#merethic replies

[edennill]

Maglor in the Third Age:

he's stopped his shtick of only keeping to the seashores sometime in the early second age

look, it's lonely. also, probably a waste of time and everything. he's not fixing anything that way.

so, by the third age, he's just travelling here and there... as often as not, it is the coastal regions of middle-earth, but, ultimately, he goes pretty much everywhere.

sometimes he gets some money by playing at inns and doing odd jobs for mortals. he's gotten used to making an illusion of not having glowy amanyar eyes, because it makes the non-numenorean peoples take interest, and the gondorians and arnorians know

he just keeps adopting children? it's not his fault!

he doesn't steal children anymore. unless they're mistreated. let's just say he may be starting off many changeling myths (though not only him; elves in general will always approach a child they see treated badly and ask if it needs help)

a lot of those kids (from a hundred different cultures) just go a-wandering with him? half of them end up as the greatest musicians among men. but he drops the ones that want to off at rivendell.

elrond knows it's maglor. he also hardly ever gets to see him because maglor is stealthy.

mmm, if there are any places he avoids it's the elvish realms.

and yet, he does come to rivendell in secret, once in a while. and even pays a suprise visit to galadriel.

galadriel has last spoken to him at the mereth aderthad. yes, she's mad. no, she won't miss an occasion to speak with old kin in the language of her youth.

he does not go to mirkwood. ever. that would be suicide, and he is good at reassuring himself that he's doing the mirkwood elves a favour by not giving them flashbacks and not making them kinslayers.

all in all, he travels around.

he definitely is part of many "resistance movements" against sauron in the South whenever things get bad

there's probably some resentment there because it's easy enough to mistake him for someone of númenorean descent ? (that noldorin appearance + the only answer he gives when asked his age is "older than I look")

he probably replies to accusations of gondorian affiliation by "I'm a far off relation but I'm pretty sure I'd be hated there"?

that works I guess. somehow "villainous character from stories of the elder days" isn't a potential reason they come up with, unlike say, helping the people gondor would colonise.

though he's a bit wrong on that count because a fair bit of learned gondor sees him as mostly tragic

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part 4

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

Themes: Minor angst | Soft-ish ending

Warnings: Alcohol use | Weapons use | Injuries | Betting

Wordcount : 2.1k words

Summary: During the feast of Mereth Nuin Giliath, Thranduil tries to apoligize for hurting y/n

Minors DNI

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

Thranduil POV

Mereth Nuin Giliath began as it always did, with evening prayers after the first star for the night was seen.

Thranduil, garbed in silks of pale blue with a crown fashioned to look like glittering stars sitting amidst his hair, walked just behind his father as he led the procession to Varda’s shrine. The lamps had been dimmed, and the candles had been snuffed out. All the windows were opened to the night sky, and starlight slowly flowed in.

It was a somber affair, to be sure, and long and tedious. Still, Thranduil willingly played his role in all that was required of him and conducted himself in a manner befitting a crown prince during the rituals.

Once the solemnity of this affair is over, he reminded himself, the merrymaking can truly begin.

And the solemn affair did come to an end, much to the quiet relief of many involved. Then the elves poured out of the shrine and walked in twos and threes and more, making their way past lofty halls and vaulted ceilings and into the grounds that had been prepared for the evening’s contests.

The braziers had already been lit by the time Thranduil took his place by his father’s side in the gallery while the others took their places on the field. Then he looked around for y/n. The maid was standing behind them all with a pitcher of wine in hand. She startled and turned her gaze toward her feet when she found the prince’s eyes resting on hers. The sleeves of her new livery reached up to her wrists, but he was certain the bruise that had been an inadvertent gift of his was still there.  

“You stare at her, my son,” Oropher remarked, though not harshly. “May I ask why?”

“No reason, father,” Thranduil returned and turned to face the field again, his voice perfectly calm. Deep within, he was haunted by feelings of guilt.

The king studied him keenly for a while. “The maid is quite fetching, I grant you,” he allowed, albeit rather reluctantly. “But do not allow yourself to grow too attached to the likes of her. She is one of them, after all.”

It was Thranduil’s turn to startle. Does he truly think I am drawn to her? He thought. Does he not know what happened?

Feren had assured him—after expressing his disappointment with the prince’s behavior, of course—that no one in the kitchens had been the wiser. Y/n had not uttered a word of what took place in the gardens that day.

“I am not attached to her, my lord,” he replied. And he had to reply. His father was waiting on an answer. “There is no cause for you to worry on that score.”

Oropher, gratified, nodded. Then the master of revels came forth, and the first of the contests began in earnest.

It was a mock battle, and it was fought on soil that had hardened due to a late autumn frost. The elves that took part protected themselves with shields and armor and blunted swords, and yet, more than one fell to the earth, crying out from pain. Cheers and loud gasps followed each blow and each loss, and healers stood nearby to aid those in need of them.  

