#like it's a great place but Elrond has had to find many solutions for the problems

[thesummerestsolstice]

Part four of my series on Rivendell's guards! Wherein I finally talk about why Hrivossa and Celecoll keep getting into arguments. You might want to read parts 1, 2, and 3 first for context.

So we pick up after the siege of Rivendell is broken by Gil-Galad's forces

Among those forces is Hrivossa and her Feanorian faction, who weren't in Eregion when it fell (they were supposed to go as reinforcements later, but never had a chance)

So Hrivossa is very relieved that her lord is alive, obviously, and fully approves of Elrond creating his own little haven in the valley

Anyway then she meets Celecoll

Let me be clear; it is absolute loathing from first sight for those two

Hrivossa is decked out in Feanorian stars, Celecoll is still wearing some old Iathrim armor, they know what they're dealing with, and they're not happy about it

They are both just sensitive enough not to start yelling obscenities at each other in the middle of Rivendell's main courtyard

Especially when Hrivossa finds out that Celecoll has been an impromptu guard for Elrond during the siege (and Celecoll finds out that Hrivossa is normally Elrond's guard)

As far as Hrivossa is concerned, Celecoll is a coward who hid behind the girdle and shamefully ran away when her kingdom needed her most, all while keeping the Silmarils from their rightful owners, and who has no business around Elrond, a good Feanorian lord

As far as Celecoll is concerned, Hrivossa is a remorseless murder who's probably still extremely dangerous, and definitely crass and improper, and who also maybe kept Elrond prisoner(?) and who has no business around Elrond, a good Sindar lord

(Sidenote: a lot of people had issues with Elrond's former jailers basically becoming the basis for his house as a lord but that's another post topic)

I want to be clear both of these people almost immediately made peace with the actual orcs they were now living with and they still hated each other

After a few loud arguments (because a few cups of elvish wine can easily overcome both their abilities to not start yelling at each other) Elrond decides he's had enough and separates them

Alternating schedules where they don't have to see each other, and now they live at opposite ends of the growing city

Problem solved, right?

Wrong!

Celecoll moves next to Hrivossa and they start fighting again

I feel like I should note that half the time they aren't even arguing in the same language

Subjects for discussion include: whether or not Thingol was bad, who the Silmarils rightfully belonged to, and most importantly, who gets to guard Elrond

Can you become a toxic divorced couple without ever being romantically involved? Local elves sure are trying

This cycle repeats several more times before Elrond decides that they clearly, like, need the enrichment from arguing or something

He gets their rooms soundproofed so that their fights don't wake anyone else up and just kind of lets it happen

For some ungodly reason yelling at each other a few times a month actually seems to help both of them be more calm and relaxed the rest of the time

Some things are unknowable, even to the wisest minds, and the reason why they're like this is one of them

[senadimell]

Boromir for the character ask?

send me a character and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them: Honestly? His focus. He's a problem-solver. He focuses on whatever task is in front of him, and while he's the golden child, I honestly don't know if he'd be the best fit for Steward because he seems to be at his best when he's thinking about concrete solutions to discrete problems.

Oh! The other thing is that he evaluates the advice given to him for what it is, not based on the authority of the advisor. He’s not going to accept bad advice just because it comes from a trustworthy source, and he’s going to be honest about his thoughts. So he’ll trust and respect the advice of the council of Elrond, but not to the point where he doesn’t ask questions or question things that don’t make sense (I’m thinking about Caradhras here) It’s a good skill to have as the de-facto heir to Gondor, and it makes sense that he’s not in awe of elves or Gandalf and acts among them as a guest but also as an equal at least in political status, though his experience is vastly more limited.

At the same time, he’s not arrogant or haughty. He's a team player. He’s supportive of decisions for the most part, though where the ring is concerned, things get skewy. He’s not the kind of person to rub mistakes back in your face. He’s compassionate and understanding (which we see even in the way he treats Frodo as he strives for the Ring).

least favorite thing about them: Honestly Boromir doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I suppose his positive traits are also double-edged swords. Focusing more on the advice than the giver sort of has Feanor vibes? And you can see where his focus leads him when he talks to Frodo about why he wants the ring and how he would use it. He can see his corner of the world (Gondor) and his place in saving it (political, but primarily military leadership), and it’s his practicality, drive, and focus that the Ring exploits. He’s too busy thinking about what he must do to save the day that he misses the grander scheme (yet he’s doing it because he cares! he cares!).

brOTP: Um, Faramir, I guess. Though I guess it’d be kinda sweet if he’s got a brotherly relationship with Bergil. I can easily imagine Bergil hero-worshipping Boromir, and so I think it’d be sweet if Boromir did acknowledge him and know him by name.

