turn, seeking the source, allowing his gaze to roam the landscape. There!

In the middle of the plain, walls of sheer stone rose up, forbidding and stern, beckoning, crowned with the towers and turrets and fine-made walls of Gondolin itself. Young as he was, new as he was, he could taste the people, their hopes and fears, their loves and their rivalries, the sense of relief, the sense of dread, and he saw himself reaching out to nurture them…

He smiled and set off towards the cliffs.

*

‘My lord? Can you come? There is something happening.’

Ecthelion, Lord of the House of the Singing Fountains and Captain of the Great Gate nodded and picked up his helm. He followed the sentry from his office – in reality a desk outside the armoury – through the passageways to the lookout point. His companions jokingly referred to it as ‘The Eyrie’, but such an appellation always made Ecthelion shiver; his friend Glorfindel spoke often of how he thought they were not so much blessed by visits from the eagles, birds of Manwë, as spied upon by them…

He repressed a shudder. They were all on edge, the secret city barely finished, the people still so recently arrived that sometimes they missed their way, still, nothing was familiar yet, nothing felt safe and so anything out of the ordinary was a cause for concern. The earthquake, in the night; had it been a warning? A sign that Morgoth was moving in the depths of the earth far away, sending his evil through the ground to shake them, to seek them out…?

There had been deaths that some said boded ill; a warrior, injured on the way and grimly hanging on to life, his wounds healing and breaking, had finally succumbed to injury and breathed his last on the plain. Then an elleth nobody had known was here had fallen, somehow, from the walls, and the saddest thing, the saddest thing, was that she had been about to give birth, but it was too late; the child had quickened, and died before any help could come. Ecthelion made a mental note to try to find a faster way down to the plain than the current system of tunnels and stairs and slopes with defensive corners and reminded himself he was not a superstitious elf, he knew a sign from the Valar would not come as an earthquake or an unexpected death, but as a formal, direct approach, a message or a visitation. After all, there had been another death, that of one of the oldest, earliest-born elves, who had travelled to Valinor and back again, and who had become world-weary and had said surely, this was what it felt to be old, and had faded, just two days ago. No. Not all deaths were bad, sad though they were for elves.

Ecthelion pulled his long, black hair back out of the way with one hand and passed under the archway that led to the lookout post before sliding his helm into place with the other; it was a fine piece of workmanship, decorative and elegant, and part of the uniform, but it was also topped with a high silver spike that sometimes got in the way and to constantly scrape it against the stonework was embarrassing.

At the lookout, the sentry saluted smartly, hand on heart, and stood aside. Ecthelion passed through to find the narrow ledge crammed with his warriors, all with bows drawn, arrows nocked and trained on a figure that seemed to be erupting from the greensward.

Ecthelion caught his breath; they were all jittery, fearing discovery, exposure. The king’s standing orders were to shoot first and question later; but there was something about the way this individual moved, the way Ecthelion’s heart had lifted…

‘Sir?’ The voice of the captain of the archers was tremulous, tight. ‘Orders, sir?’

Ecthelion stared at the figure. Tall, strong, gleaming in the sunlight with golden hair that shimmered and fell in waves to his waist, naked and obviously unarmed, he had begun to move slowly towards the cliffs below the lookout post. Slowly, but not cautiously; it was more that the individual was unused to walking, his feet sliding through the grass as if the landscape was flowing around him, carrying him forward.

As if he was part of the land…

Something, an unconscious connection in Ecthelion’s mind…

‘Send for Lord Glorfindel.’

‘Sir?’

The captain was right to question him; it was against standing orders, the stranger, by rights, should be lying dead and bleeding on the plain by now. But…

‘Keep your weapons on him, but do not fire yet. I think this is not an enemy.’

*

The message: ‘The Captain of the Great Gate demands your attendance, my lord,’ found Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, in the midst of debating with his sisters on the merits of yellow over blue as a colour for the Festival of Spring, so that it was with some relief that he headed out. He paused to collect his sword and helm, slung his bright red cloak across his shoulders, and was on his way to the Great Gate before his sisters even had time to complain.

He had time on the way to consider the summons from his friend, his more-than-friend Ecthelion; the formality, the use of his military title rather than his name or even his House title made it clear that this was not a social invitation. Ah, well. Thel’s duty tour was over soon, and there’d be time then to meet and dine and talk and all that could follow after…

He did not blink as he went from bright sunlight to dark, torch-lit passages as he entered the tunnels leading to the Gate, his eyes adjusting easily, but he did slow his pace as he considered the wording of the summons again. Not a social invitation, fine. But… it was odd. There was no strategic reason that Glorfindel should be needed here; if it was something serious, then Turgon, the king, should be informed. So why call him…?

Well. He’d soon find out.

*

‘Lord Glorfindel, there you are. Take a look and tell me what you make of this, would you?’

No friendly greeting, no ‘Hullo, Findel, old friend,’ no wink, no touch of hand on arm… but even as he assessed this, Findel was making his way to Ecthelion’s side. Together, they looked out.

Glorfindel spoke first.

‘Company?’

The stranger was closer now, so much nearer to the wall that the angle at which the archers had to hold their bows had steepened. One or two of the guards were glancing anxiously at their captain as they strained to keep the target clearly in sight.

‘Apparently so,’ Ecthelion said in an almost-laconic tone. ‘Remind you of anyone? Anything?’

‘The hair, could be mine…’

‘Don’t flatter yourself!’ A whisper, a flash of a grin that made Findel stifle a laugh as Ecthelion continued. ‘He broke free from the greensward and has been making his way towards us steadily ever since.’

The stranger was near enough now to make out features, details. His ears had the pointed tips that all elves had; his eyes seemed to shine and glow and there was something to him that reminded Findel of a long-ago, long-missed lord…

‘Tirion. He reminds me of Tirion the Fair.’ Findel gave a half-sigh, half-laugh. ‘I had thought him a Maia at first, until they explained to me that he was the City, its heart and fëa, walking amongst us.’

Ecthelion nodded. ‘I never met any of the Valinor Cities, but I remembered your descriptions of Tirion the Fair. What do you think?’

‘I think…’ Glorfindel paused, thinking. Every city had its City in Valinor, of course, the embodiment of the settlement, its soul, its streets, its people’s fëar all wrapped up and walking about through its own byways and highways. ‘If he is, then your arrows won’t kill him. But if he’s… what? Newly hatched, newborn? He could be angry, and although he may be vulnerable, he will still be dangerous. And besides, do you think it’s polite to make our first action on meeting him to shoot at him? Turgon’s standing orders be blowed, I think we need to talk to this fellow first, at least. Maybe offer him a pair of leggings before we all go cross-eyes from trying not to look…’

Behind Findel, one of the watch suppressed an anxious laugh; others took it up and a glance around showed several of the archers grinning; the tension was broken, at least.

‘Very well. Send to Stores, spare tunic and leggings…’

‘Extra-long,’ Findel said. ‘And probably extra-large, too.’

*

They argued in official, formal tones about who should take the garments.

‘This is my watch, my lord Glorfindel,’ Ecthelion pointed out. ‘It is my duty, and my responsibility, to investigate.’

‘Yet we all know that if you do so, you will be countermanding your orders, Lord Captain of the Great Gate. This is not my watch-post, and therefore while you may protest my actions, your life would not be forfeit for such disobedience. Nor would mine, since I am simply investigating, and the archers are watching with you in command of them.’

‘Yet the paths and tunnels running to the plain are many and finding the quickest way will be difficult for you; I have the knowledge to reach this… individual more swiftly.’

Suddenly Findel relaxed, grinning.

‘Oh, I know a faster way than the tunnels,’ he said, and vaulted over the parapet wall, the bundled garments tucked under one arm.

Gasps from the guard. Ecthelion shook his head, striding forward to look.

‘The Lord of the Golden Flower has not jumped to his doom, never fear,’ he admonished them. ‘Make way, there!’

Glorfindel was seated on a narrow ledge just below the wall, booted feet dangling over the void as if he cared not a jot for the danger. He glanced up and back at Ecthelion, grinning.

‘If this is our City,’ he said, ‘I’ve nothing to fear. Watch him carefully… Ai, but he looks so young! See how blue his eyes are? Bluer than mine, even!’

‘Never!' Echtelion leaned forward to whisper in Findel’s ear. 'Never was there anyone, nor will be anyone, with eyes as blue as yours, my lord of the Golden Flower!’

Glorfindel grinned, but continued. ‘…And freckles, whoever heard of an elf with freckles…?’

Lifting a hand, he waved to the probable-City.

‘Greetings, down there!’ he called out. ‘I wish to parley, may I join you?’

*

Things were happening; people were clustering, there were… things… sharp, pointy things… arrows, directed towards him. He felt the intention, the wariness, sensed the leader’s hesitation, his unwillingness to take life without need. Compassion. It was good, good that one of the first emotions he felt from his people was compassion; somehow, he felt it would form him into a compassionate city…

…but there was fear, and weariness of fear, and he could also sense that these, his people, had been afraid for a long time.

He continued on his slow progress towards the cliffs.

A new arrival, a golden, shining figure, and he felt his heart swell and reach out; this one, whoever he might be, he was precious, he was beloved, he was dear to someone… he mattered…

The golden person jumped over the wall and sat, apparently unconcerned about the drop beneath; he could feel that, sense it even as he was aware of curiosity and intelligence, warmth and friendliness. A lifted hand, a wave, a call…

He waved back, looked at the rocks of the cliff and thought of how a person might get from a ledge to the ground in safety. The rocks shifted, slurred, melted and reformed into a stepped pathway down which the friendly golden creature could descend.

A murmur from the watchers above, but the golden one was descending, unfazed by the sudden stairway’s appearance.

The new-born City waited, a stirring of impatience troubling him. But above, there were still pointed things aimed towards him; although he felt strong enough to withstand such minor things as they seemed, and the intent behind them was not malicious, it seemed right to wait here until he knew more.

So much was still unknown, just guesses at the edge of knowledge.

Finally the figure reached the lower steps, jumped down the last two.

‘Hullo! I’m Glorfindel,’ he said, smiling, and there was no doubting the warmth behind the words, the… wonderful, happy feeling… ‘Here; some clothes for you. It’s a bright day, but still a little cool and we didn’t know if you’d be like an elf, or impervious, or what. So. Welcome to Gondolin… you are our City, I take it?’

‘Gondolin. I am Gondolin.’ The new City took the garments, shook them, tried to work them out. ‘This is Gondolin?’

‘This is Tumladen the plain surrounding the city. Look, here, this… you step in, one leg in each side. Sit down, might be easier.’

Gondolin frowned, concentrating, finding out the ways of the clothes. The leg coverings tied in front, and the tunic tied at the neck, and the fabric felt strange against his skin, confining.

‘I am Gondolin. Where are my spires, my towers, my fountains? Ah, I can feel them I can… there are markets and wide squares, armouries and fine houses… it is beautiful!’

‘Well, we like it,’ the golden one said.

Gondolin turned to him, taking him in.

‘Glorfindel. Golden hair, you are beautiful. Bright blue eyes and elegant ears. Strong but not heavy with muscle. You are a fine person.’

Glorfindel laughed.

‘Well, you’re not so bad yourself, you know. Better hair than me, bluer eyes, although Ecthelion says otherwise.’

‘Ecthelion?’

The City repeated the name, taking into himself all that he could sense of the bright warrior in Glorfindel’s heart. It was like to his own emotional response to Glorfindel, and he wondered if he would feel for all his citizens as he did now, if it were a normal, usual thing.

‘Yes, Ecthelion, Lord of the Great Gate, amongst other things. You know, you could have got into awful trouble, emerging like that, if it hadn’t been him on duty today; I’ve talked to him of my City, Tirion – my first City, that is. You’re my City now. But what I mean is, there are orders… to protect the city, that’s all, but that all strangers should be… forbidden entry and… not allowed to leave.’

‘This is a riddle. How can one not leave and yet not be admitted?’

Glorfindel shrugged. ‘Orders are for the guards to shoot first and ask questions afterwards…’

‘Another riddle, Glorfindel. For how…?’ Gondolin felt the hard meaning of the phrase, the sense of regret from the glowing, beautiful elf before him, and understood. ‘They would not harm me. No ordinary weapon could harm me.’

‘Well, no. Probably not. But you’re… new. I understand that newborn Cities are more fragile than those who are established. Anyway, that doesn’t matter, what matters is that Thel – Ecthelion, knew of Tirion through me, and wondered it perhaps you were our Gondolin.’ Glorfindel smiled, but his eyes were anxious. ‘Do you mind waiting here while I tell him it’s all right? Then he’ll send for Turgon, probably, our king, and… oh, you’re probably hungry and thirsty. You wait here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

‘I…’ Gondolin frowned, puzzled at how suddenly he did not want Glorfindel to leave, at how much he wanted to stay at his side. Realisation dawned. ‘I love you, beautiful Glorfindel.’

Glorfindel smiled and twisted his shoulders, as if he felt awkward.

‘I love you, too. Or I will; you’re my City. And you’ll love all of us; we’re your people. So that’s all right, then. Only it might take a little time, with some of them. It’s been a long and hard road to get here.’

*

‘So…?’ Ecthelion asked as Glorfindel vaulted over the wall and onto the watch platform.

‘If this were my command, I’d stand them down. We have ourselves a City.’ He grinned suddenly, shaking his head as he saw the blank expressions on many of the guard. ‘What that means, essentially, is that Gondolin – or Gondolin, our new city – is important enough, vital enough, that it’s become personified; that individual down there, on the Tumladen – he is our City. He will walk with us, talk with us, share our fears and hopes, support our king. He will feel our pain, and he will strengthen our walls, he will care for us and we will care for him, and we will be the stronger for that. Now, someone should take meat and drink to our City, he will be hungry and he’ll want to meet you all as soon as possible. And if I may make a suggestion, we should send to Lord Turgon and give him the joyful news.’

‘And it is a matter of joy because…?’

Glorfindel clapped Ecthelion briefly on the shoulder, his eyes shining.’

‘Because, my dear Captain of the Great Gate, Cities don’t just happen at random; this means that Gondolin is here to stay!’

Notes:

With grateful thanks and acknowledgement to thecitysmith for permission to take their wonderful idea from 'Paris Burning' and re-imagine it for Tolkien's Legendarium. As well as the stories here on AO3, many wonderful tales for this inventive and fascinating new concept can be found on tumblr.

This story is in no way connected to, or dependent on, the amazing 'Hands of stone or hands of tallow' by consumptive_sphinx and our concepts of the City are a little different. But read it, read it anyway.

[radioactive-earthshine]

I just started following you and your post about welcoming all fans of Tolkien really made me happy bc I just joined in the fandom after an artist I like drew some Angbang. That was the beginning of the end lol. I have been reading wiki articles but I know that is not near enough and is it exhausting for me but from what I know there are loads of books too and I don't know where to start. Where should someone start? Is there a reading order? Any help would be appreciated. Thank you.

Angbang has yet again pulled the unsuspecting victim straight into the void. I don’t think Tolkien would have imagined that the love of his two main villains would bring in readers, but anyway, however you got here: welcome! We don’t have cookies, but we do have feels and literal decades of writing to sift through. Your stay will be as long as you choose, and that may be a long, long while. I have been in the fandom for nearly 20 years and I still have not read everything or explored everything yet. 

One thing I would like to impart on you though is this; reading Tolkien is hard. Yes some people will counter this with a sniff and a scoff and insist that it is not, but most will find his work daunting and overwhelming. If not in how it is written then in the sheer volume of information and variations of his legendarium. What helped me profoundly was reading it not as a fun casual fantasy but as a historical subject. When you put your mind in a state of what to expect out of it really helps your understanding of the text I feel.

As for reading order I personally think you should tackle it as so; 

The Hobbit (keep in mind this is written before much of his own lore was settled and is meant to be a children’s book). 

The Lord of the Rings (one tale, three volumes with the Appendices which are a great resource and gear you up for some HISTORY).

The Silmarillion.

Reading these five books first I feel is a great basic start and they are more or less consistent and are most “in sync” with each other. Don’t shy away from taking notes, however, particularly with The Silmarillion because from that point on it is delving into his legendarium, and the difficulty increases with each one. 