While elves fought and laughed and cursed out on the field, beneath canopies of green and gold velvet, food and wine flowed freely for those who watched. The stars burned brightly that night, as if the Star-Kindler herself was watching the spectacle taking place beneath the night sky. Thranduil, however, did not savor the magic of the night. He paid little heed to the rousing cheers that greeted those who did well, and the encouragement shouted down to those that fared poorer. He did not see the last warrior stand to accept their victory, the archers that took the field after a series of targets were neatly arranged at the far end of the field, the courtiers who parted with their jewels or the others who readily accepted purses full of gold coins. All he did see was the maid going from noble to noble, pouring wine and clearing dishes whenever it was asked of her, without saying a word in return.  

“Y/n,” Thranduil called softly before he could stop himself. “Wine, if you please.”

She obeyed and came to him. He watched her discretely, how her hands trembled even as she poured more wine for him. Then her sleeve shifted ever so slightly, and the bruise came into view. Thranduil kept his composure. He felt his father’s eyes on him.

“My thanks,” he replied, then turned his attention to the two remaining contestants. Feren and Angon were all that remained of the archers, and the next few moments would decide who would be the victor.

A hush settled upon the field, and the throng went silent. Angon was the first to nock his arrow. He took a deep breath, and then took aim. When he breathed out again, the arrow flew toward its target, and everyone watched, breathless. A soft thud was heard. The arrow nearly found its mark.

“A fraction too far from the center,” Oropher observed to his son. “But I wonder if it is close enough.”

“Feren still has to take a turn, father,” Thranduil replied. “Anything can happen.”  

They waited with bated breath while a herald called Feren to come forth. Thranduil’s steward took his position, nocked his arrow, and breathed in. When he exhaled, the arrow flew true to its aim, and all who had gathered erupted into thunderous applause when the arrow struck the target in the center.

“A pity we did not hold a wager, you and I,” Thranduil smiled, rising.

“A king does not partake in wagers, not even with his son." Oropher’s steely eyes glinted with amusement. “Come. It is time we rewarded the victors and prepared ourselves for the feast.”

While the service of prayers was a somber affair, the feast itself was not. Minstrels walked from table to table strumming harps and playing viols and flutes, while servants brought forth dishes of quail and venison and boar roasted in honey and herbs. There were heaping platters of cheese and pears and wild berries and apples and apricots, with golden flagons of wine and ale and mead for anyone who had a thirst for it. Many of those present ate and drank their fill. Some drank more than they should, and they gathered together in groups of threes and more to sing vulgar tunes that would have made even the bawdiest sailors amongst the Edain blush.

His father saw no harm in such amusements. He would have participated in them as well, had he not been king. More than once, Thranduil caught him drumming his fingers against the table and humming along to songs that caught his particular attention. Then he made his excuses and left the dais, and Thranduil watched while his father stopped by one table or the other to speak with their guests. The prince joined him not long after and waited his turn to be introduced to those he had never met before, unwed maidens in particular.

Father still clings to the hope of my wedding and producing an heir, Thranduil thought with affection. Ever since he attained the age of majority, his father spoke to him about prospective brides and encouraged him to form friendships with them. And while the prince was ever willing to indulge his father where friendships were concerned, he practiced greater caution when it came to his choice of bride.

I will make my own way when it comes to marriage, Thranduil thought to himself. And after I have finished establishing a household for myself. 

That household was a vast cave system north of Amon Lanc, and the work to make it a suitable home for a crown prince was nearly complete. His father encouraged it, thinking it was high time his son established a proper home for himself.

“Will you stay for the dancing, my lord?” A nobleman inquired of Oropher.

“Alas, my featherbed calls,” Oropher replied in jest. “And I fear that for tonight, I must answer it.”

The others laughed softly, then bowed when the king took his leave of them and retired to his chambers for the night. Thranduil remained. He returned to his seat on the dais, his golden hair limned by the flickering light of clear, amber lamps. Then the music changed, and the singing stopped. The time for dancing had come.

The prince had to leave his place a second time and he joined the others, graciously asking one lady to dance with him before turning to another after the music stopped and partners changed. His eyes widened like anything when Angon finally mustered the courage to ask Nitiel to dance with him in full view of his mother and father, and he quickly turned the other way when the general found him looking and flushed all over.

So it has happened, Thranduil realized after seeing thin bands of silver gleaming around their fingers. He has finally made the lady his wife. But will his mother and father accept his choice?

If Angon’s mother and father were displeased by their son’s brazen act, they did not show it. They simply rose and joined the others in dancing and exchanging pleasantries with their son’s lady. Then he became distracted by the sight of Feren walking toward the few remaining servants that had gathered at one end of the feasting hall. His steward approached y/n and then asked her to dance with him. Perhaps it was out of pity, as many of the others had been asked to dance. Or perhaps, he simply asked out of kindness. Either way, it did not alter the fact that Feren asked the lady to dance with him, and she, after a great deal of reluctance, agreed.