OTP: none? look, I rarely ship and even more rarely out of canon.

nOTP: also none? Shelob? The Ring?

random headcanon: I dunno...

unpopular opinion: boromir has dark hair Sean Bean is an actor he’s not the only face

So I feel like there’s a bit of a structural problem with the LotR fandom. Characters are often written in pairs or as foils, and inevitably the comparison starts to turn towards “who’s better?” Then, if you don’t ship them, there’s a tendency to aggrandize one character’s virtues and minimize their flaws (which tends to happen everywhere), but then the comparison game starts. Because they have a paired character, the natural next step is to lionize your favorite by de-emphasizing the other character’s strengths and virtues (and sometimes also highlighting their flaws). (I’m not immune to this by far, btw, and am possibly about to engage in it.)

This happen the most with Frodo and Sam, but I think you also see it in Boromir and Faramir. Because obviously, in the books, Faramir is the golden child. Not in his father’s eyes, of course, but narratively speaking. And I have mad respect for him.

Most people don’t try and diss Faramir (because frankly. it’s hard. like, what are you going to say?), but there’s a tendency to downplay the fact that Boromir is his culture’s golden child, and Faramir...isn’t. Which isn’t to say Faramir isn’t beloved by those who know him, but his strengths are not valued in the same way that Boromir’s are. Faramir knows this. And given Boromir’s attitudes discussed above (how confidently he assumes his position in the world), I can’t believe he’s the 100% supportive, loving, sensitive, protective brother that fanon depicts him as. I don’t see how he can be.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe the brothers love each other deeply. But growing up with siblings has taught me that it’s possible to love someone and yet be deeply wounded by them due to the casual and inescapable intimacy of your relationship? You can share more inside jokes and weird stories than anyone, yet you can never get away from how deeply they know you--not your thoughts, but who you are at home and who you were when you were seven and how you acted when someone broke up with you or what you did when your parents were furious.

You also know exactly how you match up against them, because you will always exist as a unit. And because your relationship is as natural as the lens  in your eye (you can’t imagine viewing the world without it), you forget about the other as a person and just say something and don’t think about how it hurts them. You can joke about this one thing and your sibling can carry around the hurt for years and you didn’t even know. And maybe the hurt isn’t even your fault--maybe they were just sensitive and you had no way of knowing, but the hurt doesn’t go away for the lack of malice. And even best-friend siblings are capable of malice towards each other at times.

So Boromir is good at things that Faramir isn’t, and Boromir knows it. He’s probably ribbed his brother in what he thinks is a playful way about when you’re going to shape up, or do X, or do Y, or why do you do that, anyways, or do you realize that’s a little unbecoming? maybe you should stop that. You know Father’s going to think that you’re... And he doesn’t realize how those slights can add up over the years. I do think he’s said things to his peers about his brother that have ended up hurting him. No matter how pure and nice he is, that sort of thing is unavoidable, and due to his cultural upbringing I don’t actually think he’d question the appropriateness of his attitude/acceptance and glorification of martial prowess at the expense of those who don’t have it in the same degree.

I think this passage is really telling:

For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me. 'In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:          Seek for the Sword that was broken:          In Imladris it dwells;          There shall be counsels taken          Stronger than Morgul-spells.          There shall be shown a token          That Doom is near at hand,          For Isildur's Bane shall waken,          And the Halfling forth shall stand. Of these words we could understand little, and we spoke to our father, Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith, wise in the lore of Gondor. This only would he say, that Imladris was of old the name among the Elves of a far northern dale, where Elrond the Halfelven dwelt, greatest of lore-masters. Therefore my brother, seeing how desperate was our need, was eager to heed  the  dream and seek for  Imladris; but since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself. Loth was my father to  give  me leave, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay.' 

There’s so much you can read into this. Faramir has this dream, and he has it many times. We know he’s a lover of lore and no less devoted to his kingdom than Boromir, though his love is expressed differently. He is “eager” to heed the dream. So would I if I was having prophecy dreams all the time.