The next round of books you might want to read are as follows;

Unfinished Tales

Children of Hurin

Letters (you can choose to read these here or after everything else, I know many people who saved the letters for last thought that it would have made better sense to read them during their first readings at some point.)

The rest of your journey should be the collective Histories of Middle Earth, all twelve volumes, and these are not for the faint of heart. Be prepared to take notes, be prepared to have a lot of contradiction and don’t come into them thinking that everything you will then read is gospel. If you are anything like me you will create a mosaic of what you like and sort of mush them together to make your own appealing version of events. 

I. The Book of Lost Tales, part 1

II. The Book of Lost Tales, part 2

III. The Lays of Beleriand

IV. The Shaping of Middle-earth

V.  The Lost Road and Other Writings

These first five go over a lot of the events of The Silmarillion (the first and second ages) and contain some of the earliest writings of Tolkien.

VI. The Return of the Shadow

VII. The Treason of Isengard

VIII. The War of the Ring

IX. Sauron Defeated

These four, as you may be able to tell from the titles, focus mostly on the events of The Lord of the Rings and the later second age through the third age. 

X. Morgoth’s Ring

XI. The War of the Jewels

We’re back to The Silmarillion. These two books are cited a lot in Tolkien analysis partly due to the interesting information he provided in them (LACE is in volume X) and they are comparatively newer writings, so some fans like to consider these as more close to what the professor was going for in his legendarium. 

XII. The Peoples of Middle-earth

The final volume is a lot of miscellaneous writings that spans all ages, it’s like the kitchen junk drawer for the professor’s writing. 

Of course we also have new books as well to add to the list that are profoundly useful such as; 

Beren and Luthien (2017)

This is a nifty book that focuses entirely on Luthien’s epic adventure and the drafts Tolkien wrote of it. It is a great resource.  

The Fall of Gondolin (set to be published this year 2018)

Will also be like Beren and Luthien in that it centralizes on writings concerning this one event making it easier to study. Whew. Thank you Christopher Tolkien! 

There also are a plethora of writings other people have done to supplement Tolkien’s writings intended to be good resources. Some are. Some are questionable. And others I just don’t even understand how they even got published. 

My personal favorite supplementary resources are; 

The Atlas of Middle-earth (revised edition) by; Karen Wynn Fonstad

This is a guide to the geography of Arda through the ages and so much more. A great resource to the change in landscape and military movements and general data about the landscape and the people who live there. 

The Languages of Tolkien’s Middle-earth by; Ruth S. Noel

Short and sweet but it provides a quick and easy way to look at a glance the rules of each language. Dictionary is really pathetic but you can find better ones online, this book however has the language guides such as sentence structure and pronunciation. I like it because it is in one small book so looking things up is convenient. 

Flora of Middle-earth. Plants of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Legendarium by; Walter S. Judd & Graham A. Judd

Tolkien was a great admirer of plants and these two compiled an entire book of each and every plant species mentioned in his writings, fictional and non. An interesting perspective. Has a fantastic section on the two trees of Valinor that for that part alone is worth buying. A love song for Yavanna. 

The Science of Middle Earth (revised 2nd edition) by; Henry Gee

This book. This is my absolute favorite book anyone has written about Tolkien, period. This author goes into the possible science for HOW Tolkien’s world could function; as it is clear that Middle-earth is not a playground for magic but something much more fascinating. A great perspective. 

This of course is my personal opinion for how to tackle reading, if you wanted an order. I did NOT read the books in order at all, and I admit I have not read some of these myself to completion. 

If you are going to read anything I would definitely read the first five then from there on if it is just too daunting/overwhelming I would supplement yourself with select books focusing on what interests you the most. Also, engage in conversations with other fans, that alone helped me most of all when it came to understanding the writings. If you are lucky your university or college might even have a course on it. If anyone else has an input it would be appreciated, as always. 

Welcome to the fandom, happy reading. 

[myrkvidrs]

I continue to read in Elf Problem fandom, just not terribly fast--which pretty much describes the pace of Tolkien fandom in general. (EXCEPT LATELY, HOLY CRAP, THE FALL OF GONDOLIN IS GETTING A BOOK, THAT WAS JUST ANNOUNCED TODAY!!) But I still have a lot of feelings and there's still some absolutely gorgeous, utterly rewarding fic being written, so here HAVE SOME ELF PROBLEM FEELINGS.

TOLKIEN FIC RECS: ✦ Bridges by Bodkin, thranduil & legolas & ocs, valinor, 27.7k       Legolas and his wife's father just cannot get on. But elven life is long - and understanding will grow in time. If only they can learn to listen to each other... ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy, boromir & entire lotr cast & some ocs, 522k       Boromir awakens from his death and finds himself in an unexpected situation. ✦ The Dragon of Rohan by French Pony, faramir/eowyn & appearances of aragorn & gimli, 11.2k       Following the first real fight of their marriage, Faramir learns a little bit about Éowyn's past, which prompts a change in their relationship. ✦ Quenta Narquelion by bunn, feanor & maedhros & maglor & elrond & elros & feanorians & cast, 119.5k       Fëanor, dead, watches the First Age unfold and from time to time, joins in. Canon-compliant character death and a detailed account of the Eastern Front of the War of Wrath. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan, maeglin/finduilas & eol/aredhel & melian & cast, 31.2k       Maeglin and Aredhel never flee Nan Elmoth for Gondolin. Twenty years later, Maeglin finds himself in Menegroth on a mission for his mother, seeking another road to freedom. But he is unprepared for what awaits him there. AU. ✦ Three by Geale, aragorn/legolas/arwen, nsfw, 7.3k       One is unbearable, Two is desirable, Three is completion. Legolas left Minas Tirith soon after the War to spare himself the pain but when duty calls him back, everything has changed. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - Estel en-Aderiad by Fiondil, celeborn & galadriel & elrond & glorfindel & elladan & elrohir & legolas, 3.4k       A group of Elves journey to Mordor at the end of the Ring War to find closure and something else. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - The Blue Wizards’ Dilemma by Fiondil, the blue wizards & ocs, 3.7k       They were sent to bring help to the tribes of Men who had rebelled from Melkor-worship in Middle-earth. They were doing well in their mission until a fateful invasion put an end to their plans. Now they had to come up with a new one. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "in sickness, in health" by Mira_Jade, beren/luthien, 1.6k (for this chapter)       It came upon her slowly, like a whisper of the wind before the rains came. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "who touches the pupil of my eye" by Mira_Jade, aule/yavanna & saruman & namo/vaire & thingol/melian & luthien & nerdanel, 1.5k (for this chapter)       Prompts: See, Hear, Touch, Sense, Smell ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "so there will be no forgetting" by Mira_Jade, bilbo & glorfindel & thorin, 3.2k       Magic, Gandalf had said when they entered the valley, but Bilbo Baggins was quite certain that the Grey Wizard was mistaken. For this had to be more than even that. ✦ Return to Aman by bunn, elrond & maglor & cast, 151.6k       A loosely associated series of stories about Elrond's return to Aman at the end of the Third Age. All these assume that Maglor son of Fëanor was one of the other unnamed Elves who accompanied Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo on the ship when they left Middle-earth. ✦ Oropher, Thranduil, Legolas by KayleeArafinwiel, thranduil & legolas & cast, 1.1k       Snippets and bits about the journey of three scions of the House of Elmo, the burdens of lordship and kingship, and the joys of fatherhood and childhood. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "made for whispers" by Mira_Jade, celeborn/galadriel, 4.6k       There were times when the knowledge of just how far away from home she was caught her by surprise. full details + recs under the cut!

✦

Bridges by Bodkin

, thranduil & legolas & ocs, valinor, 27.7k

     Legolas and his wife's father just cannot get on. But elven life is long - and understanding will grow in time. If only they can learn to listen to each other...

      I never used to think too much about reading fic with a lot of OCs, but Tolkien fandom (at least the Thranduil & Legolas parts of it) almost kind of demand it, if you want to build something for them, and I'm at the point where I hardly even notice it anymore and instead just jump right in with those authors who are really good at building up the world around them, while not losing sight of the characters that I'm really here for. So, Thranduil and Legolas and their family in the Fourth Age in Aman? Where Legolas is hurt and trapped in a cave-in with his father-in-law who doesn't really like him and they have to find common ground and a better understanding of each other, while the rest of their family searches for them? Sign me up for that! And it was like sinking into this nice, warm bath to read, it was so easy and comfortable and warm and spot on for what I wanted, that there was some satisfying Legolas whump, there was Elves being Elves, there was just really good, lovely writing and fantastic characterization (they all felt 