Thranduil gracefully led his own companion on more than one turn around the hall, but his eyes were on Feren and y/n most of the time. The maid proved to be a skilled dancer, and she followed Feren’s steps with great ease. When the music changed, partners changed, and whenever a change took place, Thranduil found y/n dancing with Angon, and then Galion, and then Elros, a wet-behind-the-ears elf who pledged himself to the king’s service only a turn of the moon ago. The elf’s countenance was bruised; he was one of the unfortunate warriors to take a blow to the face during the mock battle.

The music changed again, and this time y/n danced a turn with Amdír. The king of Lórien was a splendid dancer, and he made her laugh more than once. It was the first time Thranduil heard her laugh, and he shivered despite himself. Then, when the music changed for the final time, the prince himself had to dance a turn with y/n.

“My lady,” he bowed, for all eyes were on them now. “Would you do me the honor?”

“I… Of course, my lord,” y/n returned, and she dipped to her knees in a deep curtsy. When the music started, she placed her hand in his, and they danced in a circle around the floor.

While kindness or perhaps pity drove Feren to ask y/n to dance, shame over his own conduct led Thranduil to talk.

“You dance uncommonly well, my lady. Was it your mother who taught you how to dance?”

“My father… my lord. My mother… she said that was how father caught her eye. By how good he was with dancing.”

“I see,” Thranduil commented. “And how do you find life in Amon Lanc, my lady? Is it to your liking?”

Y/n was startled. “I do not understand my lord. Has… has someone said something? Has the king said something?”

She was frightened; it would have been plain to anyone who saw.

“No one has said anything against you,” he said softly in an effort to dispel her fears. “I merely wish to know if you are happy here.”

“I… I suppose I am happier here,” she replied.   

“Good,” Thranduil said. Then he felt her palm against his. It trembled. The hand resting on his other arm shook even as he held her steady. “Are you afraid of me?”

She was quick to shake her head and declare otherwise. Thranduil was not fooled, however, and whispered, “You are afraid of me. And I know my own actions have led you to fear me. Please, allow me to make amends for my behavior.”

“Why?” She asked after a while, in great confusion. “You are the crown prince of this great realm. I am Noldor, and I am the daughter of a kinslayer. Why would you even wish to do such a thing?”

Why indeed. Thranduil did not understand why the notion of asking for forgiveness entered his thoughts, only that it was there and that he would know no peace until he did.

“I do not know myself,” he confessed. “All I do know is that I truly desire to make amends for my behavior from before. Please grant me the opportunity to do so.”

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

[stxrshxpxd]

🌌 fic friday;

feast of starlight

legolas x elf reader

mischievous best friends

“This has been going on long enough, don’t you think?” Legolas asked in a hushed voice across the table. I grinned and glanced back at my best friend, his pale hair pulled back and braided neatly and his glossy clothing glittering in the light from the candelabras around the halls. His bright eyes flickered mischievously around.

“What, you behaving?” I teased and Legolas smirked back, chuckled and nodded at last.

“Exactly.”

It was Mereth En-Gilith, the Feast of Starlight, and we had been sat in the great halls for several hours amidst music, food, wine and company. Legolas clearly couldn’t sit still for much longer.

“Your father has several eyes on you,” I mumbled and raised my brows at him. He had been known to, at best: disappear from parties, and at worst: drunkenly ruin them with his mischief. I, of course, could not resist and was always his partner in crime. I presumed there were many eyes on me as well.

“But none below the surface,” he replied vaguely and with his fingertip traced circles across the sturdy tabletop. I laughed softly and impulsively glanced towards the head of the main table where Thranduil sat tall and with a calm smirk on his lips. He was speaking with a friend to his right with his head turned away, yet I felt his gaze on me at all times.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about-” I looked back to lay my eyes on my friend but found only an empty seat. An eye roll and a sigh escaped me and then I felt a quick tugging on the end of my long dress. I swore I could see the outlines of Legolas’ troublesome smirk through the wooden table.

Scanning the room, I found some heavy stares laid on me, but the thought of spending the rest of the evening here without Legolas made me instantly slide out of my chair and disappear soundlessly behind the wall of the large tablecloth.

“This is no way for a prince to behave!” I teased him in a sharp whisper and he laughed as I followed his quick crawling between the row of legs. I had to gather my long locks of hair and secure the ends between my teeth so as to not accidentally lock it between the floor and my knees and trip. And I knew I would be hearing from my mother about the stains on my dress, but I couldn’t think on that too long because Legolas had set his eyes on his next target now. The case of wine bottles in the corner of the room.

In a swift and quiet movement he was on his feet again, above the surface of the tables on the other end of the room. I followed close behind, sliding out from a wide space between two sets of legs and reentering the landscape of music and voices and lights.

“Y/N,” Legolas whispered hastily and discreetly held a full bottle in his grip, his body already halfway out of the great hall doorway. I gave him an encouraging smile and slid through the doors after him, catching a glimpse of Thranduil’s stern glare directed at us just as I vanished out of sight.