But is Faramir a member of the fellowship? No. Why? Because Boromir “took it upon himself.” He wanted to do it, he thought himself the better candidate (and Faramir the worse), and he argued his way into doing it against his father’s wishes. Coupled with Denethor’s later attitude towards Boromir, I’m inclined to believe Boromir was uniquely able to obtain this quest for himself because Denethor has a soft spot for him.

I find myself inclined to disregard Boromir’s account of Faramir’s motive (”how desparate was our need”), because it sounds like he’s justifying the appropriateness of his actions.  If it’s just about the great need of the kingdom, it’s nothing personal that one brother goes and the other stays. That view implies  that Faramir’s interest in this mission is primarily utilitarian in purpose, with a little academic curiosity--that is, it’s nothing personal. Doesn’t matter who goes! Not as long as we protect the kingdom! Which...just doesn’t square with his description of Faramir having repeatedly cryptic dreams that he wants to understand. I can almost guarantee that Faramir wants to know what those dreams meant more than Boromir.

It’s a bit tragic, because ultimately Faramir was more suited for the quest than Boromir (tramping about in the wilderness doesn’t seem to be a problem, he’s also a team player, and he’s much more willing to accept the power of the Ring/not downplay its personal danger, and would be able to see it in a bigger picture beyond just Gondor). Ultimately, though, if Boromir was the one to catch Frodo in Ithillien, the story would have a veeeeeeery different ending. (Gollum would likely be dead, and I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to just. let Frodo and Sam go free.)

I kind of view their relationship as a much less antagonistic version of Agravain and Gwalchmai from Gillian Bradshaw. (Agravain is more of a jerk than I can ever imagine Boromir being, and has a wicked temper). 

Also none of this is to say that I don’t think he’s not protective of his brother.

So a lot of words to say: I don’t think the Boromir and Faramir relationship is as uwu cinnamon roll as it seems in fandom. I think they loved each other, but I think Boromir did have a tendency to take what he wanted when he thought he deserved it and not give it a second thought, even when it was at the expense of his brother. Sure, he’d defend his brother night and day, but I expect him to be a bit of a jerk, be unaware of the extent of his behavior, and also see little wrong with it (the ring quest seems to have crossed a line, by the way he justifies it).

Still, they do love each other deeply and genuinely. It’s just a little more conflicted.

song i associate with them: Requiem, from Dear Evan Hanson. Not a particularly creative association (and I don’t associate him with Connor at all), but his death comes as such a shock at the beginning of TTT and brings with it so many mixed feelings due to both their relationship and the circumstances of his death. Nobody’s mourning is straightforward: not Frodo, or Denethor, or Faramir, or Aragorn, or Merry, or Pippin. His absense is woven throughout TTT and even RotK, in plot and in emotion and in theme.

favorite picture of them:

Don’t really have a favorite, but this one is nice.

The Sean Bean runners-up: one, two

[sweetteaanddragons]

Oooh... if these are still a thing, 20, 31, 60?

Here you are! A couple of notes: First this is set in an AU where Maglor managed to convince Maedhros to surrender to the Valar, and they’re now sailing as prisoners to Valinor. Secondly, this Earendil is a lot angrier than the Earendil I usually write, but he’s also closer to the mess and farther from a solution to the Earendil I usually write, so I thought that seemed appropriate.

“You’re making the guards uneasy,” Earendil said, even as the door swung shut behind him.

Maglor looked up from his place on the edge of the room’s one bed, but he didn’t answer. Earendil hadn’t expected him to. The mightiest singer of the Noldor might still be able to hum through his gag, with enough power to make elves drowsy and enough volume to trouble the guards, but even he couldn’t talk through it.

Maedhros didn’t even look up. He was asleep even though it was the middle of the day, though admittedly, they probably didn’t know that, locked in the lowest part of the ship as they were with only the lanterns for light. And with Maedhros’s one whole arm chained to the bed, resting was probably the easiest thing to do.

He started shifting, though, the moment that Maglor stopped humming. Maglor immediately started up again, and it occurred to Earendil that despite the guards’ fears, it probably wasn’t them the song had been aimed at.

It was a reasonable thought.

Standing in front of the two men that had sacked his city, nearly killed his wife, and stolen his children, he didn’t particularly want to be reasonable.