spot on 

to me!) and it was incredibly engaging. It was the right length for the story being told, it did a great job of balancing all that it was trying to put in there, and was just a really, really good read that got me back into wanting to read about these characters again! ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy, boromir & entire lotr cast & some ocs, 522k       Boromir awakens from his death and finds himself in an unexpected situation.       I do not know where to begin with this rec, because I'm not sure how to encompass everything that this fic is! When I first picked it up, it sounded like it could either be great or it could be terrible--such an unassuming title and summary, using a first person narrative, the importance of an OC in the beginning, a truly impressive length at well over 500k. All of these seem like red flags being thrown up, if you've read much fic over the years. But I thought, well, I can just read the beginning, see how it goes, it's long enough that I can read quickly and not have to worry about savoring it. So, I started to read and was nearly instantly sucked in--and maybe it wasn't until a chapter or two later that I realize it, but this fic is masterful. Every choice the author makes in this fic is one that I support--the OCs are absolutely necessary, but even more than that are wonderful, I came to care about Boromir's new friend just as much as any canon character, he was beautifully written and the friendship between them tugged at my heart something fierce. The first person narrative is actually a great choice because it allows for getting into Boromir's head in a way that a third person fic would not, it allows the fic to show so much more of his character than could have otherwise been achieved. And, holy shit, the length was pitch perfect. This fic never flagged, it never felt overly drawn out, every scene was a joy to read, everything contributed to the greater whole, the pacing was fantastic so that I kept wanting to read what was coming next, no climax felt like an ending or the aftermath a let-down. Instead, I can scarcely look back to the beginning and see how far these characters and this story came without it feeling like I started the fic another lifetime ago, in the absolute intended way that I should feel looking back on this fic.        It covers so much of the events of LOTR, but from the point of view of Boromir in Gondor, unable to return to help the rest of the Fellowship, to give new events that found the perfect balance of what happened in canon versus how things would change in this AU. The events themselves were true to the spirit of the story and the narrative, I 100% believed this fic every step of the way--and the author showed their work, making every step clear how things happened and unfolded and made it so interesting along the way. The blend of action versus the moments between the fighting, the rebuilding of Gondor and Boromir's life, all of it was incredible.        But, oh. The best thing about this fic. The characterization was magnificent, every single step was brilliant for every single character. Boromir himself is breathlessly perfect, but also the characters around him shine with such fascinating presence, from the Hobbits to the other Men to the rest of the Fellowship, everyone is seen through Boromir's eyes, how he feels about them, but also you understand that he comes with his own biases. It was incredible to read every single scene with Aragorn, how human he is in this story without making him anything less than the incredible figure of the books. It was fucking awe-inspiring how well Denethor was written, how complicated and difficult and charismatic he could be, how Boromir saw all his faults, how he was not an easy man to be around, but you also saw his strength and his motivations and what drew people to him. I never doubted why Boromir or Pippin or the rest of Gondor loved him so much.        I've been reading this fic over the past two months and it's been my comfort place, the fic I pick up when I just want to read something that totally engrosses me, the fic that just made me happy to read, even when things were difficult for the characters. I could have easily read another 500k or more of this fic, I feel a little bereft now that it's gone from my life, and it still stuns me how well used everything is, how everything is so incredibly true to the canon, and everyone is so layered and individual and fascinating. It might seem daunting or not that interesting, but it's truly one of the best fics I've read in any fandom, not just this one, and the length doesn't matter because time seemed to lose all meaning while I was reading, it just slipped by me as I was engrossed in the world this author created. Everything is done to perfection and I honestly am sad that I have no more of this author's work to read. ✦ The Dragon of Rohan by French Pony, faramir/eowyn & appearances of aragorn & gimli, 11.2k       Following the first real fight of their marriage, Faramir learns a little bit about Éowyn's past, which prompts a change in their relationship.       I enjoyed this story so very much, both for the building of Faramir and Eowyn's relationship as well as the glimpses into her past, why she feels so strongly about a certain element in her home. I love how their relationship is portrayed here, it's not perfect, but it's so good , they're still somewhat getting to know each other, but they manage to work things out and make everything even better between them, and I'm just delighted by the sense of a beginning here, how they're building their home and their marriage and their life together. The addition of Aragorn and Gimli in their respective scenes was further a delight and it made the whole thing just an absolute joy to read. ✦ Quenta Narquelion by bunn, feanor & maedhros & maglor & elrond & elros & feanorians & cast, 119.5k       Fëanor, dead, watches the First Age unfold and from time to time, joins in. Canon-compliant character death and a detailed account of the Eastern Front of the War of Wrath.       Rec #1: When I first picked up this fic, I wasn't really sure what I was going to get or where it would be going, with Feanor's spirit refusing the call to Mandos and how that would affect things and what it would all mean. What I got was a bit of an exploration of what it meant to be a bodiless spirit in Middle-Earth, but then more and more an exploration and expansion of the storyline of The Silmarillion from that point on. It's gorgeously written and pulled me in hard, it gives such detail and depth to the storyline and the events that happen, especially once the attack on the Havens happens. It's also an exploration of what the Oath does to the sons of Feanor, how they do/don't react to it, how it drives and directs them--in a way that's woven around all the other plot stuff that's happening. This is fascinating all the more because Feanor himself is watching as a spirit, one who cannot really speak with the living without danger (as the living and the dead should not speak to each other) and this gives him the breathing room to step back from his anger and really see how his actions have created this tidal wave of effects. It's beautifully done for how it doesn't excuse Feanor or his sons or their followers, it doesn't try to make villains out of the people they attacked, but still makes you understand why they do what they do and have such deep sympathy for them. You understand why Elrond and Elros love them so much. You understand why the Dwarves are such longtime friends of them. You understand why many Men are longtime friends of their as well.       This is also in a fic where there's such thought put into the magic and arts of the world, the music and spirits that linger and the words of power and how they're tied to the fate of the World and what it means to be Elves. It's a fic that has so many moments from The Silmarilion given life , like what it's like to be in that part of the world when the Valar themselves finally come to fight Morgoth and the devastation it leaves in their wake, what it's like to spend that many years fighting and fighting and constantly having to struggle to get up when you have no hope left, all of it wrapped up in really beautiful, thoughtful characterization. I wasn't sure I'd like another fic (at least not for a long while) after Return to Aman hit so many of the buttons I wanted, but this one just knocked me over and wouldn't let me get up until I'd read my way through all of what was available (and I'm recommending this now because it's regularly updated, so even as a wip, the rec will stand!) and it's one of those that makes this fandom satisfying to be in!       Rec #2: I wasn't sure what to expect when I first picked this fic up--Feanor as a spirit watching over the events to come? And what I got was one of the most satisfying pieces I've read in awhile, that it starts as a Feanor piece, but it's also just as much (and sometimes moreso) a story about giving detail and breathing life into the story of the First Age, the story of the Feanorians. It's got gorgeous worldbuilding (the use of songs and various abilities, the power in words and voice, the touching of minds, the ability to call on things, all of it is blended together with the story in a way that utterly made sense to me, it felt like Elves, especially ones from the First Age) and it's gorgeous characterization and it's gorgeous canon gap filler. It's a story that takes the frame of canon, then builds and builds on it, so that it's this really coherent narrative, both in terms of the worldbuilding and in the characters--you get why the Feanorians do what they do, your heart breaks for them as they slide more and more into evil, because they aren't evil, but they have done so many evil things that they are inseparable from it. It doesn't dismiss the terrible things they've done, it doesn't deny that they truly did evil, but also it shows why they're so beloved, why Elrond and Elros love them, why their story is worth telling. On a narrative level, it's kind to both sides and that gives the story such depth and brilliance that a flatter reading of it (one side or the other being entirely ~bad~) would never have reached.       I enjoyed the story for the structure of it, the building up of various abilities (the Elves' magical powers just fit so well into the world that I could easily take it all for canon) or the Dwarves or various other Elves (besides the Feanorians or the Peredhil), all of that is gorgeously done. But the moment I will always remember most came in the second to last or last chapter, with Feanor watching over Maedhros and Maglor at the end of all of this, that got me. It got me so hard that I sat there in public, with tears welling up in my eyes, because I was affected by these characters and their journey, the way they were written. It's a beautiful piece for the Feanorians, you can feel the affection for them as characters without losing what makes their story tragic, that they have become evil through the sheer scope of the things they've done, and yet I want so, so badly to save them, because I fell in love with them over the course of the story all over again. And it's not just me being a fan of the characters, it's truly that the writing is gorgeous, that everything the fic sets out to do, it achieves, and I wish I could articulate it better, how much I loved reading this, how good it was, how well it did everything, because it really helped me through some tough times when I needed it, just by being so good. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan, maeglin/finduilas & eol/aredhel & melian & cast, 31.2k       Maeglin and Aredhel never flee Nan Elmoth for Gondolin. Twenty years later, Maeglin finds himself in Menegroth on a mission for his mother, seeking another road to freedom. But he is unprepared for what awaits him there. AU.       I did not know how much I needed this AU fic until I read it and had such trouble putting it down! Maeglin accompanies his father to Menegroth, a letter from his mother hidden on him to ask for help, and there he meets Finduilas and tries to find the best way to speak to Galadriel and pass her the letter without his father noticing. There's such thought and care given to the worldbuilding of Menegroth and the Elves here, what that place must have been like, what it's like for the Elves living there, what it was like for Maeglin and his limited experience. It's such a great piece for his character, it really does such a fantastic job with this poor kid who has been hidden away and is so inexperienced and so ground down, but still desperately wants to do something , even amongst his fear. It's a really lovely look at how things could have gone better for him if he'd met someone more suited to him, the dynamic with Finduilas just sparkles here, it was a relationship that I absolutely fell in love with and it had such a natural grace.       But also Menegroth as a whole! The little details of how it affected Maeglin, the stars on the ceiling, the pulsing feeling of everything, the way Melian was so otherworldly, like she was there and yet not, the way she felt alien and such a heavy pressure to her. She's like Menegroth here--there's something genuinely terrifying about her, yet also beautiful and wonderful. The way such life was breathed into Finduilas as a character, she had such a vibrancy about her that you could believe everything here was plucked straight out of canon! It's a fic that achieves everything it set out to do and, sure, I'd loved another 30k for a sequel fic, but also I was satisfied with what was here--it was fascinating and a beautiful piece to read. ✦ Three by Geale, aragorn/legolas/arwen, nsfw, 7.3k       One is unbearable, Two is desirable, Three is completion. Legolas left Minas Tirith soon after the War to spare himself the pain but when duty calls him back, everything has changed.       Every time I read Aragorn/Legolas/Arwen fic it just further cements that I really do love this trio more than any single pairing and this fic just fed further into that. It's wonderfully balanced, especially the way it starts as more Aragorn/Arwen + Aragorn/Legolas, but eventually does become a trio, because, you know, Elves. It's a blend of angst and happiness, it's aching to read at first, but such love comes through that I felt entirely warm after reading it. There's a brief bit of sex that's lovely and hot, too, but it's mostly that I believed this scenario for them that really got me. ♥ ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - Estel en-Aderiad by Fiondil, celeborn & galadriel & elrond & glorfindel & elladan & elrohir & legolas, 3.4k       A group of Elves journey to Mordor at the end of the Ring War to find closure and something else.       This wound up being one of my favorites in this fic collection, where a group of Elves journey to Mordor to see for themselves the land of their fallen foe. Once again, the balance between all that's been lost, the heart of things, and the hope found amongst the rocks and hard ground, is wonderfully done. The moments each character gets to think on what (and who) they've lost, the aches they still carry with them, but that eventually they pull through to a lightness of heart again, it's very Elven and had me eating this fic up like candy. It's nicely done as a group piece (which is not always easy!) and as an aftermath piece. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - The Blue Wizards’ Dilemma by Fiondil, the blue wizards & ocs, 3.7k       They were sent to bring help to the tribes of Men who had rebelled from Melkor-worship in Middle-earth. They were doing well in their mission until a fateful invasion put an end to their plans. Now they had to come up with a new one.       Given how little we know of the Blue Wizards, it could be difficult to come up with an interesting story to tell about them, but given how much I've enjoyed the other fics in this collection, I was perfectly willing to give this one a shot as well. And it is interesting to see what the author did with the scraps of information we have, how much was built up in such a short time, how the focus on these singular moments in the middle of greater plot machinations tell so much and how humanized these characters (both the actual humans and the wizards both) were. Even going in knowing very little, I felt like all of this absolutely made sense to me and that's a great achievement. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "in sickness, in health" by Mira_Jade, beren/luthien, 1.6k (for this chapter)       It came upon her slowly, like a whisper of the wind before the rains came.       This was a really lovely and sweet moment with Beren and Luthien, how she gets sick for the first time after becoming mortal and how it's kind of quietly terrifying, but she embraces it in the way she always does, as well as Beren is just so kind and charming here, you can absolutely see why Luthien loves him so very much, why this life with him is so very worth living. It's a sparkling, warm-hearted piece that really captured one of those quiet moments that shows just how much deep and true love there is here. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "who touches the pupil of my eye" by Mira_Jade, aule/yavanna & saruman & namo/vaire & thingol/melian & luthien & nerdanel, 1.5k (for this chapter)       Prompts: See, Hear, Touch, Sense, Smell       This is a series of shorter ficlets connected through a themed prompt set as well as a sense of loss and difficulty, how each of these characters deal with such things. Aule's loss of Mairon, a favored pupil, Namo trying to understand the process of death in the early days, Nerdanel mourning her losses, and so on. It's a lovely set and adds these little touches of something you can really empathize with when it comes to all these characters. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "so there will be no forgetting" by Mira_Jade, bilbo & glorfindel & thorin, 3.2k       Magic, Gandalf had said when they entered the valley, but Bilbo Baggins was quite certain that the Grey Wizard was mistaken. For this had to be more than even that.       One of the most frustrating parts of Peter Jackson's movies is what they've done to the Elves, especially the Hobbit movies, even having set them from the Dwarves' point of view. This is a lovely look at Bilbo learning a bit more about the swords they carry from one who is very familiar with them and then another lovely look at Bilbo telling Elven tales, showing the depth of them to some who would like to deny it. It was a nicely cathartic read for me, as a fan of these characters and this history, but it's also a really great look at giving depth to the time Thorin's company spent in Rivendell, fitting between the scenes of the movie very nicely! ✦ Return to Aman by bunn, elrond & maglor & cast, 151.6k       A loosely associated series of stories about Elrond's return to Aman at the end of the Third Age. All these assume that Maglor son of Fëanor was one of the other unnamed Elves who accompanied Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo on the ship when they left Middle-earth.       I don't even know where I'm going to begin with this! I read this entire series over the course of about a week, the only thing that kept me from devouring it all at once is that I didn't want to run out of it too quickly--and, yet, here I am all caught up and desperately wishing I had another 80k+ to read through right now. It's a collection of stories about Elrond and Maglor journeying to Aman in the Fourth Age, about healing and humor and what comes next for the Elves, now that their time in Middle-Earth has ended and they have to actually deal with seeing a son of Feanor again, that Maglor has to deal with the Oath and what he's done and his sorrow over it. I'm interested in these things just for themselves, of course, but this fic series has been absolutely incredible at giving such sharp personality to everyone, that Finrod has such an incredible sense of humor and rolls with a joke, that Nerdanel has such common sense, that Elrond may be younger than most of the Elves here but he's Seen Some Shit as well as he has an incredible way with building bridges between people, that Bilbo and Frodo are such Hobbits and genuinely feel different from the Elves, that Nimloth has to be experienced rather than described, that Celebrian seems so delicate and yet has such strength to her, all of it is incredibly sharp and brilliant. I came to this fic for the concept and the lore, but wound up staying even more for the sheer gorgeous characterization and deftness at which this really feels like these characters' thoughts, feelings, and actions.       Which isn't to say that the lore isn't incredibly well done, too! The story feels just a little bit formal in the way the Elves speak to each other, there's just a touch of poetry in their words and actions, but in a way that's incredibly smooth and engaging to read! And the bits of worldbuilding, the way they see into each others' minds or the way their power works, that Maglor knows he could use his harp and voice as a weapon possibly even more deadly than his sword, that the Oath is a burning thing in the minds of Feanor's sons, that the time in the Halls of Mandos is not so easily described. All of this add such richness to the story being told, all of this is why I'm fascinated by the Elves! And I wish I could write a better rec for this series, I wish I could write a rec for each of the (at current) eleven stories, because they deserve it, because they utterly enraptured me and satisfied me on an emotional level. It's a story about forgivenes and where that line is, that Maglor has regretted so many things, that they weren't just monsters, they were thinking and feeling creatures as well. That he has to live with the fury that's aflame around so many Elves that he hurt, but also that he struggles with pride and his own wounds, the loss of family.       It's a story that makes the Feanorians sympathetic again, that doesn't excuse what they've done, but that holding onto grudges never heals anything. I'm incredibly on the side of the people that they hurt, but this fic got me feeling things for the Feanorians all over again, especially because it's so very clear that Maglor loves dearly and hates what happened, that it destroyed him in a way he'll likely never recover from, especially not with the strength of Elven memory. But it's still a road worth walking, coming back to life and healing. And, oh, even the one conversation between Nerdanel and Feanor here had me practically rolling over in my bed to clutch my reader to my chest for the sheer amount of feeling it gave me. It's a fic that's so beautifully written all the way through, that has such care put into it and different perspectives considered and finely written dialogue that it really, really earns the slow burn redemption that it's going for. It's an incredible story that I'm so glad I'm getting to read. ✦ Oropher, Thranduil, Legolas by KayleeArafinwiel, thranduil & legolas & cast, 1.1k       Snippets and bits about the journey of three scions of the House of Elmo, the burdens of lordship and kingship, and the joys of fatherhood and childhood.             These were very short snippets of fic that were lovely to read and I picked them up because I, too, headcanon that Oropher was from Elmo's line, though, I don't think you really have to be that familiar with The Silmarillion to enjoy this! They're shorter fics and really cute scenes, very much about the care and feeling between the Elves, just little details to fill in the world and connections between them all. It was a lovely read today! ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "made for whispers" by Mira_Jade, celeborn/galadriel, 4.6k        There were times when the knowledge of just how far away from home she was caught her by surprise.        I have definitely been on a Celeborn/Galadriel kick lately, especially takes on their early courtship days and how the reveal of the Kin-Slaying events and the tension between the Noldor and the Sindar would have affected this relationship. It's a look at such a strong character like Galadriel, who has her pride and her sorrow both, that she feels stained and cursed, that in a way she truly is, and doesn't want to spread that to this Elf she is coming to love, but also will not settle for crumbling under the weight of what she bears. The way she moves from Artanis and Nerwen to Galadriel, the way she is proud and unbreakable, the way she grieves for what they've all been through, all of it is so Galadriel. And the way these two interact with each other, the sharp connection between them, the pull that neither of them could possibly deny, the strength and elegance and grace of both of them, the sheer might of both their presences in a room, all of it is very, very nicely done and suits them so well. I can easily see this as how things might have gone!

[heartofoshun]

Silmarillion Questions: Tagged by @jane-ways

 – thanks for thinking of me!

How do you think the Oath worked practically? I like to write it as magic—it sleeps and then awakens under certain in-world pressures and then it is all but impossible to resist. I think Tolkien wrote it under the influence of belief systems in the Northern tradition which considered one’s sworn oath to be sacred—to break it was the lowest thing a warrior could do. For him, it makes a great story conflict—absolute fealty to a sworn oath even if it will lead to one’s doom. He makes us love the Noldor (he does!!) and then rips our hearts out. Incomparable storytelling. But the guy is filled with contradictions. His modern, Catholic-self thought that the oath could and should be broken if in contradiction to other moral issues. (It’s a long discussion. Too long to have here.) I ask myself, how come the good characters in The Silmarillion are not nearly as appealing and attractive as the ones Tolkien wants us to judge? Accidental or intentional? Were the Valar in the right to bring the Elves to Valinor? No. The One/Eru never intended the Secondborn (Men) be left alone in Middle-earth to face Morgoth and without the aid of the Firstborn (Elves). I do not doubt the good intentions of the Valar, but they did not consider the implications of their action. And they did not consider that not all of the Elves would appreciate the trade of freedom for a gilded cage. They claimed the Noldor were free to leave, but then cursed them—leave and you can’t come back, no help from us, and unnumbered tears you shall shed—wow, harsh!

Which Silm character do you find the most relatable personally and why? Probably Fingon. I love his loyalty and his courage. He is a real hero over and over, rescuing Maedhros alone, facing down the first dragon they encounter, acting as military commander-in-chief throughout his father’s reign. His extraordinary personal heroism and his epic friendship (or more) with Maedhros makes him incredibly attractive, but his political instincts and leadership qualities were sound also. He is said to have “resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war.” While he lived, he was able to hold the Noldor together, despite differences, after their reconciliation, which he, along with Maedhros, had engineered. If you could ask one character one question (to get clarification on their motives, to ask their opinion etc), who would you ask and what? Finrod.  I’d like a fully developed and detailed answer as to why he came to Middle-earth. I adore Finrod—what’s not to like—but there is not a clear enough motivation for leaving. An urge for travel and adventure? Intellectual curiosity? An attachment to his cousins? I’d like to hear it from his POV. Would you have gone with Fëanor, Fingolfin or Finarfin?I’d have follow Fëanor – the revolutionary who thought for himself and didn’t accept received-wisdom without reasoning. He fought for the rights of his people to make their own decisions and for their self-determination. By the time the Valar had released Morgoth, he had no reason to trust their judgment over his own. It’s canon that he did many things better than did them. I am inspired by Fëanor’s words, along with the 90 percent of the Noldor who left Aman: “We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and to this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.” I’m not nearly as moved by the motivations of the others or lack thereof. Fingolfin did what he saw as his duty: not to abandon the Noldor, to avenge his father, and, originally, with perhaps a bit of ambition to hang onto the crown. Finarfin withdrew to make his peace with the Valar (and his wife’s people, whom he loved; and his mother and her people whom he revered). I do not condemn Fëanor’s brothers’ motivations out of hand, but only say that for myself he would have been the one of the three who could have lit a fire under me. What do you think was the determining factor/reasoning behind the Doom of the Noldor? Does it hold for scrutiny in your opinion? It was a threat pure and simple. There should have been no punishment at all. Quite the contrary, they should have been willing to help them out in Middle-earth, early and often. One cannot offer aid only with precise and restrictive conditions that effectively take away one’s freedom to make decision (as much the Valar argued that was not their intention). Who is the scariest of Tolkien’s characters? That light-sucking spider who scared the shit out of Melkor himself. Any other versions of a story you prefer over the version published in the Silm? I tend to like the Silmarillion the best.  But I do like so many of the added details. The ones that add to backstory and flesh-out characterization. Things like Law and Customs Among the Eldar not so much. In my own stories, I had constructed an outline and written a novel and a couple of novellas before I ever encountered certain characters. So, I was not prepared to go back and re-write those. Favourite story of the legendarium and why? There are so many! I first was attracted to Fingon rescuing Maedhros and the two them reuniting the Noldor. I loved Fingolfin bringing so many of the peoples of Middle-earth together at the Mereth Aderthad, despite Thingol’s resistance. I love Fingon and Maedhros’ bromance/romance and their maintaining the military alliance that held back Morgoth for nearly 500 years. I love all of the sons of Fëanor (Curufin a little less than the rest—Sorry! I know he had a hard life—just like his father only not nearly as brilliant—poor guy!). I count Huan among the Family—what a hound! He’s the good part of the story of Beren and Lúthien—the rest is kind of a snooze for me (heresy, I know). I love Fëanor and Nerdanel—the power couple of the power people! OMG! I want to reunite them! I love Finarfin (despite him make the wrong choice about going into exile)—love his wife and his kids and his non-Noldorin preference for the Telerin names and customs. I adore Tuor—especially the part of coming to Gondor and running into Voronwë, the sea god, and the swans, and finding the armor (that’s awesome storytelling!). Of course I love Arehel and Galadriel! Dark and light. Impulse and cunning. Wonderful women, who should have had more space. I love Idril, getting her hands dirty as an engineer in Gondolin and saving so many, with a little help from Ecthelion and Glorfindel and her husband. I love Idril and Tuor’s baby Eärendil—so heartbreakingly cute—dipping into HoMe for that! I love Ecthelion and Glorfindel—the descriptions of those two alone would make me love them without their deeds.  Giving short shrift here to the Sindar—but I have plenty of crushes among them also: Daeron, Beleg, and Mablung. How about Húrin saying good-bye to his wife and kid and his brass balls at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears? And Azaghâl  at Unnumbered Tears: “the Dwarves raised up the body of Azaghâl and bore it away; and with slow steps they walked behind singing a dirge in deep voices.” I want to see that filmed. Last but not least, Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond, and Elros! There are so many more great storylines and so much delicious heartbreak! Almost forgot to mention how much I adore Finrod--so much so that he get’s a citation from the bio I wrote for him: “He is a brilliant, beautiful, golden icon, bigger-than-life, and shaped from the same heroic mold as all of his flame-eyed compatriots, those notorious and charismatic Noldorin Lords of the West. If that were not enough, Finrod is also a great wizard, a friend to Men and Dwarves, and loyal to his allies and closest kinsmen, even when faced with safeguarding their dirtiest secrets. While his virtues are extolled well beyond those of any of his cousins or brothers, Finrod remains just flawed enough to be sexy.” And non-Quenta Silmarillion stories? Well, there is that three-volume book about the Third Age and its outcome. Not to mention Númenor. Don’t make me chose! The latest thing you learned that made you reconsider or change your view on something in Tolkien’s world? Honestly, I do that constantly. I have to admit I get the most enlightenment from within the fandom and not from the voluminous works of Tolkien scholars I read when I am doing research for my own non-fiction ruminations. Thoughts on Fëanor not wanting to share the Silmarils after the Darkening? I have to agree with @jane-ways who said it felt “like it had more to do with his distrust of the Valar than selfishness.” And, not even Fëanor himself could replicate them for a part of his life force was spent in their creation. Nonetheless, the Valar insisted that he relinquish them. Only Aulë appeared to understand the breaking of the Silmarils would result in the destruction of Fëanor. He told his brethren: “We ask a greater thing than thou knowest. Let him have peace yet awhile.'” Of course, they ignored him, the one amongst them who understood Fëanor best.