“Come!” I giggled and was the one to take the lead now as I grasped Legolas’ hand in mine and pulled him behind me, running through the vast emptiness of our home. We both knew the fastest ways out of the halls from any given room and within minutes we had crossed several stairwells and bridges and darted through empty chambers, and we were outside. We were greeted by the full moon and stars bathing us in light, the treetops of Mirkwood swaying gently in the warm summer night breeze, and the light spring of the soft moss under our feet as we slowed down to a stroll.

I looked at Legolas, pale blue in the moonlight, and he smiled with a deep inhale of breath.

“Now this is how you celebrate Mereth En-Gilith,” he said and took a big swig of the wine, gazing up at the open sky and out into the empty forest.

[666writingcafe]

Barbatos' Birthday Surprise (Part Seven)

August 24

One of the backstage staff guides us to the green room, where we're greeted by the sight of a couple of people playing ping pong. Our arrival causes the person facing us to look up, and a smile forms on his face.

"Is that who I think it is?" he asks, causing his female opponent to turn around to look at us.

"It depends on who you were expecting," Barbatos quips. The two people at the ping pong table--I assume they're band members--laugh at his retort.

"Well, it's about time you finally showed up!" Okay, now I'm confused. Have they met before? I was under the impression that this was the first time Barbatos has seen Severa in the flesh, but maybe I was wrong.

"Pardon me for interrupting, but am I missing something?" I ask. The band members turn their attention to me. The man smiles while the woman gives me a once-over. Meanwhile, Barbatos sighs.

"You could say that I've become a bit of a joke amongst the fans," he replies. "They like to poke fun at my bad luck, you see." Barbatos pauses, glancing over at the band members. "I didn't realize they caught wind of it as well." He sounds bitter, which makes me wonder just how much he's been affected by the teasing.

"Believe me, it's not like that at all." A third member--another man--reveals himself as he gets off the couch and faces the two of us. "We've found your predicament to be rather unfortunate, actually. Up until now, something has always prevented you from seeing us live, and that sucks, especially since you seem to be one of our biggest fans."

"He's certainly been one of the only ones that's been around since our EP," the woman replies. "That's some real dedication right there."

"The important thing is that you're here now," the first man states. "And with a date, no less. Would you care to introduce us, Barbatos?" Barbatos clears his throat as a slight blush begins forming on his cheeks.

"This is MC," he responds. "MC, these are the members of Severa. The two that were playing table tennis when we arrive are Mereth--" The woman raises her hand. "--and Branrnon."

"And I'm Zerruder," the other man announces. "But you can call me Z. Everyone else does." If I recall correctly, all three of them sing as they play different characters. Mereth plays guitar, Branrnon the bass, and Z the drums.

"You should come sit down," Z adds. "Mere and Bran were in the middle of an exciting game of ping pong." The eye roll indicates his sarcasm, causing Bran to reach over and smack Z's shoulder.

"That can wait," Mere responds as Barbatos and I walk around the couch and grab a seat. "I wanna know more about this lil' situation." She gestures at the two of us. "I assume that you were the one to get him tickets, MC?" I nod my head.

"I won them over the radio. The DJ did add a few extra things to go along with it, including these passes. I initially didn't know how much Barbatos enjoyed your music, but I knew he was into Devildom metal, and so I thought it would make a nice birthday present."

"That's right!" Bran exclaims. "Your birthday was a couple days ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Barbatos answers. "Although this is one of the few years I'm celebrating it. I normally just treat it like any other day."

"Yeah, I can imagine, given your job and all."

"The Young Mas--I mean, Diavolo--insists that I should celebrate it more often, but until recently, I haven't really seen the point." I wonder why Barbatos corrected himself. Is he trying to sound more casual? If so, why? It's not like the members would berate him if he speaks formally, would they?

"What made you change your mind?" Z asks.

"I don't think it's a what, but rather a who," Mere responds before Barbatos can even open his mouth. "And that person is currently sitting right next to him."

"Something like that," Barbatos mumbles, his hand reaching over and squeezing mine.

"Cut it out, Mere," Bran tells her. "You're making him all flustered." Mere scoffs.

"I think you're blaming the wrong person."

"Mere, enough," Z pipes up. "I know you like a good love story, but Barbatos doesn't seem to want to talk about that right now, and I think we should respect his wishes."

"It's not that." Our attention turns to Barbatos. "I'm just not used to being read like an open book, that's all. My position requires me to be more private about my emotions." He takes a deep breath. "I do like MC. They're a good person." I catch Bran glancing over at a clock.

"Do you guys need to get ready?" I ask.

"Unfortunately, yes," Bran answers. "I really do wish we had more time to chat, though." This prompts Z to jump up and dash over to a nearby table, where he flips open a notebook, scribbles something in it, and tears off the page.