“Stop it,” he ordered. Maglor glanced between him and his brother before the notes slowly, reluctantly, trailed away. Maedhros immediately began to twist in the bed once again, but that wasn’t Earendil’s problem. He had come to talk, and for this one kinslayer was as good as the other. He untied the thick strips of cloth from Maglor’s gag, as his kinslaying cousin could not with his chained hands.

Maglor exhaled a bit in relief and said, “He won’t rest long without the music. Not unless you’re willing to sacrifice a truly unfortunate amount of wine, and even that won’t work as well.”

“He’s rested long enough,” Earendil said. If the kinslayer was troubled by dark dreams, than he wasn’t inclined to stop it. Maybe there was some fragment of a conscience left in there after all.

Maglor’s eyes flicked to his brother - no, to his brother’s wrist, he realized. The one that still had a hand attached. “He needs to rest,” Maglor said quietly, and -

Oh.

The chained wrist was a mess of blood from where the chain had cut into it, dangerously deep. The chain itself couldn’t be that tight, though, surely, but if . . . And as Maedhros’s thrashings became more violent and more blood welled up, he saw he was right. Only when Maedhros struggled did it cut so deeply.

“If he was awake, he wouldn’t irritate it.”

Maglor’s eyes were dark. “If he was awake,” he said, “it would be much, much worse.”

Earendil wanted to shake him. Wanted to beat him black and blue with his bare hands and demand answers. Wanted the hot anger that was still waiting, fresh and dangerous in his mind.

He did not want to feel sorry for either of the gaunt, scarred elves on the thin bed, but he couldn’t quite help it.

“Why don’t you sing me a story then?” he suggested. “That way we can both get what we want.”

Maglor seemed a bit relieved. “I’m always willing to sing for an audience,” he agreed. “What song would you like? I doubt you want the one I was attempting for him.”

It was an irrelevant point, but Earendil asked anyway. “What song was that? I didn’t recognize it at all.”

A ghost of a smile flickered over the kinslayer’s face. “You wouldn’t. It’s fairly new as these things go. Only a few decades old. ‘The Return of the Mariner,’ I think I called it. Maedhros always hated it, but it has an inordinate amount of verses, and it’s a lullaby, so it served well enough.” Maedhros’s thrashings grew almost violent, and Maglor quickly took up a few of those verses. Maedhros stilled almost immediately.

Earendil grabbed his arm. “Enough,” he said, and not just because he was beginning to feel drowsy himself. 

Maglor stopped.

“I was in that song. And Elwing.” He hadn’t realized it at first, the bold adventures in it so unlike the hard press through the storms he knew his real journey to have been, but they’d been in it.

“Of course. They wanted to know where their parents were. And I - “ Maglor shrugged, shoulders tight, mouth turned unhappily. “I truly thought you would come at first, that Elwing would find you and lead you back, but after years of nothing, I thought you both most likely dead. Wrecked on your way home, perhaps, or wrecked on your way to Valinor, what difference did it make? But I could hardly tell them that. Your continuing adventures served well enough, first on the seas, and then, after the star showed up, in the skies. I still thought you were dead,” he added after a moment. “But it was easier to tell them that you were getting a little bit closer every day. I sang them a new verse each night until - “ He looked away.

“Until?” Earendil prompted.

“Elros was very angry when he reached a certain age,” Maglor said quietly. “He said everyone knew you’d gotten safely to Valinor and left the rest of us to face Morgoth, and it was no use spinning fairytales otherwise.”

News about his sons was what he had come from, but it still didn’t soften the blow. “And Elrond?”

Maglor’s mouth twisted even more unhappily. “Elrond eventually convinced him you had died. I don’t know - I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“We thought they were dead,” Earendil said numbly. “If we’d known - If we’d had any idea - “

“If any of us had known even a little more, a great many things might have been different,” Maglor said tiredly. “I once made a very similar mistake,” and this time he looked at where his brother’s other hand should have been. The abbreviated arm was already starting to twist once more. “They’re older now. They’ll understand, once they make the voyage. You can explain.”

“Elros has chosen Men,” Earendil said, and he still couldn’t quite accept it. That his son, still living though he was, was still forever out of his reach. “He will not sail.”

Maglor flinched as if he had been struck. 

“Tell me of them, kinslayer. Tell me of all the moments I should have had.”

“Alright,” Maglor said one he had recovered his voice. “Alright. This song, at least, will not send you to sleep.”

It was not a heroic song, nor, spun as it was on the moment, probably one of the singer’s best.