I’m tagging @vefanyar, @himring, @nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui @lucifers-cuvette, @ignoblebard , @grundyscribbling   @imindhowwelayinjune anyone else who would like to answer!

[gurguliare]

CONGRATS @vardasvapors​​ YOU’VE UNLOCKED UNASKED-FOR FOURTH OPTION ‘liveblog the entire Wanderings of Húrin, because I haven’t read it in nearly two years’

Twenty-eight years Hurin was captive in Angband, and at his release was in his sixtieth year, but great strength was in him still, in spite of the weight of his grief, for it suited the purpose of Morgoth that this should be so. He was sent under guard as far as the east-marches of Hithlum, and there he was let go free.

None that had known him [in] youth could mistake him still, though he had grown grim to look on: his hair and beard were white and long, but there was a fell light in his eyes. He walked unbowed, and yet carried a great black staff; but he was girt with his sword. Great wonder and dread fell on the land when it was noised in Hithlum that the Lord Hurin had returned. The Easterlings were dismayed, fearing that their Master would prove faithless again and give back the land to the Westrons, and that they would be enslaved in their turn. For watchmen had reported that Hurin came out of Angband.

'There was a great riding,' they said, 'of the black soldiers of Thangorodrim over the Anfauglith, and with them came this man, as one that was held in honour.'

Hey do you think the flamelike spirit that burns in Maedhros and makes him heal rapidly is ALSO a Morgoth bequest. Like does he heal super fast because his strength was of the ancient world or because Morgoth just unlocked that key in his genome before hanging him up on the wall and never got a chance to turn it off

...anyway how great is hot indelibly recognizable 60yo Húrin, forever. He has exactly his dashing younger self’s button nose.

Also I can’t believe he left Angband with an escort of hundreds of orc riders. After going into Angband still plastered in the orc hands he lopped off. Hey? Remember that? What’s up, Húrin? Do you think when they left him outside Dor-lomin one turned around and waved

Thus freedom only increased the bitterness of Hurin's heart; for even had he so wished, he could not have roused any rebellion against the new lords of the land. All the following that he gathered was a small company of the homeless men and outlaws chat lurked in the hills; but they had done no great deed against the Incomers since the passing of Turin, some five years before.

Of Turin's deeds in Brodda's hall Hurin now learned from the outlaws the true tale, and he looked on Asgon {3} and his men, and he said: 'Men are changed here. In thraldom they have found thrall hearts.'

God I just. cannot. believe. Hurin picks up the refugees that Turin fucking ditched in the mountains, and that they’ve now been downgraded from the bravest survivors of the Dor-lomin occupation to, meh, outlaws. No great deeds since Turin went off. Gotta love that Hurin’s-eye-view: well, what use to me?

'Fear not!' he said. 'I should have needed no companions, if I had come to fight with you. I am come only to take leave of the lord of the land. I have no liking for it any more, since you have defiled it. Hold it while you may, until your Master recalls you to the slave-tasks that fit you better.'

Then Lorgan was not ill-pleased to think that he would so soon and easily be rid of the fear of Hurin, without crossing the will of Angband; and he came forward.

'As you will, friend,' he said. 'I have done you no ill, and have let you be, and of this I hope you will bring a true tale, if you come again to the Master.'

Hurin eyed him in wrath. 'Friend me not, thrall and churl!' he said.

FB FRIEND REQUEST DECLINED. Also I love Lorgan, um, instantly recognizing the cocktail of tsundere threats characteristic of normal Angband introductions. sigh.

‘Fare you ill!'

'Tol acharn!' said Hurin. 'Vengeance comes. I am not the last of the Edain, whether I fare ill or well.' And with that he departed, and left the land of Hithlum.

HAHAHAHA I LOVE HURIN GETTING IT RIGHT... KIND OF... but unfortunately “I am not the last of the Edain, whether I fare ill or well” goes both ways. vengeance will come whatever happens to him but. whatever happens to him will still be awful and unchanged regardless of the survival of his peopleeeeee

[Some have said that] maybe he knew not that Glaurung was dead, and hoped in his heart distraught to take vengeance on this evil thing - for Morgoth would conceal the death of Glaurung, if he could, both because the loss was a grief to him and a hurt to his pride, and because (from Hurin especially) he would conceal all that was most valiant or successful of Turin's deeds. Yet this can scarce be so, since the death of Glaurung was so bound up with the death of his children and revelation of their evil case; while the rumour of the assault of Glaurung upon Brethil went far and wide. Certainly Morgoth fenced men in Hithlum, as he was able, and little news came to them of events in other lands; but so soon as Hurin passed southward or met any wanderers in the wild he would hear tidings of the battle in the ravine of Taiglin.

ahahahahahaha of course part of Húrin hopes that Glaurung survives. I mean I agree it makes no sense but: Of Course He Does. He’s Húrin Thalion, greatest warrior of the Edain! Why else was he released?

His heart is hot against Thingol. He passes it [Doriath] by and goes on to Nargothrond. Why? To seek news, plunder, --- he had been an admirer of Felagund.

w h a t  t h e  f u c k

Sorry nothing to say here just. AN ADMIRER OF FELAGUND? EXCUSE ME? OH MY GOD... DO YOU THINK TURGON TOLD HIM (EXPURGATED) STORIES

When Hurin stood again in the high places he descried far away amid the clouds the peaks of the Crisaegrim, and he remembered Turgon; and his heart desired to come again to the Hidden Realm, if he could, for there at least he would be remembered with honour. He had heard naught of the things that had come to pass in Gondolin, and knew not that Turgon now hardened his heart against wisdom and pity, and allowed no one either to enter or to go forth for any cause whatsoever. Therefore, unaware that all ways were shut beyond hope, he resolved to turn his steps towards the Crisaegrim; but he said nothing of his purpose to his companions, for he was still bound by his oath to reveal to no one that he knew even in what region Turgon abode.

Nonetheless he had need of help; for he had never lived in the wild, whereas the outlaws were long inured to the hard life of hunters and gatherers, and they brought with them such food as they could, though the Fell Winter had much diminished their store. Therefore Hurin said to them: 'We must leave this land now; for Lorgan will leave me in peace no longer. Let us go down into the vales of Sirion, where Spring has come at last!'

I love: Húrin constantly half-consciously aping ‘human capable of hope’ speech patterns just so he can better lie to people. He’s good at lying now. He spent thirty years thinking Morgoth’s hand-me-downs, why wouldn’t he be. Also I love how explicitly negative earlier drafts are about Gondolin and “at least he would be remembered with honor,” another relatively normal human desire among the many parading ostentatiously in Húrin’s surface thoughts, and I love Húrin not able to cook OR farm. Amazing. Sucks to have social stratification, huh, honey.

Also the fact that he has this company of people following him and then he just ditches them to go find Gondolin adds SO MUCH RICHNESS to his plea outside Gondolin? Like whoa oh oh I’m so alone in the world all have spurned me and btw I basically catfished six guys until THEY would teach me how to fish

'The old man's wits are wild. He speaks with strange voices to shadows in his sleep.'

'Little wonder if it were so,' said Asgon. 'But who else could stand as straight as he, after such woe? Nay, he is our right lord, do as he may, and I have sworn to follow him.'

'Even east over the ford?' said the others.

'Nay, there is small hope in that way,' said Asgon, 'and I do not think that Hurin will go far upon it. All we know of his purpose was to go soon to Brethil, and that he has an errand there. We are on the very border. Let us seek him there.'

'By whose leave?' said Ragnir. 'Men there do not love strangers.'

'Good men dwell there,' said Asgon, 'and the [Master >] Lord of Brethil is kin to our old lords.' Nonetheless the others were doubtful, for no tidings had come out of Brethil for some years. 'It may be ruled by Orcs for all we know,' they said.

'We shall soon find what way things go,' said Asgon. 'Orcs are little worse than Eastrons, I guess. If outlaws we must remain, I would rather lurk in the fair woods than in the cold hills.'

The Rohan/Lothlorien/Fangorn mix with Brethil is real intense, though I mostly feel the Rohan parallels. But I also like the reminder that the Hadorians and the people in Dor-lomin really have the most human-centric existence of any society in Beleriand. The Haladin don’t necessary have close ties to particular elves but they’re tangled up in Orcs and a front line of defense against Orcs from the moment of their introduction, and they therefore feel more meshed into the fantastic wild of Beleriand as a whole, whereas the Hadorians really, almost, sorta had a self-contained fortified society from which to look out at the uncanny world, for a while there. Anyway, then with “Orcs are little worse than Eastrons” you got that simultaneous tasty racism and hard-to-resist humanization of Orcs from back at the beginning of time before Species Divisions were formalized beyond hope of unlearning, so, \o_o/ I guess

'To those of proved faith,' said Hardang. 'To be Edain is not enough alone.'

[...]

'This is my judgement. Here Turin son of Hurin dwelt for a time, and he delivered the land from the Serpent of Angband. For this I give you your lives. But he scorned Brandir, right Chieftain of Brethil, and he slew him without justice or pity. Therefore I will not harbour you here.'

LOL REVERSE OF Húrin’s propaganda machine “I am not the last of the Edain, whether I fare ill or well.” idk that I have much to say about the completely unstable shifting identities here but <3

Asgon, therefore, turned and went back towards Brethil; and the others followed him, for he had a stout heart and men said that he was born with good luck.

[...]

'Well, thy luck has held,' said Ragnir, 'for at least we are not slain, though we came nigh it. Now what shall we do?’

Rasgir/Asgon is a good ship I hope they had a nice time being lost in the woods forever

Thus Turin was the second cousin of Brandir on the 'Hadorian' side, and he was also his second cousin on the Haladin side; while in the 'Beorian' line he was Brandir's second cousin once removed - a genealogical situation to delight the heart of Hamfast Gamgee. Pointing out these relationships in an isolated note of this time, my father observed that 'Turin would be more readily accepted by the Haladin when his true name and lineage were known or guessed', since he was akin to their lords in these ways.

I’m very ... Emotion ... about Brandir being this barely-tolerated lord, son of a Beorian mother with a great big polarizing Hadorian strain as well, alternately prized by the other anxious part-Hadorians and viewed as an outsider by scared, bitter Haladin rival branches. Do I headcanon that Beldis put him on the Wise track at all?? I don’t know! I think I do! I don’t think she was a Wise-woman though she probably just gave him like, five poison berries once and a pat on the head

The only obscure point concerns the failure of Asgon's party to encounter Hurin on his return. My father was in two minds about this. The rejected fourth paragraph in C (p. 267) shows him (having decided that Asgorn and his men were not imprisoned) taking the view that they were ejected from Brethil near the Crossings: it is 'the captain of the Taiglin-guard' who restores their weapons; and they remain lurking in that neighbourhood. Thus they missed Hurin, 'who entered out of Dimbar' (i.e. came into Brethil from the north after crossing the Brithiach, as Asgorn had done). Hurin, he wrote, must not enter Brethil at the Crossings and be found lying beside the Haud-en-Elleth (as the story was already in the draft manuscript).

But he at once, and understandably, thought better of this, and (in the fifth paragraph) retained the existing story that Hurin was found by the guards near the Crossings; he said now that Asgorn and his men were put out of Brethil in the same region as they entered, and that they lurked 'near the eaves in that region' - hence their failure to meet with Hurin. But in the replacement passage B 2 (p. 265) he has them decide not to stay near the north eaves of the forest, and they go down towards the Crossings.

Tbh this. impossible continuity fuckup is my FAVORITE and instantly enshrined as Fairy-tale Meaningful in my mind, for no particular reason. Hurin went to the Crossings! Asgorn and his men headed down to the Crossings! HURIN IS TAKEN CAPTIVE AND THEY NEVER MEET AGAIN. Thanks, Connie Willis.

...he halted and looked about him in little hope. He stood now at the foot of a great fall of stones beneath a sheer rock-wall, and he did not know that this was all that was now left to see of the old Way of Escape: the Dry River was blocked and the arched gate was buried.(28)

Then Hurin looked up to the grey sky, thinking that by fortune he might once more descry the Eagles, as he had done long ago in his youth.(29) But he saw only the shadows blown from the East, and clouds swirling about the inaccessible peaks; and wind hissed over the stones. But the watch of the Great Eagles was now redoubled, and they marked Hurin well, far below, forlorn in the failing light. And straightaway Sorontar himself, since the tidings seemed great, brought word to Turgon.

But Turgon said: 'Nay! This is past belief! Unless Morgoth sleeps. Ye were mistaken.'

Obviously this is all in the Silm-silm but man the... stereoscopic movement from Húrin staring up at the mountains from way down below the cloud layer TO THE EAGLES, watching from ABOVE the clouds, seeing everything illuminated. What the fuck. Also I love the repeated “Unless Morgoth sleeps” phrase, ha ha ha ha, like Morgoth is a dragon and Húrin is his FAVORITE goblet (tru)

As darkness fell Hurin stumbled from the stone, and fell, as one aswoon, into a deep sleep of grief. But in his sleep he heard the voice of Morwen lamenting, and often she spoke his name; and it seemed to him that her voice came out of Brethil.

//

The waters of Cabed Naeramarth roared on, but he heard no sound and saw nothing, and he felt nothing, for his heart was stone within him, and he thought that he would sit there until he too died.

But there came a chill wind that drove sharp rain into his face; and he was roused, and anger rose in him like smoke, mastering reason, so that all his desire was to seek vengeance for his wrongs and for the wrongs of his kin, accusing in his anguish all those who ever had dealings with them.

He arose and lifted Morwen up; and suddenly he knew that it was beyond his strength to bear her. He was hungry and old, and weary as winter. Slowly he laid her down again beside the standing stone. 'Lie there a little longer, Edelwen,' he said, 'until I return. Not even a wolf would do you more hurt. But the folk of this hard land shall rue the day that you died here!'