"Here," he states, handing it to me. "Stick it in your pocket so you don't lose it."

[isirumarin]

Miraak and Isira pt.5

Rumarin narrowed his watering blue eyes as they focused on the shapely form belonging to Isira as she stood atop the ash hill alongside a towering nord. Rumarin focused his attention on the stranger. The nord's robes were strange and based on the dragon shouting Rumarin had heard, it was no ordinary nord. "Wonderful." He muttered sarcastically with his Alinorian accent. Rumarin reluctantly began walking towards them.

Miraak shealthed his sword and looked to Isira who was telling him to relax with her eyes, cool as winter moons.

Rumarin slowly walked up to Isira and took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, eyeing Miraak. "I'm glad you're back and.." He grabbed her gently and looked her over. "Seem to be in one piece." He finished. "Things...went well? I'm assuming?" He asked continuing to look at Miraak. 'Gods be, this nord is good looking.' Rumarin thought. 'Great.' He chewed on his cheek.

Isira looked between them both. So far so good, at least on Rumarin's side of things. Miraak was silent and glaring at Rumarin. Isira decided that was as good as it was going to get.

"Yea I'm fine. I missed you." She said hugging him.

"As you can clearly see, I've brought him back with me. He's on our side." She said matter-of-factly looking at her companions' faces.

Teldryn erupted into laughter. "Bahahaha haha sheh heh" He cackled. "Is that sooo?" He replied with his ever critical and singsong tone.

Isira felt Miraak tense up before he even moved. "Miraak" she said his name sharply, looking at him with intensity as he stepped forward aggressively.

Lucien and J'zargo stepped back, shuffling behind Inigo and Teldryn.

"Do not piss it off, foolish dark elf. It will dragon shout at us." J'zargo hissed.

"My friend, I trust you know what you are doing. I trust you. If you say he is friend, then that is what he is. We should leave this place quickly." Inigo always had her back.

She smiled at him. "Thank you Inigo." She gently pulled herself from Rumarin's arms and grabbed Miraak by the glove and brought him forward towards the group.

"This..this is Miraak. The first dragonborn." She announced to them. Miraak stood tall and regal as he always did.

"FROM THE MERETHIC ERA??!" Screeched Lucien with unbridled exitement. Inigo covered his ears. "Ziss'vo!!" yowled J'zargo also covering his own tufted ears.

Miraak looked at Isira with incredulous indignation. "Yes." She replied quietly. "Please, treat him with great respect and kindness. He has been through much and has been away for a very long time from our world. And please, I beg you. Do not piss him off."

Lucien, surprisingly came forward and offered his hand staring up in awe at the tall nord. "It is truly an honor to meet you, as a scholar, I am at your disposal if you need any information abou-"

"I have read every book from your world and more, that will never be." Miraak said coldly but then gave his hand to the small imperial man.

Lucien's lip quivered a moment. He nodded politely and stepped back. "Thank you Lucien." Isira smiled.

"He's very intimidating." Lucien whispered to Inigo.

"Hello Miraak, I am Rumarin." The Altmer bowed politely.

"You mean much to her." Miraak stated flatly, his eyes boring into Rumarin. "I'm..uh...gladdened to hear it." Rumarin replied awkwardly. He looked to Isira, his eyes full of worry.

Isira's faint smile pulled flat. She could feel undertones of threat in Miraak's demeanor.

Miraak was used to getting his way. For thousands of years he got his way. It was going to be a dangerous habit to break.

[aethuviel]

This is regarding a reply to my post on the age of Gelebor+Vyrthur+the Chantry, and since it seems to be a reply, I can’t reblog it.

Thank you for adding additional thoughts/facts.

Regarding Serana, I have seen others concluce she’s probably from the interregnum (between Alessian and Reman), because as I said, the vampire architecture was completely different from the Nord architecture they had built upon, putting her as being pre-Alessian as highly unlikely. “Cyrodiils is the seat of an empire?” could still mean she’s from the interregnum, not that there has never been an empire, just that it hasn’t been for centuries.

https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/voet3/the_approximate_age_of_serana_dawnguard_spoliers/

https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/bx9qoi/serana_may_not_4233_years_old_heres_why_i_think_so/

Alessia came to power over a century after Harald was around, so he must have been dead, but that’s just a detail, your point stands that the Ayleids were defeated/Alessia came to power a century after the last Snow Elves were slaughtered.

I can’t see why the Chantry would have fallen this early, since first of all, they were there, isolated as a sanctuary for the last of their kind, and heard of the “Dwarves’ offer”, far too late to intervene. Meaning they were around, likely Gelebor and Vyrthur too, to hear of the Dwarves taking in and blinding their kinsmen. Then, centuries later, long enough for them to have completely devolved into the feral Falmer we see in the Vale, the enslaved Snow Elves’ descendants took the Chantry and killed everyone.