Earendil clung to every golden note.

When it was done, and the singer slumped exhausted and grieved, Earendil stood and considered the cloth gag in his hand. 

Then he wrapped it as carefully as he could around Maedhros’s wrist to stem the bleeding and pad the chain. 

He looked at Maglor. “The guards asked me to remind you that singing is forbidden,” he told him. “Though with the door as thick as it is and with how much the next shift likes to talk, I don’t know they’d know know if you were doing it.”

He turned away before he had to look too long at the gratitude in the kinslayer’s eyes. 

Someday, maybe he could forgive him for the sake of the mercy he had shown.

Not yet.

But he heard the fruits of his own mercy as the sound of Maedhros’s thrashings once again eased to the sound of the bard’s tired voice, quiet as the drizzling of the very softest spring rains. It was the same golden tune he was committing to memory, desperately impressing every word of two dark haired twins.

It stopped for a moment when he opened the door, and no sound could be heard over the new guards’ chattering when he closed it.

Just the mariner’s own voice, quietly humming the tune.

[mimikoflamemaker]

JoO chp. 11 - deleted scene

Not so deleted since I came up with this little twist after the chapter was done, so it is more of “additional” material. Dedicated to @chenria​ and her lovely Celume whom I adore as much as much as my own kids ^^

On the side note I might have took some liberties with Celume’s portrayal here - take it as me and my headcanons about the elves in established relationships (circa 200 -300 years is enough to make the relationship established right? XD)

Galaren reread the last sentence of the report he was trying to compose for the umpteenth time and finally put the quill away. He couldn’t focus on that right now; the words all sounded like gibberish to him. He will probably have to rewrite the whole thing at a later date, but now putting it away was the best solution.

To be frank, he was unable to focus on anything recently, his mind preoccupied with his sister’s behavior. She refused to obey a direct order, which was something she had never done before, no matter how angry she was. But, it was also the first time, he ever had to help himself with his station in their arguments. The only thing that had stopped him from forcefully pulling her off the saddle three days ago was Elladan’s promise.

He trusted that the older twin and lord Elrond will be able to achieve, what he was so far completely unsuccessful at.

Lithien had always preferred to do things the way she thought was right and most of the time he had allowed that. He knew how much she cherished her freedom and he was the last person to ever take that away from her. But recently, he was starting to wonder if he wasn’t too lenient in some cases. 

Judging by the way she spoke to him lately, he was. And he wasn’t sure if there was anything he could do about it. 

The ellon sighed, hoping that the building headache will go away instead of turning into something worse. He reached for some reports, only to realize that he had already read them and that they weren’t distracting enough. The courier from the capital was surprisingly late this time. He could only hope that this didn’t mean some more bad news. He already had enough of those.

The decision to not see her off was mostly dictated by ager, but he had hoped for a moment, that this will at least give her a pause, if not making her reconsider the entire idea. He underestimated how stubborn she could actually be. He seemed to do that a lot recently. 

Or she was much easier to manage when she was younger. 

Knowing, that he wasn’t going to make his thoughts any less grim, he decided to indulge in the glass of wine. Maybe he will at least make some progress on that bloody report afterwards. 

His musings were interrupted by someone entering the tent. He didn’t look up, not really wishing to talk with anyone. And almost flinched when his visitor responded with a quiet laugh. 

‘Honestly my lord, I had expected a bit of a warmer welcome’ the courier said, and he instantly recognized the voice. She looked different though. He was used to seeing her in a flowing gowns of various shapes and colors, whereas now she was wearing a courier garb – boots, pants and tunic under the sleeveless vest, completed with a cape and a wide leather belt adorned at the hip with a one, long knife. The sack with the reports hung from her shoulder and she left her hair lose, just like she liked, the golden strands framing her face. Face that was currently decorated with a little, mischievous smirk – something she usually reserved only for him. 

The contrast was striking, but no less compelling. 

‘My lady,’ he said after a moment of silence. ‘What a pleasant surprise’ he smiled at her, but the wave of her hand stopped him from standing up to greet her properly. ‘To what do I owe such a pleasure?’

That earned him a chuckle, as she rummaged through her bag, piling various rolls of paper in the crook of her arm. 

‘Probably to the fact, that I almost forgot the last time we have seen each other. And, since I know that I won’t going to drag you from the border when things are looking so grim, I have decided to play the courier again.’ when she looked up at him, her expression belied the playful tone, a small furrow forming between her eyebrows. 