So of course the “anger rose in him like smoke, mastering reason” passage is the only rival for Fingolfin’s last ride in my affections, I should have listed it as an alternative because they really are just, The Two Favs, but anyway: other things I’m into here include the... kind of... the relatively innocent-seeming childlike oblivion of grief, interrupted by a perhaps braver (?) and more adult/heroic (??) impulse to answer Morwen’s call---his love! that takes priority!---and then the same process happening again after she dies, except now all that’s summoning him is his grief, and it’s soured completely in his absence. But like, the repeated habit of ‘shaking himself awake,’ the shape is the same, the feelings that fill it are the reverse

Also I can’t. can’t. BELIEVE the ... seamless transition from the factual, wrenching, sweet gallows humor of “Not even a wolf would do you more hurt” --- he’s looking at her, he’s flirting a little, he sees her clearly, she’s a corpse! --- STRAIGHT into “But the folk of this hard land shall rue the day that you died here.” He was calm for as long as he’s talking directly to his dead wife, it occurs to him he can hurt someone, it’s time to hurt someone. No one can hurt her now. What does that have to do with it? He wants to hurt someone!

'Shame upon you!' cried Manthor the captain, who coming behind had heard what they said. 'And upon you most, Avranc, young though you are! At least you have heard of the deeds of Hurin of Hithlum, or did you hold them only fireside fables? What is to be done, indeed! So, slay him in his sleep is your counsel. Out of hell comes the thought! '

'And so does he,' answered Avranc. 'If indeed he is Hurin. Who knows? '

'It can soon be known,' said Manthor; and coming to Hurin as he lay he knelt and raised his hand and kissed it. 'Awake!' he cried. 'Help is near. And if you are Hurin, there is no help that I would think enough.'

'And no help that he will not repay with evil,' said Avranc. 'He comes from Angband, I say.'

'What he may do is unknown,' said Manthor. 'What he has done we know, and our debt is unpaid.'

God Manthor you male feminist. I mean, uh, I, ‘out of hell comes the thought’ / ‘ and so does he’ put this on my .... portfolio website, also... the hand kiss.... the unintentional brain-cleaving accuracy of ‘and if you are Hurin, there is no help that I would think enough’ ... I do legit love What he may do is unknown. What he has done we know, and our debt is unpaid. Manthor is a good, rationalizing, sleazy kid who has already had TWO prophetic dreams :(

Then Manthor gave him a little bread and meat and water; but they seemed to choke him, and he spat them forth. 'How far is it to the house of your lord?' he asked. 'Until I have seen him the food that you denied to my beloved will not go down my throat.'

[Húrin after having his mouth scalded by a bite of lembas] ‘Hmm, must be because THINGOL and MELIAN mistreated my WIFE’

the food that you denied to my beloved. holy shit. he’s an evil slam poet.

Then he turned towards Hurin, who sat meanwhile bent on the low stool; his eyes were closed, and he seemed to take no heed of what was said.

LOVE HÚRIN’S FUCKING... SHITTY-ASS COMBINATION THEODEN-DENETHOR-GANDALF VIBE... WHATS UP. IM A HARMLESS OLD MAN. BUT I HATE YOU. BUT IM CRAZY MAGIC SO

Then Hurin looked at him and the wrath left his eyes; and together they drank and ate in silence. And when all was finished, Hurin said: 'By your voice you have overcome me. Never since the Day of Dread have I heard any man's voice so fair. Alas! alas! it calls to my mind the voices in my father's house, long ago when the shadow seemed far away.'

'That may well be,' said Manthor. 'Hiril my foremother was sister of thy mother, Hareth.'

'Then thou art both kin and friend,' said Hurin.

'But not I alone,' said Manthor. 'We are few and have little wealth, but we too are Edain, and bound by many ties to your people. Your name has long been held in honour here; but no news of your deeds would have reached us, if Haldir and Hundar had not marched to the Nirnaeth. There they fell, but three of their company returned, for they were succoured by Mablung of Doriath and healed of their wounds.’

1) Seriously the amount of time Húrin spends on offhand, awful, overwhelming flattery 2) I REMEMBER BEING EXACTLY AS WOWED BY THE MABLUNG CAMEO LAST TIME. “Oh, shit, they got healed by Doctor Who!” Fuck I just realized Mablung visited again ~2 weeks ago and probably talked to none of those people. Amazing.

Soon all the Moot-ring was filled. This was shaped as a great crescent, with seven tiers of turf-banks rising up from a smooth floor delved back into the hillside. A high fence was set all about it, and the only entry was by a heavy gate in the stockade that closed the open end of the crescent. In the middle of the lowest tier of seats was set the Angbor or Doom-rock, a great flat stone upon which the Halad (40) would sit. Those who were brought to judgement stood before the stone and faced the assembly.

... Then he stood facing the assembly and hallowed the Moot according to custom. First he named Manwe and Mandos, after the manner which the Edain had learned from the Eldar, and then, speaking the old tongue of the Folk which was now out of daily use, he declared that the Moot was duly set, being the three hundred and first Moot of Brethil, called to give judgement in a grave matter.

I don’t have anything to say about this it’s just the best and I regret not including it in my Nienor fic. Take me to turf ampitheater. Btw Niniel definitely spoke on that doom-rock right, that’s where she convinced the folk of Brethil to go rubberneck with her, right

also NAMED MANWE AND MANDOS AFTER THE MANNER WHICH THE EDAIN LEARNED FROM THE ELDAR and then goes straight to the old largely-ceremonial human language I. just. I love it so much. I love Beleriand.

The horn sounded twice, but for some time no one entered, and the sound of angry voices could be heard outside the fence. At length the gate was thrust open, and six men came in bearing Hurin between them.

'I am brought by violence and misuse,' he cried. 'I will not walk slave-fettered to any Moot upon earth, not though Elven-kings should sit there. And while I am bound thus I deny all authority and justice to your dooms.' But the men set him on the ground before the Stone and held him there by force.

Sorry I included a lot of Húrin quotes that I don’t even have anything to say about I Just... the vision... Húrin’s slightly fake flailing and perfect enunciation/projection techniques....

But when Hardang stepped down and Avranc came to the Stone there was a loud murmuring like the rumour of a coming storm. Avranc was a young man, not long wedded, and his youth was taken ill by all the elder headmen that sat there. And he was not loved for himself; for though he was bold, he was scornful, as was Dorlas his father before him. And dark tales were whispered concerning Dorlas; for though naught was known for certain, he was found slain far from the battle with Glaurung, and the reddened sword that lay by him had been the sword of Brandir.

But Avranc took no heed of the murmur, and bore himself airily, as if it were a light matter soon to be dealt with.

My secret favorite WoH thing is not even the Hurin garbage, it’s just the indiscriminate revengelike murder mystery consequences of Brandir’s death on This Entire Small Community. Also, Avranc is cute. Cuter than Dorlas because I cannot imagine Dorlas behind the bench in an Ace Attorney game. Pats.

‘We gave him food and he spat on it. I have seen Orcs do so, if any were fools enough to show them mercy.’

[vs Manthor:] ‘Yet as for despising our food: he took it from my hands, and he did not spit upon it. He spat it forth, for it choked him. Have you never, my masters, seen a man half-starved who could not swallow food in haste though he needed it? And this man was in great grief also and full of anger.’

Anyway okay I joked earlier but obviously the moment with Húrin spitting out the food/these successive interpretive frames are just... so... again like, this is as close as we get to textual acknowledgment of like... the HORROR of those scenes where Gollum is burned by the elf-rope and the moon, the fact that what’s spoken of in the abstract as a sure sign of evil reads on the page as just this terrible, wasteful injustice, that no one’s actively inflicting but that people have some duty to correct. And like. come on. the only explanation for orcish allergies that makes sense is that they’ve been deprived for so long that they just can’t handle [radiance/nutrients/silky touches of elf-hair]. Avranc and Manthor, I have great news, you think you’re making different arguments and through my sciences I have discovered, it’s ONE argument

'Prisoner, will you not speak?' said Avranc, and still Hurin gave no answer. 'So be it,' said Avranc. 'If he will not speak, not even to deny the charge, then there is no more to do. The charge is made good, and the one that is appointed to the Stone must propound to the Moot a penalty that seems just.'

But now Manthor stood up and said: ‘First he should at least be asked why he will not speak. And to that question reply may be made by his friend.'

'The question is put,' said Avranc with a shrug. 'If you know the answer give it.'

'Because he is fettered hand and foot,' said Manthor. 'Never before have we dragged to the Moot in fetters a man yet uncondemned. Still less one of the Edain whose name deserves honour, whatsoever may have happened since. Yes, "uncondemned" I say; for the accuser has left much unsaid that this Moot must hear before judgement is given.'

'But this is foolishness,' said Avranc. 'Adan or no, and whatever his name, the prisoner is ungovernable and malicious. The bonds are a needed precaution. Those who come near him must be protected from his violence.'

Sorry I just... really like Avranc...

Hmm I was going to put this observation somewhere else but I don’t really feel like attaching a quote: it is always soothing to me when Tolkien doesn’t quite know how to translate his ideas into an archaic register either. Like with the whole subplot of Hurin’s food being drugged. “IDK, HIS FOOD WAS DRUGGED.” Or when he tries to backdate idioms? “Third time shall thrive best!” mmhmmm

But the gathering and counting would take much time, and meanwhile Manthor saw that with each moment the mood of Hurin grew worse.

'There is another way more simple,' he said. 'There is no danger here to justify the bonds, and so think all who have used their voice. The Halad is in the Moot-ring, and he can remit his own order, if he will.'

'He will,' said Hardang, for it seemed to him that the mood of the assembly was restive, and he hoped by this stroke to regain its favour. 'Let the prisoner be released, and stand up before you!'

Hardang also a pretty great prototype of other doomed Tolkien politicians :[ from chilling in his chair with a bleeding headwound to bursting out petulantly about REMEMBER MY HEADWOUND? DO YOU THINK THIS IS A FANCY HAT? in court. He’s just... “trying his best”... I, too, suck at catering to the crowd while wishing to do nothing except cater to the crowd, Hardang.

'Ashamed ye may be. But this is not my charge. I do not ask that any in this land should match the son of Hurin in valour. But if I forgive those griefs, shall I forgive this? Hear me, Men of Brethil! There lies by the Standing Stone that you raised an old beggar-woman. Long she sat in your land, without fire, without food, without pity. Now she is dead. Dead. She was Morwen my wife. Morwen Edelwen, the lady elven-fair who bore Turin the slayer of Glaurung. She is dead.

[...]

Now Hardang was aghast at this turn, and his face went white with fear and amazement. But before he could speak, Hurin pointed a long hand at him. 'See!' he cried. 'There he stands with a sneer on his mouth! Does he deem himself safe? For I am robbed of my sword; and I am old and weary, he thinks. Nay, too often has he called me a wild man. He shall see one! Only hands, hands, are needed to wring his throat full of lies.'

With that Hurin left the Stone and strode towards Hardang; but he gave back before him, calling his household-men about him; and they drew off towards the gate. Thus it appeared to many that Hardang admitted his guilt, and they drew their weapons, and came down from the banks, crying out upon him.

Now there was peril of battle within the hallowed Ring. For others joined themselves to Hardang, some without love for him or his deeds, who nonetheless held to their loyalty and would at least defend him from violence, until he could answer before the Moot.

L M A O I JUST FUCKIN. THE NEGGING. “Not that I expected you to be braver than my son!” The as if just-remembered other detail: you killed my wife, though. Remember when you totally killed my wife, as I decided when I realized I needed someone to have killed her, because I wanted a reason to live? Remember that? Oh, okay, I’m walking forward now. No rush. I’m just briskly walking forward to strangle your leader. Everybody with m---oh look, he’s running away. After him! On your own time.

Now she is dead. Dead. She was Morwen my wife.

'Out of the dark days of our past it comes,' he said, 'before we turned our faces west. A shadow is upon us.' And he felt one lay a hand on his shoulder, and he turned and saw Hurin who stood behind him, with a grim face watching the kindling of the fires; and Hurin laughed.

'A strange folk are ye,' he said. 'Now cold, now hot. First wrath, then ruth. Under your chieftain's feet or at his throat. Down with Hardang! Up with Manthor! Wilt thou go up?'

'The Folk must choose,' said Manthor. 'And Hardang still lives.'

'Not for long, I hope,' said Hurin.

a. strange. folk. are ye. now cold. now hot. down with hardang! up with manthor! wilt thou go up? Hurin, I know you can’t, but listen to me, I have to ask: can you control your jollies for even a second. Until the house is ashes? If you recall, your wife is dead and not here and can’t unsmilingly appreciate your shit

'You are a mightier man than I, Hurin of Hithlum,' he said. 'I had such fear of your shadow that all wisdom and largesse forsook me. But now I do not think that any wisdom or mercy would have saved me from you, for you have none. You came to destroy me, and you at least have not denied it. But your last lie against me I cast back upon you ere I die. Never' - but with that blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell back, and said no more.

I know you haven’t read ASOIAF and you are the only person who might conceivably have scrolled this far down, but, god when people claim GRRM is more grimdark in his interest in deflating backhanded anticlimax than Tolkien, I ... I just...

‘I must go to the Field of the Worm and the Stone of the Hapless, where Morwen their mother lies untended. Will any come with me?'

Then ruth smote the hearts of those that heard him; and though some drew back in fear, many were willing to go, but among these there were more women than men.

<33 <3 they loved Nienor

But Hurin said: 'Nay, Nienor is not here, but it is fitter that she should lie here near her son than with any strangers. So she would have chosen.'

[...] But it is said that after that day fear left that place, though sorrow remained, and it was ever leafless and bare. But until the end of Beleriand women of Brethil would come with flowers in spring and berries in autumn and sing there a while of the Grey Lady who sought in vain for her son.

I have to single out every time someone mentions “Nienor is not there,” also the implication that obviously Morwen would MOST want to be buried where Nienor is, um, soothing to me. Personally. Not because I don’t care a ton about Morwen and Turin, it’s just, the Morwen-Nienor relationship is like... you know. Anyway I can’t believe how lovely and unqualified this is even though Brethil is on fire in another tab.

Now Manthor sat gasping with his back to a tree. 'It is a poor archer that will miss his mark at the third aim,' he said.

Hurin leaned on his staff and looked down at Manthor. 'But thou hast missed thy mark, kinsman,' he said. 'Thou hast been a valiant friend, and yet I think thou wert so hot in the cause for thyself also. Manthor would have sat more worthily in the chair of the Chieftains.'

'Thou hast a hard eye, Hurin, to pierce all hearts but thine own,' said Manthor.

THANKS HURIN. THANKS FOR THE SOFTWARE UPDATE. THANKS FOR RUNNING A DIAGNOSTIC ON THIS DECEASED MAN. great job leaning on your staff for effect, you maniac

‘...I would weep for thee, Manthor; for thou hast saved me from dishonour, and thou hadst love for my son.'

'Then, lord, use in peace the little more life that I have won for thee,' said Manthor. 'Do not bring your shadow upon others!'

'Why, must I not still walk in the world?' said Hurin. 'I will go on till the shadow overtakes me. Farewell!'

Final thoughts on Wanderings of Húrin: it’s super weird how Homer wrote the softcore flanderizing fix-it AU of Morwen/Húrin thousands of years before Morwen/Húrin ok ok it doesn’t actually bear that much resemblance to the Odyssey/the slaying of the suitors, I just think I’m funny

[oldtowrs]

A Love Reignited - Glorfindel

Imagine: being reunited with Glorfindel in Rivendell, many years after having seen him being pulled into the abyss by the balrog.

A/N: I just realized I have 500 followers! Thank you so much, omg!

Translations: Mellon nin: my friend, glassen ne chen cenin: It is my joy to see you, melethril nin: my beloved, meleth e-guilen: love of my life, guren vell: my sweetheart. 

Warnings: Mentions of major character death

Words: ~2000

His honeyed curls and silver cloak billowed about his shoulders, flowing regally in the ember-dusted wind, while his golden armor and slashing longsword reflected the smoldering flames of the Balrog before him. Each strike brought the horned beast closer to the edge of the cliff, each advancing step causing a stronger sense of worry and tension in her mind, the hissing of flame on steel echoing abhorrently in her ears.