As Gelebor says, and as only makes sense, it took many generations for them to become those monsters. Whether or not they were one group of escapees when the Dwemer were still around, or if it happened after 1E 700, we can’t know.

Yes, the “beginning of the first era” is very vague, like I said, and could even mean very late Merethic, depending on how one is counting. (From the present, “near the beginning of the first era” sounds like very early first era, but considering that the Snow Elves had a great empire in the Merethic, it could just as well mean “near the end of the Merethic era”.)

I understand that with how long the first era lasted, in the grand scale of things, 1E 500 could still be seen as “near the beginning”.

It can’t have been constructed many centuries into the 1st era though, since the Snow Elves built it, not as a sanctuary to those fleeing war and genocide, but as “a retreat to those who wished to become enlightened”. Meaning their culture was still at some strength when it was built. (And again, Gelebor coming there so much later that the knowledge on how to construct it had been lost.)

[qethnehzul]

In the dragon!priestess!Casil (good merethic au) verse, would she still get concubines (even if she might not be interested) as part of the cult package? I'm assuming Zak and Vol have them too since the male priests have them.

Zakriisos and Volsung totally have them too. Casil would get her choice, as a priest, like all the others did - buts he’d have no idea that’s... what they’re for. She’d end up with two or three to ‘start’ with like all the other priests and would be so flustered to find out what their job is supposed to be. They probably just spend most of their time hanging out around her and acting more like just close personal servants, despite their ‘training.’

[wildwarcat]

For Forever Pt. 3

Legolas continued to visit you night after night, just as the she-elf, Tauriel, you learned her name was, visited Kili. You spoke of your adventures throughout Middle-earth, maintaining caution to not reveal that your stories happened over the course of millennia. Regardless, you found the prince to be enthralled by your tales, often grinning like a child by the end of them. In exchange, he would share tales of the Greenwood, one of the few places in Middle-earth you had never been before. 

“In the summer, the breeze would carry the scent of juniper and apple blossoms, but ever since the spiders came from Dol Guldur, the forest has lingered in a never-ending autumn, always dying but never dead.” He said sadly, “I long for the days of old, when Mirkwood was still green.” 

“I felt the sickness of this land from the moment I crossed its border.” You sighed, running a hand through your mussed hair, “If the Valar could see this-” 

You held your tongue, hoping the prince would not notice your slip. But he was too sharp for that. 

“I doubt they would depart from Valinor to tend to a dying forest, mellon.” He joked, his stunning smile making an appearance. You blushed, turning your head away in an attempt to hide it.

“Perhaps not. But there is more to this disease than you or your father know. A great evil looms over this world; one that has not been seen in centuries. Would they sail from the Undying Lands then?”

Legolas didn't respond, his eyes searched you for insight into your thoughts. But you were too good at closing your mind off, eliminating any tells that might give way to what you were thinking. He came up empty-handed as laughter and cheers from above rained down into the dungeon.

"Sounds like fun up there." You commented, moving away from the sad tone that your conversation had turned to. Legolas chuckled and nodded.

"Indeed. It is the Feast of Starlight."

You hummed, your eyes drifting upward to where the stars sat beyond the halls of Thranduil.

"Mereth -o gilgalad." You mused, "You Wood Elves certainly do love your stars. You should be there, you should celebrate."

"I have an eternity to celebrate the stars." He replied, his hand reaching for yours through the bars, "Time spent learning of what lies beyond the borders of this forest, that is even more precious than starlight."

You flushed, a sheepish grin forming on your lips. Above you, the laughter had quickly turned to sounds of a drunken brawl, with glasses and plates smashing and the pained grunts of elves bouncing off the walls.

"As kind as your words are, you may still need to get up there. At least before things get too out of hand." You remarked, releasing the prince's hand and bidding him farewell. When Legolas was fully out of sight, you forced out a disgruntled sigh, your head slamming against the stone confines of the cell.

"Bilbo!"

Balin's voice exclaimed the hobbit's name out of nowhere. You perked up, leaning toward the bars and heard the kind, hushed voice of Bilbo Baggins whispering to the dwarves, followed by the jingle of keys. Bilbo had found a way out.

When the hobbit reached your cell, you leapt to your feet and beamed.

"Excellent work, Mr. Baggins. You truly are full of surprises."

Bilbo's ears tinged red as he unlocked your cell door. Stepping outside, it seemed as though the air were cleaner on the other side, and you breathed it in deeply before turning to Thorin, who was starting to make his way up the steps to the doors you had entered through.

"Thorin." You said softly, making him stop, "Do not go that way. The elves have gathered for a feast; you go that way they'll bring you back here."

"Y/N is right." Bilbo agreed, looking over at the dwarf frantically, "Besides, I have another way out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo's way out was barrels. Specifically, emptied wine barrels that were floated down the river to a bargeman of Laketown. Seemed a simple enough plan to float down the river and escape with the elves left none the wiser, but as it had seemed with the entirety of the journey, the plan became anything but simple.