She has gotten much better at seeing through his act. He appreciated that a lot more than he was ready to admit out loud. And he wasn’t willing to force the façade into place today. 

Celúme stacked the papers neatly onto the corner of his desk and then walked around the table to stand beside him, her hip bumping slightly against the wood. She darted a quick glance at the entrance to the tent, but laced their fingers together anyway. As if she was sure that no one will interrupt them. 

‘Your men had been quite talkative when I arrived’ she said smirking when he grimaced. ‘Care to indulge me with the actual version of the story? You two argued again?’ 

Well, maybe she did know, that they won’t be interrupted. His men were aware of the bond that formed between himself and Celúme and apparently had decided that she will be the right person to approach about the recent events. He could see the merit in such decision. Still, some tongues were obviously running a bit too long. 

His thoughts were interrupted by her fingers, pressing against his jaw, forcing him to look up at her. 

‘You will have plenty of time to design a sufficient punishment for those rumors though, personally, I wouldn’t. They had the best of intentions and I am sure you know that’ the same fingers ran along the side of his face in a smooth caress. ‘Besides, the overly talkative subordinates are the least of your concerns right now…’

He glanced toward the reports piling at his desk, only to have his face turned back to the elleth standing next to him. 

‘I have seen my fair share of those reports and while I’m not an expert, I don’t think you will find something disturbing inside any of them.’ 

He looked at her, somehow managing to look both impressed and scandalized at the same time. Celume rewarded him with a grin, before moving to stand behind his chair, one arm trapping his shoulders lightly against the splat. 

‘They’re not going to run away, my lord’ she teased softly, her other hand nimbly working one of his braids loose. ‘And we need to speak about matters much closer to your heart.’ 

Galaren sighed, leaned against the back of the chair and relished in the feeling of her fingers running slowly through his hair. 

‘You know my sister’ he said at length. ‘She always does what she wants… And ends up getting in troubles.’ 

Celume waited for him to continue, both of her hands resting against his shoulders now. A skillful press of her fingers released a tension build up in his muscles and he felt the twinge running all the way down his spine. She chuckled lightly and pressed again her face hovering somewhere above his right shoulder - he could feel her hair tickling his ear. 

‘You’re right I know your sister’ she said quietly. ‘I have some firsthand experience in how stubborn she can be, how quick she is to get angry. But she is just as quick to apologize… most of the time’ she added and he knew she was smiling. Her thumbs kneaded his nape gently. ‘She probably already regrets that she left without making amends with you.’ 

‘Maybe but that doesn’t change the fact that she never listens…’ Galaren sighed again. ‘I apologize. We shouldn’t…’

He was silenced by fingers grabbing his chin and turning his face to the side, only to be confronted with the vaguely annoyed Celume. Sometimes he still allowed himself to forget how swift she could be, whenever she wanted to. 

‘We definitely should, since it affects you so much, and I care a great deal about matters that upset you in any way. Even more when this about your relationship with your sister. Probably because I care about her as well’ Celume paused and sighed. ‘Yes, she does get in troubles a lot, I have seen that too. And she is sometimes unreasonable…’ 

‘I think, you meant most of the time…’ 

‘Maybe’ Celume smiled. ‘I don’t work with her after all. What I do know however, is that Lithien would much rather take an arrow herself then let someone she cares about get hurt’ the press of her fingers returned to his shoulders but they were still facing each other. ‘Also she is not the only one to blame, you helped to rise that wolf after all.’ 

‘And what do you mean by that?’ Galaren asked failing at keeping a slight smirk out of his face. Celume’s slime widened. 

‘That you have raised brave and independent woman; one that many people look up to. Who, contrary to what you may think sometimes, does not throw herself at enemies’ swords without thinking. She is only going to Rivendell, I am sure she will be fine.’ 

‘Since when you know so much about my sister?’ Galaren smiled in earnest. The elleth smiled and reached to undo his second braid slowly, until she was faced with an impatient frown. She found him even more handsome when he was open with his feelings like that. 

‘One day, I simply waited until she was done screaming and then listened to what was left. You should try that; it does wonders to…’ 

She trailed off, because he was suddenly kissing her laughing mouth and she didn’t expect it. Not here anyway, when everyone could see them just by taking a look into the tent. But she returned the kiss eagerly. 

(…)