With a final strike the monstrosity tumbled over the cliff’s edge, an earth-shattering roar reverberating against the rocky cliff face, trembling through the air.

“Glorfindel!” She cried, and “meleth,” he sighed.

With tears brimming in her once dry eyes, she leapt up, running to the triumphant warrior, whose armored arms were open, welcoming, a comfort in the chaos and clangour of war.

But moments before the two could embrace their victory and each other, a thin rope of vibrant flame crept up the gold embroidered cloak and wrapped around several tendrils of flaxen hair, instantly singeing the silken strands as it pulled the ellon to the abyss.

She stopped, hands holding her weight as she collapsed to the ashen ground. A single, pure tear forged a single, clean trail along the elleth’s cheek, melancholy instantly overwhelming her, numbing her heart as she watched the ever descending figure fall further and further out of reach, until nothing but the inky darkness of the abyss stared her cruelly in the face.

-

I loved him. I loved him so dearly, I thought for what had to be the billionth time as I stared hopelessly at the golden band upon my left hand, twisting vines of flowers and a golden sun carved into its polished surface, a small amber hued diamond set in the middle of the sunburst. So why was he taken from me so soon?

I dropped my hand from the fraying spine of a book, the gold ring reflecting the fading sunlight as it streamed in through the sizable windows, illuminating the dust that floated through the air of the archives of Imladris. It calmed me, in a sense, as the smell of age old books filled my lungs, but nothing could ease my sorrows and my longing.

Ever since the Fall of Gondolin, I had mourned the loss of him, Glorfindel, my childhood friend and husband. I had loved him, deeply, and when I watched him plummet to his death, after I witnessed his being pulled to the abyss by that horrid Balrog… well, it had done terrible, irreversible things to my now mutilated heart. After the horrible defeat, I had come to Imladris, knowing full well of the serene reputation the elven city had. It had been Imladris that I had hoped to seek refuge from the horrors I had experienced in battle, hoping to replace the grim remembrances with more joyful memories and images. But sadly, the grief had lingered in my soul, weighing heavily on my decrepit heart as I spent my everyday lingering in the libraries, a lost soul hoping to find a comfortable residence in a book whose setting reminded it of a home it once had, a home now lost to the evils of the world. A soul that longed for a book that reminded the soul of all it had lost, as if the simple, old pages could bring back all that the saddened soul had missed, all it still longed for.

But as I sat sulking, mourning the loss of my dearly beloved and long since departed, I was ignorant to a certain presence that had entered the tranquil mountain valley until my friend, Lindir, informed me of it with a clangor that could be heard in King Thranduil’s grim forests, leagues away.

“Y/N, mellon nin,” my old friend gasped, rather out of breath as he stormed through the doors of my refuge with a bang, “there is an ellon at the gates. He has asked for your presence.”

“I do not answer to strangers, Lindir,” I murmured, my words ever slow and overwhelmed with melancholy, “you know that.”

“I told him as such,” Lindir countered, the silver ring he always wore glinting gold in the dying light as he wrung his hands, “but he says he is anything but a stranger.”

-

It was with great mental disarray that I followed, traveling in the wake of deep cerulean and crimson robes as they floated through the air behind Lindir, his speed causing them to flutter as though they were the wings of an anxious butterfly.

“Lindir,” I complained timorously, “can you not describe the looks of this ellon to me? Was he armed? Did you ask him where he came from?”

The brown haired ellon stopped in his tracks and turned to me abruptly, causing me to nearly avoid collision with his thin form, a contact that would have left us both upon the ground.

“I cannot describe his figure, for he was dressed in a cloak of gold that hid all except the ends of shoulder length, honeyed curls. I am sorry, Y/N, but aside from this, I cannot offer you any description,” Lindir confirmed, making my heart jump a little, despite the fact that his eyes were void of anything but kindness and an unimaginable sorrow.

“It is I who should be sorry, mellon,” I apologized, looking into the dark irises that held so much emotion at my expense, “I was asking too much. Please continue.”

It was stupid of me to think that it could actually be my beloved Glorfindel. He is dead, I saw him perish. He is among the souls trapped in Mandos. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought, tears pooling in my eyes as I continued to follow Lindir’s footsteps until finally we reached the gates, the towering stone statues whose cold, gray hair and cloaks cascaded down their broad, yet elegant shoulders, casting long shadows into the raging river below.

And indeed there was a figure, standing just beyond the reach of the westernmost stone soldier’s ebony shade, cloaked in black, light, shoulder length curls peeking out from the hood that concealed the figure’s face. A tunic of the same shade and a leather jerkin laid beneath the folds, and a double edged long sword hung sheathed from a belt about the figure’s waist. Chestnut hued trousers clung to the figure’s rather strong looking legs as they fell into plain leather boots that cut off just below the knee.

The figure’s hands came up to pull back the hood, a silver band ensnaring a pale hand, one that was similar to the one I had given Glorfindel, one that had always clung to Glorfindel’s elegant hand ever so long ago, catching my eye as he did so. Once the figure’s face was revealed, tears sprung to my eyes as I clapped my hands to my mouth in attempt to stifle the sobs that were bound to surface within the next moments to come.

The pale, blemishless skin of the figure’s face, the structure of the sharp jawline and high cheekbones, the piercing blue of the irises, the loving smile that graced his plump lips… it was all so familiar and I instantly new the “stranger” who stood before me, the one I thought I had lost oh so long ago.

“Glassen na chen cenin, melethril nin,” the stranger called, his voice only loud enough to grace my ears with its beautiful song, the graceful harmony echoing in a mind that had long forgotten its pure pleasantness.  

“Glorfindel?” I gasped, my voice a mere shred of what it once was as disbelief chilled my very bones. Tears streamed down my face, but from long pent up grief and pain or unmatchable happiness, I wasn’t sure, “is that you, meleth nin?”

“It is,” his silken voice replied as matching tears began to stream from his placid irises, “it is me, my beloved, my flower.”

The moment those softly uttered endearments reached my ears, my hands dropped to reveal a quivering smile, as I rushed forward, vision blurry, to meet the one whom I loved, his arms engulfing with me a fiercely, but gentle, protective hug upon contact. I could feel the flames of my old love rekindling in my heart, licking at my mind and burning any thought that was not about my dearly beloved Glorfindel, as I clung to him as if for dear life.

“I am so sorry,” Glorfindel lamented, his gentle fingers tucking my head beneath his chin, as he used to do, as he knew I loved.

“Meleth e-guilen, I have missed you terribly,” I sobbed into Glorfindel’s chest, relishing in the feel of Glorfindel’s thin fingers against my skin as he brushed them through my hair gently, as I clung to his cloak, surely wrinkling the fabric, my tears falling upon skin and cloth alike.

“I have missed you too, guren vell,” Glorfindel hummed, his voice full of penitence, apology and a bit of hope, “but I am here now. I have come for you, to be with you again, to love you as I always used to, as I should have all these years I have been absent.”

I felt his silent tears glide down Glorfindel’s pristine features as he pressed his soft lips to my hairline as I barely managed to stand, the pleasure of being in his arms once again causing me to forget how to walk, how to stand on my own two feet, how to breath properly as elegant hands caressed my cheeks with a delicate care that I had missed for so long.

“It is not your fault,” I reassured him, tears streaming from my eyes as I gave him a soft smile, thumbs brushing away the little droplets that dotted his milky skin with extreme delicacy, “and like you said… you’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

The pride and adoration that shown in Glorfindel’s eyes then was all I needed to know that he would cherish me as I would and had him, like we never truly got the chance to do.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Glorfindel murmured, pure pleasure and reverence in his voice as pressed his lips to my forehead and hummed contentedly.

“Please don’t thank me,” I beseeched, my eyes trying to communicate the pure bliss I felt that was simply too great for words to describe, “your being here with me is more than enough thanks.”

“I love you, Y/N,” my lover hummed, his hands leaving my sides, only for a moment, to grab the hem of his cloak and wrapped it around the two of us as he returned his hands to the small of my back and my head to his chest, my forehead resting just below the hollow of his throat.

“I love you too, Glorfindel,” I whispered, my heart beating without haste and my mind racing with the euphoria that I had buried deep within the memories I tried to abandoned, oh so long ago, a euphoria that had resurfaced, leaving me happier than I had ever been in all my years of life combined. My Glorfindel had returned to me, and it was in that moment, that I stood wrapped comfortably in his arms, that I vowed to never let him go again, and to love him more fervently than I ever had before, like I knew he would, through all the hardships and unpleasantries that the world faced us with, through all the eternities to come.

[brazenbells]

the unrealized ambitions of the foam

Title from Pablo Neruda’s Water. This assumes the version where Elrond and Elros were given those names when they were found playing in the cave.

TW for depression, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide.

She has loved, and loved, and loved again, but she has never loved anything the way she loves the sweet small bundles of elfling tucked now against her breast. It was a long, difficult labor, but they all came through it together, and it is nearly time to rest; only one thing to do first.

"I want them to be called after my brothers. This one—" she strokes one downy, dark head— "for Elured, and this one—" she kisses a tiny nose— "for Elurin." Eärendil smiles at her and says something gently teasing about telling them apart, but she is already drifting off, and no matter anyway; she could not confuse them even if her ears and eyes were stopped, not even if all she had was the feel of their heartbeats.

~

She cannot remember a time when their plight has not been desperate; Doriath is nothing but a dim memory of fear and flight. She did much of her coming-of-age on the long weary search for somewhere they might settle afterwards—somewhere beyond the reach of the Great Enemy or the lesser ones, those merciless scions of Finwe's corrupted son. (She still has nightmares of the fair-haired one sometimes, even though she knows he is long-dead, by her father's hand.) This haven is the safest place she has ever lived, but that is a poor measure, because nothing east of the sea is safe any longer.

Their plight is desperate—it has always been desperate—and so she lets Eärendil go when he sails. She hopes he will succeed, but does not hope to see him again. The world will take him from her, as it has taken her parents and grandparents and brothers, as it has taken everyone else she has ever loved, every distant glimpse of happiness that she has ever had the audacity to reach for.

But she has never loved anyone the way she loves the grey-eyed boys taking their first steps across the wide white tiles, not even Eärendil, and if he succeeds they may grow up in a world where safety is a truth instead of an idea. She lets him go, because even if he is lost to her forever, beyond the ending of the world—that would be worth it.

~

She dreams of drowning; slipping down slowly beneath the water, silent, weightless. The sun is all around her, the bright blue glow of the ocean, the fat buoyant bubbles of her last breath lifting up and away until they disappear in the brightness. Her dress corrodes away from the salt, leaving her only in her skin, and she floats light and lifeless and completely untethered in the tide.

She wishes, when she wakes, that she could hold on to the solace the dream brings.

Without Eärendil, so many things fall to her. She has no real judiciary power—neither did he, when it came to it—but still, he had become a leader to the people by virtue of his nature. In his absence, they ask her advice as they would have asked his. She doesn't have his background, though; Eärendil was born to lead, but nurtured to it too. He'd been raised by his parents, a princess and a king's protégé, however deposed. She was raised by a nurse, her own royal parents dead and gone and unable to pass on any useful knowledge of diplomacy or civic management through the blood.

She does her best. Too often, her best is not good enough.

Elured and Elurin are the bright spots of her life. They are walking now, climbing everything, talking in giddy syllables that are sometimes even true words. She never confuses them, though their faces and forms are identical; Elured likes to hide behind things and under them, to pop out and surprise his brother, making them both fall about giggling; Elurin whispers baby-babble stories to ladybirds he finds on the floor, and carries about a poppet one of the ladies made him out of river-rushes and scrap cloth.

Sometimes she takes out her grandmother's stone and lets them play with it. They are entranced with the way it glitters, and the way it throws spangles of light onto every surface. Their eyes shine with wonder, and for a little while her heart is lighter.

She tells herself: this is what my parents died for. I must protect it, or they died in vain.

But were it not for the light in those four small grey eyes, she would cast it into the sea without a second thought, and that's the truth of it.

~

Sometimes she dreams even awake.

The water is always closing over her head. It's no longer reassuring; it's no longer anything, just an absence of feeling. It gets harder and harder to swim to the surface, and sometimes she forgets why she should.

Then Elurin pats her cheek, saying, "Good Nana!" and Elured gives her a slobbery, sticky toddler kiss, and she finds herself gasping, filling her lungs with air again. There is no water.

~

There is a woman who comes sometimes, a refugee from Gondolin who served the princess. She rarely speaks, but she always seems to know when the water rises the highest. She sweeps the floors, or brings clean laundry, or simply leaves breakfast when it's late in the morning and no smoke has risen from their chimney.

She doesn't know her name. She doesn't know how to repay these small kindnesses. When she feels anything, she feels wretched for taking advantage so without even knowing the woman's name, but she also feels the deep relief of being clean and fed when she cannot make these things happen of her own volition.

Sometimes the woman smiles, and gathers up the boys, and kindly nudges her out the door. She goes down to the beach and sits on the rocks, soaking in the freezing spray, imagining what it would be like to be swept away.

When she comes home in the dark, dress dripping and her lips cracked dry with caked salt, the woman has a dry dress waiting and no judgment in her eyes. She knows. There is supper on the table, and they eat it together, quiet save for the boys' chatter; then the woman leaves.

She wonders, if she were not able to go sometimes, if she could not leave her precious boys in safety and dream of drowning, how she would ever go on. She thinks the woman knows that too.

~

When the attackers come, she does not immediately know.

The roar of the ocean drowns out any number of sounds, hides all manner of sins. When she hears, she feels the first thing she has felt in a long time—and for a brief adrenaline-fueled moment, even terror is wonderful, because it is not nothing.

The strange, painful pleasure fades when she realizes it is not herself she needs to be terrified for. She has never run so fast in her life as when she imagines what the blood-haired monster will do to her boys, never felt so dangerous. She will gut them with her teeth before they harm her sons, disembowel them with her fingernails, she will—

The house is empty. There is no woman, no Elured, no Elurin—the door swings open on its hinges, and there are things knocked over and scattered about, careless. She knows, instinctively, what has happened, but still she searches, opening doors, peering beneath beds and into all of Elured's hidey-holes, her hands shaking as she throws open cupboard doors and clothes-chests.

Her voice is her mother's voice, rising, hysterical, screaming the same words her mother screamed before she died.

Elurin! Elured!

Elurin! Elured!

She named them after her brothers, her lost brothers, oh foolish foolish girl, whatever did she expect, that she could keep them this time? That she could love anything, anything, and the world would leave it untouched?

She pulls open a drawer so hard it comes free of the chest and clatters to the floor. Her sons are not hiding in it, of course; they are too big to fit now, but her frantic mind cannot help remembering the tiny precious bundles they once were. There is a less precious bundle in the drawer that brings her up short, though, glittering mockingly as she unwraps it.

She has always wanted to cast it into the sea.

She has always wanted to cast herself into the sea.

Her sons are gone, her brothers, her parents, her husband; even the nameless woman who, after all, was a sort of friend. The water has risen, and risen, filled her nose and mouth and eyes until she is all the way under.

Let this be the end of it.

The sea has always been coming for her; now, at last, it is time to stop swimming.

[blankdblank]

My Pearl Pt 9

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - 

Tags –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars,  @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @queenoferebor, @thestorybookmistress, @abiwim, @here2have-fun, @onewithleaf

…

A throat cleared on your right as you poured yourself another glass of juice. With a grin you eyed Bilbo’s grave expression making you ask, “I take it they called again wanting to know about a grave?”

Bilbo nodded, “How did you know?”

With a weak chuckle you nodded your head, “Just a hunch.” Guiding him to your apartment and into your closet to the trunk you kept your Sils in and you drew out a small file pocket from which you brought out a secure envelope with the same seal for the same Elven law firm Bilbo was battling and your exes’ surname across the front hyphenated before yours. Handing it to him you said, “Here, they sent me this when I told him I was pregnant. If that doesn’t get the judges to back them down then I have their personal handwritten letters to stay away as well as the check they sent to convince me not to have him.”

Bilbo’s lips parted feeling his hair stand up at the recount of what had happened and he opened the envelope saying, “I’ll need Thorin’s scanner.”