Guards had gone down to the dungeons to check on the company and found the cells empty. As such, you now found yourself trapped at the flood gates that were your only barrier to freedom. And to make the matters worse, orcs had tracked you from the Misty Mountains and were now upon you.

The guards that had been standing at the gate now lay dead at the feet of orcs, leaving you and the company with no way out. You could see the lever that operated the flood gates. If you could get to it...

You turned to Kili who was in the barrel next to you and bumped his shoulder, "I have a plan. Follow me."

Clambering out of the barrels, you and Kili leapt onto the stone walls and ducked under the oncoming blade that swung for your head. Reaching up, you struck the pressure points on the orcs arm, making him release his sword, which you grabbed with your other hand. Now armed, you began creating a pathway for Kili to reach the lever, slicing through orc flesh with ease.

As Kili reached for the lever and you downed the last orc in front of you, there was a sharp zip, and a sudden pain in your shoulder that spread to your hand. You dropped the sword in your hand and looked down to see that a Morghul shaft had been driven into your shoulder. In front of you, Kili groaned as a second arrow lodged itself in his leg.

The pain radiated through your body and you found yourself falling to your knees. The arrow had entered and exited in the same shot, it was easiest for you to simply push it through. So you did, biting your tongue to hold back a blood-curdling scream.

"Y/N! Kili!" Fili cried out, "Move!"

You glanced up to see an orc towering over you, an axe in his hands. He raised it above his head as you reached forward to grab hold of Kili, pulling him down into a barrel beneath the bridge. You ignored his cry of pain as the arrow in his leg snapped, rising to your feet and letting your eyes glow gold.

The orcs movements suddenly slowed as though it were moving through water, you ducked and dodged his swings easily as a league of elves finally approached, evening the fight.

"Nalkra ayh lat?" The orc demanded, as he gave up trying to strike you.

You didn't answer, reaching behind you to pull the lever that released the flood gates. The orc took a step toward you but was halted by the strike of a green-fletched arrow into his chest. The creature collapsed into the water below as you turned to see Legolas staring at you in bewilderment.

"Til mín govannon- ad-." You said with a half-smile, in a voice that was not quite your own. You climbed up the wall of the bridge and jumped, allowing your form to shift into that of a golden hawk, following the company as they floated downriver.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Mereth -o gilgalad -- Feast of Starlight

Nalkra ayh lat? -- What are you? (orcish)

Til mín govannon- ad- -- Until we meet again.

Taglist:

@idk-whatamidoinglmao

@chaoscontrolr

@awkw4rdp3rs0n

@siriuslydestiny

[pinnithin]

Honestly I have had so many strange exchanges with straight men in the past month they just keep getting more bizarre and hilarious. No clue what that man wanted I guess he just gets his kicks knowing girls have seen his dick??

[jengajives]

My guys attend the Mereth Aderthad

“You have to watch yourself,” Mablung was saying. “There’s something strange about the Noldor. The king doesn’t trust them.”

Daeron rolled his eyes, nudging his little bay mare forward to keep up with the massive stallion Mablung was riding. “It’s a party. I don’t see what could really go wrong.”

“It’s these sons of Fëanor,” Mablung said coldly. “I have heard they’re remarkably fell. I don’t trust them.”

“If they were so fell, why would anyone follow them?” Daeron asked playfully. “You should relax. I don’t think a suspicious wet blanket is the impression you want to leave on them. We’re the closest they’re ever going to get to King Thingol.”

“With luck.” Mablung frowned so deeply his warm brown face looked decades older. “I would ask you not to get too friendly.”

“You can’t stop me having fun,” Daeron said with a grin, and Mablung just sighed tiredly and continued on his way.

Daeron trotted on behind until eventually the pools of Irvin began to peak over the horizon, surrounded by beautiful blue tents and banners in silver and red.

This was going to be a night to remember.

“Your Majesty,” said Mablung stiffly, with a deep bow to one knee. “I am Mablung, captain of King Thingol’s guard. This is my kinsman, Daeron, his court minstrel.”

The High King of the Noldor stood smiling at him, and gave a respectful nod of his own. “You are most welcome, my friends. Please, make yourselves at home. Relax, enjoy the food, the wine, the music. Tonight you are our guests of honor.”

Again he gave a remarkably calm smile, but his face fell when he looked up and he cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

Then he hurried off, hands raised.

“Aredhel, you can’t shoot that off his head, it’s attached!“

Daeron watched him go with a widening grin. He nudged Mablung with an elbow. “Hear that? Guests of honor. And they have music. I’ll bet it’s no good, though.”

“Be polite,” Mablung scolded, “just not too polite.”

“Certainly, Captain,” said Daeron. He looked around the camp just to take everything in.