You shrugged, “If you don’t know where it is your guess is as good as mine. I still haven’t seen much of his section of the mansion.”

Bilbo raised a brow, “We will discuss that later. For now, I will handle this.”

You nodded and joined him, “If you can’t finish the first page without screaming or wanting to then you should not try to read any farther, or the handwritten notes for that matter.”

He raised a brow then nodded, lowering his gaze to the envelope he blindly opened to read the official letter from the lawyers to get you to leave, abandon the pregnancy and never return to Hillcrest again. A few halls over he found Thorin’s office as you rejoined the puzzled Dwarf’s side to sit on the arm of his arm chair stirring a smirk on his lips while he wrapped his arms around your legs and hips then gently pulled you onto his lap purring, “Everything alright. Dearest?”

You tried to smile only to glance at Echo when Bilbo’s voice carried through the halls, “For the love of Tulkas!”

Echo and Glorfindel looked you over before the latter asked at your fingers smoothing over your ring, “You’re kidding, they didn’t ask about his marker after all this?”

Thorin glanced at you and you nodded, “Bilbo got a call. I gave him the letter their lawyers sent me back then.”

Lowly Thorin asked, trying not to growl, “What letter?”

Glorfindel, “Trust me, don’t read it. We nearly got court marshaled trying to abandon our posts to go help her through that nonsense.”

Thorin tensed only to relax again at your lean over to kiss his cheek and whisper, “Please don’t worry about them. It’ll be over soon.” Lowly he grumbled through an exhale while you snuggled against his side and chin after he kissed your forehead.

Bilbo came into the room with his lips tucked between his teeth and wide eyes landing on you directly before he managed to mumble, “You, are a saint. And he, is dead if they call me again.” He nodded then went back to your room to put the papers back, spending a few moments in there to cool down before walking back out to sit beside Dwalin’s side with brows furrowed while he grabbed his wrist to sling it around his shoulders easing his chance to cuddle against him angrily.

A peck on the forehead later he grumbled and relaxed in his love’s grip between glances at you and the confused protective Dwarf holding you tighter at whatever cruel things you had been sent. Not even five minutes later Bilbo brought out his phone from his pocket to read his new email only to mumble, “Damn right you’re dropping it!” Adding in growled Hobbitish, “Baby killing bastards..” That last statement drew all eyes to him from the Dwarves that understood, all concluding what they had tried to force you into.

Steadily the mood lightened again while you grinned at your three nieces climbing onto yours and Thorin’s laps to cuddle through the film they had finally chosen, through which they fell asleep. Easing the transfer back to their car and parting hugs from your cousins and Thranduil while Legolas and Gimli stole a few more moments swapping info on all their social pages to keep in touch. With parting waves and hugs from the Durins, who all loomed around Bilbo and Dwalin on their path to their place hearing all the information on the exchange you joined Thorin for the walk inside again.

Wetting your lips you moved towards the kitchen only to stop at his hands easing around your middle, “Jaqi, Dearest.” Facing him after a slow turn in his grip your eyes met his and he asked, “Will you please tell me what I am missing?”

“Their lawyers sent me an official notice they wanted nothing to do with me and my baby. They sent a letter to leave the school and break off all contact with them. And included a very, generous, check to-..”

At the break in your voice he shakily added, “They wanted you to terminate-.. But it, if anything-.”

You shook your head easing your hands to cup his cheeks and kiss him tenderly. When your lips broke apart you stated, “It is better if you don’t know. It took me so long to be able to talk about my son. They never wanted him, or me, and as far as they are concerned, with Bilbo’s aid, they are unaware of the gender or name of my child.” Leaning in he pressed his forehead to yours, “Telling others only breeds anger. They don’t deserve any of my attentions or emotions anymore.”

Sweetly his lips pressed to yours to kiss you, instantly stirring a calming sigh from him ending with his lips somehow leaving yours to mumble, “You are far greater than you let on. And far greater than any in my kin. They would have died and Dwarvish law would have allowed it for dishonoring you and your son.” After a pause he said, “As long as you’re still within 400 years-,”

You rolled your eyes reaching up to curl your arms around his neck, murmuring, “No Murder. Just kiss me.”

Deeply he chuckled lowering to lift you, wrapping you around his middle, purring as he stroked his nose against yours walking in towards the couch, “Not considered murder. They are Imshee,” (condemned to the infernal region; damned), They deserve swift pace to Ifrinn dòruinnean.” (the torments of the afterlife)

With a sigh of your own you replied, “Did you notice the brown blotch on his neck?”

“The one that spoke to you? Yes. Why?”

“My people, roughly, we call it Namo’s grip. Over time it spreads resembling a handprint. When the thumb appears marks their last breath. There is no explanation past it appearing on the most foul creatures of our kin. It is slow and unbearable. Excruciating pain does not come close to what those bearing Namo’s grip. We don’t know where they are sent, but none are welcome in his halls. We cannot bury them either, or the ground putrefies and has to be salted and cleansed for near a century.”

A smirk eased onto his lips then he growled out, “No less than they deserve.” He paused releasing another calming growling breath and inhaled after smoothing his hands over your back, “Now, Bilbo also mentioned something else also passing my attention.”

“Which, would be..?”

He grinned pecking you on the nose to purr playfully, “There seems to be a great amount of our home I have yet to show you.”

“That-,”

He chuckled kissing your cheek to set you down, folding his arm around your back guiding you through the main hall, “If you were in need of something, like my scanner for instance, I would want you to know where to find it.”

A hint of a smile spread on your face and he led you through the halls and rooms revealing the seven spare rooms, his study attached with his office down the hall from his room, both packed with various genres of books. At the opposite end he showed you the personal gym linked to the indoor pool and sauna making you peer up at him with a narrowed gaze making him chuckle then say playfully, “I do have an inflatable treasure chest shaped floatie. I am certain I could find one with a pirate ship.”

His grin spread and you said, “I still can’t believe you didn’t mention the pirate ship.”

He chuckled easing his hands around your waist while yours smooth over his chest, “Usually it isn’t a selling point. I was not aware I was bartering with a pirate.”

You giggled and his adoring smile deepened, “Not just A pirate.”

He chuckled again then leaned in to kiss you again, breaking the kiss to purr, “You know, after all that time climbing about, I think a good soaking would be good.”

You smirked, asking, “You planned this?”

He chuckled guiding you through to the edge of the hot tub he switched on for you both, where you both stripped and eased in to sit on the built in bench inside. At the stolen chance while you wound your hair up in a hair tie, Thorin eased up behind you. Molding his hands around your shoulders to firmly press starting a massage over your back shifting to your arms and legs.

Eventually leading to his wrapping you n a towel on the edge as he grabbed your things and led you back to his room with one of your photo albums sharing more about his favorites. Each picture and moment with you made it clear. First by your parents passing you off, your Gran’s passing, the first raids driving you and your twin to Gondolin among refugees, then the mess with Hillcrest leading to your being sent to Orcarni and then eventually here with your cousins you had finally found some semblance of family for yourself again. All that only increasing Thorin’s hope that you did wish to become a part of his. Clearly you were fitting in well and settling into being with him.

.

From your first day he could catch your stolen glances his way, same as with other women, though you were the first to already find him staring at you when you did. The mystery you stirred muddled his clear affections for you when he first saw you being guided through the kitchen towards the sinks. Knowingly his cousins and nephews looked on catching his eyes following your path and glancing over frequently, as if to confirm you were still there. Each day seeming more worn down and yet never at a loss for determination to ease the motions in the kitchen to supply fresh utensils and cutlery for serving. Quietly toiling away while seemingly memorizing all around you weaving yourself seamlessly into the patterns of those around you between your quizzical glances at the dishes they sent out.

All leading up to the first time he looked over unable to find you. A wafting scent of apples beside him signaled his head to turn spotting the fresh skillet you eased in front of him, out of instinct his hand moved to rest on the handle just barely brushing his fingers against yours in your slip away. Again he watched you stopping with handle extended on a fresh knife for Dwalin he accepted with a grin and a nod exchanging it for his current one on your path back to the sinks between the grinning boys. The next day the frenzy of the kitchens hit and the one creature in the kitchen they had all hoped to grant a far greater position from your recommendation by a valued friend finally got a chance to show their most basic of skills on a simple task.

“Miss Pear.” Thorin’s voice carried and no doubt when he shifted his gaze you had an adorably up ticked brow looking him over as if to search for what he needed without his asking. His hand motioned to the peeling and dicing station, “I need peeled potatoes.”

A nod was his response while you hastily scrubbed and wove through the kitchen. Stolen glances were sent your way noting the ease you had somehow managed to use the peeler in a spiral stunning the men around you as you easily fulfilled the task then glanced at Thorin. Blinking at you dumbly for a moment he wet his lips then simply stated, “Five onions.” Again you nodded, collecting five along with the knife nearby, slicing each lengthwise just under the root base with four more slices the other way easing the five onions into a pile.

You carried it over to the on looking chef and scraped into the pot in front of him as his eyes trailed over you in great detail up close. Ori stole glance and moved to claim the potatoes granting him the moment with you before you took the knife to swap it out and return back to the sink at his loss for another task for you. Though before you could reach it your head turned as he glanced at Dwalin, who was nodding his head at you behind your back and motioning his hands to the fish in front of him.

“Miss Pear.” Smirks eased onto the faces of the men around the chef fighting to hold his resting stern expression at the innocent gaze you sent him, “Assist Dwalin.”

With a nod you were across from him making him pause more than once while Dwalin’s brows furrowed at the ease in which you descaled, deboned and sliced the fish to however necessary before passing off to the staring Dwarf across from you. One by one even Diaa and Dis snuck in to steal a glimpse at your fluid motions clearly revealing you had a knack for more than just scrubbing in their kitchens only adding to their silent agreement you would be bumped up far sooner than the boys into a more challenging position to test you further.

.

The chance finally came with another show coming up and one of the usual extra hands controlling the sinks and pantry levels couldn’t make it leading to a sideways glance in your path past Thorin back to the sinks. “Miss Pear.” Again you wordlessly peered up at him without a chance to answer, his eyes sinking to your partially confused pouted lips at your being snapped out of your thoughts before he said, “We need an extra hand behind the scenes on our show this Saturday, are you available?” An eager nod later you were back to the sink with Diaa already writing out the details on where and when to be.

The big day came and instantly you in your bright yellow shirt drew his eye while you stood openly laughing with one of the Elven team members instantly spiking a jealous wave through the chef at the stranger able to draw such a reaction from you. However hated the notion was of someone else making you laugh and smile the image and sound lodged in his mind from that day on. All centered around the lingering full smile on your face when you noticed him beside his car that all but had him on his knees at the sun coated moment before a call from Diaa guided you all inside where his guarded rage spiked up at the frozen Elves all staring at you as you moved to the back area. When you were out of sight they huddled around the Elf you had been speaking with and a ripple of content grins spread on their faces as they turned to their work.

Both mutually attracted and from the signing of the contract he caught a glimmer of something in you towards him. A final release of a possible fear at your names on the dotted line. Though the more he thought of it the more it began to make sense, the security and protection the contract no doubt gave you. All catered to your well being and happiness while ensuring his faithfulness to you. Centuries you had lost those you cared about and while your body snuggled closer to his side with your forehead against his chin he couldn’t help but grin at his idea of how he would handle the day he asked to dissolve your Pearl contract in hopes of a far more permanent one.

…

Morning rolled around and after breakfast and lunch in bed, as planned the day before, you had agreed to sit down with Dain, Grond, Bene and Mene to share more ideas for upcoming shows Thorin had hoped to feature more of your talents. In your closet you eased into a silver dress with Thorin’s help to secure the buttons down the back as you straightened the skirt over your thighs. The tight fitting sleeveless dress covered all but your arms and teased just a flash of the skin above your knees stirring Thorin’s eyes back to your legs fully knowing what lacy layer he had hidden underneath for him to unwrap later after your reserved table you would be cooking for after your meeting. Carefully you twisted your hair up leaving just the strip of curled bangs laying across part of your face after adding your simple make up, a process stirring more grumbles from Thorin at your sealing precious time for him to kiss you again.

Finally you relented allowing him to hungrily latch his lips to yours while his hands stole taunting squeezes and smoothing paths over your curves no doubt repeating in his mind until you were alone again. Behind the door parting you he peeked out at the jeep you climbed into and started up to begin the drive to the steakhouse Thorin had chosen for the meeting knowing you would be well fed by their head cook, one of his old friends from school growing up. In your drive away he stared at your jeep promising himself he’d get you in something far sleeker fitting your new style when able.

.

Somehow you were early and exhaling slowly you followed the hostess and gave your drink order for a flavored sweet tea while the waitress took your order in. Though by the look on their faces you were not going to get what you ordered. For all your time in Dwarven lands you had learned the hard way of differing styles of preparing meat, many if not most of their kin preferred it anywhere from medium all the way back to rare while your kin had strict guidelines on the topic. It wasn’t a matter of taste but a matter of respect for the creatures that died for the meal. Fish were limited to a few breeds that live mainly in streams, none traveling through open oceans could be tasted and as far as land dwelling mammals the meat must be fully cooked without any trace of uncooked portions inside. Winged creatures mainly were a manner of preference of taste and ease of capture for those hunting them.

Those guidelines hindered the number of places you could eat greatly as most cooks and chefs still left their meat pink claiming the juices added to the taste of the meat. But to you all you could see, smell and taste was the blood seeping out across the plate. So ‘medium well’ and ‘no mushrooms’ drew a twitch of the woman’s brow revealing all there was to know about your future experience. Not a moment later Dain arrived with the trio of judges behind him, all giving their orders as they shrugged out of their coats grinning at your full look. Seated again you could sense their eyes lingering on you while you took a sip of your drink crossing your heel bearing feet under the table.

With a glint in his eyes Dain smiled at you stating, “If you don’t mind my saying my Dear, you look exquisite today. How Thorin managed to let you out of his sights alone I can’t understand.”

You grinned through a weak chuckle, “Well Fili is supposed to meet me here. Something about meeting his uncle Gloin for something on the way.”

Dain nodded then turned his head as they watched the trays of food arrive, the three of them grinning as they eyed their mushroom coated bloody steaks surrounded by veggies while yours seemed even bloodier with all the juices staining the veggies past a tolerable level for you. Forcing out a grin you thanked the waitresses and watched their departure from the corner of your vision while Fili entered the restaurant.

Easily you moved your plate to his place and kept the small bowl of mashed potatoes for yourself to sample on through the meeting until you were able to find something more suitable. Fili hurried to the table and gave you a half hug thanking you for ordering for him and you did all you could not to pay attention to the plates of the men eating around you.

The task made Mene’s comment of, “It is quite a shock to see Thorin trusting you to this alone without you both being trussed together as a couple.”

Lowering your spoon you answered much to Fili’s surprise, “We are though.”

Before Fili could turn his head to you explaining what you had said Bene nudged Mene’s elbow, “Told you! Fifty coins!”

Grond’s smile grew and he nudged Dain’s side saying, “See, and here you were worried it wouldn’t happen for years.”

Slowly you ate another spoonful of your potatoes as they kept chatting away, soon melting into talk about the show and more ideas while Fili snuck out his phone to send a subtle text off to his uncle across town.

.

In the bustle of the kitchen Thorin’s eyes dropped to his pocket at the ring, a glance up at his sister brought her into the kitchen to his side where he said, “Could you grab my phone, might be Jaqi.”

She nodded then shifted his apron and outer jacket to draw out the phone to read the message, ‘Mene commented to Jaqi about you not being trussed together as a couple.’ Instantly his heart raced as he lowered his skillet back to the burner watching the three dots flashing marking Fili’s typing another message, ‘Her answer was, you are.’

The words brought a wide grin onto his face at the innocent mistaken meaning of the term. Unable to help it he felt a surge of pride in your outright claim over him to the trio considered of great standing among his kin. A claim that as his Pearl she had every right to outwardly accelerate their bond into the next stage, though with that came a troubling discussion he would no doubt have to handle quickly as he was certain they could not hold the secret long and word would explode out quickly that you were no longer his Pearl. Wetting his lips he read Fili’s message that he didn’t think you knew what you had said and he locked eyes with Dis in a silent plea while stating, “I have to get to the jewelers.”

Dis nodded stepping in accepting his jacket and apron he wiggled free from with Dwalin silently reassuring her with a nod that he was there to help her as Thorin gave her a tight hug then turned to dash out to his car already on the phone with his cousin Nori about what he needed.

“Nori, that tress ring I asked about, you wouldn’t happen to have it in yet, would you?”

“Yes. Just finished the sizing.” After a momentary pause he asked, “You’re asking her tonight?!”

“She claimed me, openly.” Nori chuckled, “I’m going to need some studs to go with it too.”

“Well I’ve set a side a few options for you.”

“Be there in a few.” Wetting his lips he quickly dialed another number and stated, “Frodo, yes, do me a favor, find your uncle Bilbo and get him to meet me at Nori’s shop. He’ll need a notepad.”

.

The meal seemed to end much sooner than you had anticipated, or so your clenching stomach would have you assume. With bills left for the tip you joined Fili for the walk out to the waiting vehicles. With the young Dwarf hopping in to speed off to work eagerly in some gibberish explanation you couldn’t catch. His eager race making you chuckle and slide your way up into your seat in a seemingly graceful way while inside the formerly pleased cook who had assumed he’d shown another Elf just how to properly prepare a steak paled learning just who he’d starved. Fully knowing now which Dwarf he would be receiving a strongly worded call from later on after confirming from the waitresses about your pearl earrings.

A short drive later you were parked in another lot, though this time outside a food truck lot. On which all eyes in the sparsely filled lot went to you as you grinned up at your usual choice, a burger stand where the owner chuckled asking, “Long time no see, Patron’s been treating you well?”

You nodded and giggled, “Yes he has, thank you.”

He grinned wider while his cooks worked behind him to prep your usual order, “Can’t imagine I’d find another Elleth more worthy then you to be pampered. Bout time you got some well earned rest and pampering.”

You grinned passing him the bills for the food and tip earning a nod from him as workers from the buildings nearby poured out towards the lot as you thanked him, wishing him a good day on your path back to your jeep.

.

Bilbo sat on the stool beside Thorin as he eyed the selection of earrings bearing fire opals in various settings to match the seven stone bearing mithril banded ring he planned on giving to you. “Thorin, I don’t understand, why am I revising the Pearl contract? All you need is the dissolution papers.”

Thorin caught his eye with a sigh, “Bilbo, for a century she believed herself to be completely alone. She had no clue her cousins were even still alive after their tours.” Bilbo’s lips parted only to close at his adding, “That Pearl contract got her to relax and give me a chance at a relationship with her. With it there are rules and boundaries and a clear devotion between us.” Bilbo nodded and Thorin sighed, “It makes her feel safe.”

Nori, “That makes sense, after all she’s been through, he can’t worm away and she knows what rules to follow and path to tread to be with you.”

Thorin nodded then glanced at Bilbo with a grin, “My Lady wants a contract, she’s getting a contract.” Easing out the Hobbit’s grin as he returned to writing down the changes he had already stated ad listened to the others he wished to add before he grinned, “I think the hearts over the pear cut.”

Nori nodded, “Excellent choice.”

.

With a sigh you glanced at the time seeing you still had ample amounts before the reservation. So through the doors you went into the kitchen to peer around curiously for Thorin only to see Dis in his place flashing you a smile as you walked through to the break room. Passing Dwalin along the way he eyed the bag in your hand asking, “Burgers? What happened to the steakhouse?”

You rolled your eyes through a scoff and he turned to glance at Fili who froze in place at his puzzled glare, “Don’t get me started. Might as well have brought me the damn cow. I am starving!”

When you had claimed your seat Dwalin mumbled, “Thorin is not going to like this.”

Dis grinned saying as she handed off the chicken breast she had finished cooking, “I doubt he will be upset for long.”

Though as you took your second bite Thorin had found Fili in the kitchen and peered around for you only to follow the head nods and glances into the break room where he paused in the doorway asking, “What happened to the steakhouse?”

You peered up at him covering your mouth to answer, “Medium well no mushrooms.”

A deep growling exhale left him and he moved to sit beside you taking a mental note to call his friend later, “Surely you could have found something better.”

His eyes went to the burger you offered to him, “Try it.” The smell of the barbeque sauce and bacon on the double stacked burger intrigued him after noting the source as from a food truck. But without a moments pause he took a large bite and immediately hummed and you giggled pulling out the third one you set in front of him and split the fries between you, “Just because it’s on wheels doesn’t mean its any less mouthwatering.”

He chuckled sharing the brief meal asking about how the meeting went, focusing on your ideas until joining you to wash up then take your places in the kitchen. All while staring at you lovingly whenever he could. You helped to prep sides and seasonings and sauces while Thorin led the crew until the orders lulled just in time for the reservation. With Thorin at your side filling the tasks for the meat portion of the dishes you handled the main dicing for the sauce while Fili and Kili stood bantering about why your Gran had named it ‘Don’t Look, Chicken.’

All around you more and more puzzled expressions grew as they noted the odd measurements and ingredients you were adding without tasting them only making the bleak mixture grow even more visually repulsive. The veggie puree you had added to the plates make the chicken seem pale and grey leaving the Durins wide eyed gripping at their sleeves hoping you would be able to turn the dish around before they would have to serve them. Over your shoulder Kili peered into the dicing mixture you had made and set aside to mix into the near boiling sauce, “You aren’t going to taste that?”

You shook your head grinning, “Nope.”

Dwalin leaned closer to Thorin mumbling, “It’s got to be her heels making her dizzy to the point she can’t see how hideous it is.”

Kili snuck out a spoon stealing a pinch of the dicing he popped into his mouth making him immediately pucker and cover his mouth making you smirk as you poured it into the sauce saying, “That’s why.”

“Mahal that’s bitter!”

Fili blinked eyeing the grey sauce growing into an even less appealing soapy brown color mumbling, “She’s doomed us all…” As the mixture was poured over all the dishes making the brows twitch on their faces while Tauriel and another waitress arrived to carry the orders out to the waiting Elves with forced confident strides and expressions curious to see how they would be taken.

Alone the ingredients smelled bitter, impossibly near rancid and all around unappealing, while as the meals left the kitchen fully assembled the mouthwatering wave washed over the Durins as you set up another hideous dish from the extra helping you had requested them to make then slid it closer to them. Instantly Thorin drew in a breath volunteering to taste the dish, claiming the fork and knife taking your pleased smile across the counter as confirmation enough that it was at least tolerable in taste.

The moment the piece touched his tongue he caught a glimpse of your spreading smirk at his uncontrollable hum while he set down the knife and spoon in his turn to walk to the end of the counter freeing Dwalin to take a bite. Thorin’s hands planted on the counter locking his eyes with you catching that playful spark in your eyes only he could catch teasing him close to taking you home and pinning you against the door to have you right when you entered. “How?!”

With a giggle as the Durins all gave stunned hums and exclamations at the meal tasting far beyond what they had assumed of the unappealing mixtures you replied. “To earn a Sil appearance is only worth 3% of the overall score. Gran loved to torture Feanor with hideous yet delicious meals. Whole books worth.” Smirks spread on their faces as you giggled and leaned into Thorin’s chest as he walked around to wrap around your back aching to add the gems to you already.

.

For some reason you couldn’t guess you and Thorin were the first ushered out of the kitchens with all the others ready to handle cleaning and locking up themselves. Driving behind him you kept trying to keep from remembering that passionate final kiss this morning nearly keeping you from leaving at all. But as you parked your hand moved to the volume dial on your radio. Again your brows furrowed listening to the alert that it was confirmed you and Thorin were ‘trussed together as a couple’ and the entire radio crew congratulating you both, making you nip at your lip only to turn your head seeing Thorin with a grin at your door tapping the window with a knuckle. Unlocking the door you took your hand off it allowing Thorin to open it for you helping you out and claiming your purse from you and guide you inside the house.

“Thorin?”

“Yes Dearest?” His hand smoothed across your back to your hip guiding you into his living room where he helped remove your tall heels when you sat down on his couch.

“I thought me being your Pearl was common knowledge by now.” His eyes met yours and his lips pursed then parted at his loss for words as to why you were bringing it up. “The twins earlier mentioned us being a couple, and I just heard about it on the radio. Is it that big of a shock? I mean I am wearing the earrings and necklace, not to mention the bead, ring and earring for you.”

Unwillingly his grin escaped remembering what you had told the Dwarves and he relented to having to share the news right now. “Well, that.”

“What..?”

Your eyes scanned over his puzzled expression before he stated it outright, “I am no longer allowed to be your Patron.”

Instantly your mouth went dry and he felt a wave of panic wash over him at your staggered inhale and shift to curl your legs in front of you while tears fought to fill your eyes, “Did, did I do something?”

As soothingly as he could he eased your legs back onto his lap and wet his lips claiming your hands to be enveloped by his, “I do wish to say something. When you were asked if we were ‘trussed together’ it was more of a way of asking if we were a progressed couple.”

“I-..” Your voice cracked as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“Now, as Pearl and Patron, yes we are a couple, but to be trussed, it, well it’s seen as more of a bridge time between the contracted relationship and engagement.”

“I still, don’t-…”

Drawing in a breath he continued, “Quite innocently your answer negated the need for our contract by publicly stating that I was holding our relationship back.”

In a crumbling voice you squeaked out, “I broke-, the contract..”

Tears poured down your cheeks and he quickly shifted you onto his lap folding you against his chest through your muffled apologies and sobs. A short while he sat waiting for you to calm, stroking your back lovingly feeling each tear and sob stabbing him in the heart knowing him and his less than eloquent wording of the matter had once again troubled shifting his relationship with you. “My dearest Jaqi.”

Again you sniffled in his hand cupping your chin and cheek to make you peer up at him. Face still scrunched up and pink, coated in tears with lip still quivering, “This changes nothing.”

“But-, I broke,”

He leaned in closing the distance planting his lips on yours in a fiery kiss in a hoped nonverbal assurance of his quite intact affections and adoration and devotion to you. Barely a breath from your lips he continued, “You broke nothing, this changes nothing. Now, if you could take a deep breath and please forgive me for my pitiful wording souring the moment.”

He paused watching as you took in then let out a deep breath widening his grin as his thumbs dried your cheeks lovingly, “Now. In this stage, yes it was brought on unintentionally, however, it does free us from the restrictions of being limited to being simply Pearl and Patron. It may seem a bit tedious and just simply another classification but this places us in, forgive the term, but a free and open relationship instead of what could be assumed as simply a contractual protectorship.”

He wet his lips eyeing your still quivering lip then stated, “This move also has a contract of its own and no less negates my devotion to you completely. Simply marks it as if, again poor title, it would mark you as my girlfriend, or partner as it were. We are in a relationship, and I swear to you not my support, affections or behavior with you will change.”

Sniffling again you softly squeaked out in a frail whisper, “If, if it’s supposed to be like a real relationship then why is there a contract?”

Thorin grinned, “To guarantee the security of you, my former Pearl.” He moved his hand to his jacket he drew a folded bunch of papers from the pocket, “Bilbo has the dissolution papers ready for us to sign in the morning. This is the first draft of our new contract.”

He held it between your chests and your lip quivered again, “I am so sorry-.”

His hand cupped your cheek again and he kissed your nose then gave you another adoring gaze, “You, my dearest, broke nothing. Simply opened up ground for renegotiating terms.” A hint of a smirk eased onto your lips and he purred, “There, finally, a hint of a smile. Now, let’s negotiate.” Your smirk inched a bit wider and he smiled at your leaning against his chest to read along with him, holding your forehead against his cheek.

“You have to buy me a new car?”

He nodded, “You have to drive in a vehicle matching your standing. Of course we will still keep your jeep for time off, camping trips, long drives perhaps.”

Looking to the paper you stated, “Allowance stays the same. Accounts, charge card too…Five gifts a month?!”

He nodded purring, “It is traditional.”

Narrowing your eyes at him his smile grew as you looked back to the page at his finger tapping it and your lips quivered again, “For every large gift you give I have to give three,” your voice cracked and squeaked through your next set of tears, “embarrassingly sentimental gifts..” Your eyes turned to him and your lip quivered again as you squeaked out, “You made this up?”

Again he wiped your cheeks locking his eyes onto yours giving you the most loving gaze he could muster and purred, “I am not leaving. I will not abandon you. I will say extremely foolish things trying to be sentimental in progressing things in our relationship, possibly in regrettably painful ways. But I will never maliciously harm you or strive to or behave in a way that will knowingly bring you pain. For whatever reason I never care to know you have suffered silently and undeservedly so, for so long. This is our home, and it will always be. You have a lifetime of reasons to doubt me. And until you are ready I can draft and sign as many contracts as you need to know that I mean it. Your trust is hard won and until I have earned it,” his lips met your cheek he freshly dried, “As many contracts as you wish.” His lips met yours and melted against them as your hands eased around his neck moving his hands from your cheeks to your back drawing you closer to him while you deepened the kiss, leaving the contract in your lap.

When your lips finally left his he eased his nose against yours and he rumbled, “You should read page three. It has a very tricky term concerning monthly family gatherings between both our clans.”

You flipped the page and grinned stopping to read, “I have to have weekly teas with Dis and your mother?”

Thorin nodded, “Dwarf tradition to mingle with the females of my clan, Bella will be added as well when she is off her mothering term.” He paused then added, “Of course all these terms are up for negotiation upon the time of dispute, with various ways of concluding such disputes peacefully.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully and you asked, “Such as?”

He smirked purring, “That is all covered on the final page, Dearest.”

You flipped the pages and read through the options and met his gaze saying, “This has everything from conkers to checkers.”

He smirked and purred by your ear, “Of course in the moment we could find, other, means of settling them.” Wetting is lips he claimed your hand resting on his chest, “Now, if you would allow me, I have to grant you your markers for our new union.”

After your nod and his peck on your lips he moved to grab the boxes in the pocket of his jacket he set in your lap. “Now, you can still wear your necklace if you wish, however I got you these earrings to mark the occasion.”

The box opened and your lips parted at the fire opal heart studs in mithril settings shaped like crowns making his grin grow as you changed them out, “Now, with these, unlike the pearls, can be worn whenever you wish. Earrings will be tucked into the list of suitable gifts with the new change in title. And, they perfectly match your new marker.” The second box opened and an audible squeak left you making him chuckle at the seven fire opal oval stones circled in the mithril band of the ring he gently eased onto your right middle finger before kissing your knuckles.

Your eyes scanned over his face to the pearl bead in his beard, “Does this mean you won’t be wearing yours either?”

He chuckled drawing out another box revealing another bead for his beard he set in your palm after removing his pearl bead that was replaced by one bearing a fire opal. A gentle stolen kiss from you later his grin spread widely while his hand cupped your cheek again and he leaned in to kiss you again, “My ring will take a week or so to complete, I got a bit carried away prepping yours to perfection I forgot to design mine as well. I do hope you don’t mind, though I will be wearing my patron ring, as allowed, in the interim.”

You shook your head then shifted off his lap making him peer up at you curiously only to smirk at your hand being offered to him, “You gave me a gift.”

He smirked accepting your hand and stood following you to your bedroom purring, “When did you go shopping for me?”

You giggled and peered back at him, “Managed to ask Echo for a favor to pick it up for me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you when you left him in your bedroom to slip into your closet before returning with a pair of pajama pants coated in animated pirates with cooking utensils instead of hooks for hands baking and decorating lopsided yet adorable cakes. A deep chuckle left him and he scooped you up in a tight hug kissing you again firmly on the lips with a pleased hum, “They are wonderful Dearest. I’ll try them on now.” His nose stroked along yours and he purred, “Ice cream and a movie?” You nodded and he kissed you again letting you down grinning as you helped him strip into the pajama pants.

With his still warm shirt in his hands he eased it over your shoulders reaching under it to undo the buttons down the back of your dress he blindly helped you out of from under the shirt he buttoned to cover you completely. Then set the dress at the foot of his bed smirking as he caught the wanting glimmer in your eyes, “I remember my promise this morning. Cuddles first. I will unwrap you after.” Making you giggle in his move to scoop you up in his arms carrying you back to the couch to be held in his arms as you shared the bowl of ice cream he brought you.

Pt 10