There were just as many Sindar here as there were Exiles. Grey-Elves milling about and talking and laughing with these strangers, sharing wine and platters of food. Beneath the billowing blue tents were elaborate silver tables laden with piles of fruit and meat, fountains of wine. Near the center of the camp was a pavilion set up for minstrels; now there were several silver and scarlet-clad Noldor sitting on their fancy metal chairs and playing flutes, lutes, and chimes of every kind. In their center sat one particular Elf with his dark, curly hair set with glimmering sapphires and his raiment of silky blue-green. He held a silver harp across his chest, and Daeron had to admit he was skilled with it. When he started to sing, though, the majesty of the music rose to another level.

Daeron had never heard song like that. Never anything so beautiful or captivating.

“Lord Finrod,” said Mablung behind him. Daeron turned and saw the captain with his arms folded behind him, talking to a fair-haired prince whose braids were twisted with diamond and pearl. “It is an honor to meet you again.”

“Mablung!” Finrod smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “How wonderful to see Thingol’s folk here! I was so worried no one would come…”

“Who’s that singing?” Daeron asked, very rudely, barely giving the princeling a glance.

Mablung glared at him. “Apologies, my lord. My kinsman speaks out of turn.”

Finrod just smiled with a light laugh like water falling over stone.

“No apology necessary, friend. Nothing wrong with curiosity.” He followed Daeron’s gaze over to the pavilion. “That is my cousin, Maglor, Fëanor’s son. He is the most skilled of our kindred in music by far.”

Mablung bristled when he heard the name, but Daeron only found it even more difficult to tear his eyes away.

“Maglor,” he repeated, turning to give Mablung a smug look. “And you said they would be fell.”

At that Finrod laughed again. “The sons of Fëanor? It’s true they can be very fierce, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say fell. That is…” He turned his head to the side, taking a glance at a tall Elf standing apart from the others, his red hair done up in tight braids, with pale scars crisscrossing his dark face. “As long as you aren’t a friend of Morgoth’s.”

Mablung followed his gaze, and his eyes narrowed looking at the red-haired Elf’s empty sleeve.

“We are no friends of your Enemy.”

“Never said you were, Captain.” Finrod again but a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Here. You and your kinsman come for a drink.”

Mablung took Daeron by the arm, which is the only thing then that could have dragged him from the sight of Maglor Fëanor’s son, and together they followed Finrod to find themselves some wine.

Maglor finished his song and hopped offstage, leaving his harp resting on the chair. The strings and winds could carry the music department for a little while; he wanted to enjoy some high-class mingling.

Maedhros was standing on his own, taking in the party without engaging himself, so Maglor sidled over and stuck an elbow into his brother’s ribs.

“You like the song, Nelyo?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Maedhros gave him a forced smile. Immediately Maglor could tell he’d been thinking of other things.

It was not so long since he’d been carried from Angband, and his years of torment had never really left him.

“Very good, brother. You have a magical voice.”

“You should have a drink.” Maglor motioned to where Fingon stood laughing with the sons of Finarfin. “Go on and join them.”

Maedhros shook his head, again with a wan smile. “I wouldn’t want to impede on their merriment.”

Maglor didn’t have the willpower now to contend with him, so he just scanned the party again until he found what he was looking for: the Elf in armor of silver leaves, and the one at his side dressed all in green. He motioned that way.

“Those two. They aren’t Green-Elves, are they?”

“Green-Elves don’t wear metal.”

“I know, I know. But surely they cannot be common Sindar.”

Maedhros shrugged. “From what I hear, they’re ambassadors from Doriath. Greymantle’s folk.”

“Really?” Maglor smoothed his tunic. “The short one was watching me. You think he’s handsome?”

“Oh, certainly, Maglor.” His brother didn’t indulge him with any inflection in the reply. “Very handsome indeed.”

“I’m going to talk to him,” Maglor said with a decisive nod. “You should try to mingle.”

A dismissive wave of hand. “Best of luck.”

Maglor set his shoulders back and started toward the pair of strange Grey-Elves.

“You know, Mablung said you were dangerous.”

It was an embellishment of the words, but Daeron really didn’t mind. The night had gone velvety and dark and all that mattered was how smooth the wine-craft of the Noldor, and how close Maglor was standing to him.

It filled the whole night with heat.

“Dangerous?” the Fëanorian repeated, raising one eyebrow. Daeron nodded.

“He told me the sons of Fëanor were remarkably fell.”

“And what do you think of us now?”

He was very aware of the hand curled around his wrist. How he could feel every warm puff of Maglor’s breath.

“I think you brother is very fell,” Daeron said coyly. He no longer cared to glance around and make sure they were alone. If anyone stepped into the tent now, they would quickly realize the value of privacy. “But you... I’m not so sure. I don’t know if the pretty minstrel prince has it in him.”

Maglor’s blue eyes glittered in synchronization with the jewels in his hair.

“I could be dangerous if you wanted me to.”

“Hmm...” Daeron tried to draw his lips to a line, but he couldn’t stop the smile from blooming. “I’m not so sure I do.”

When Maglor kissed his neck he simply threw his head back with a sigh.

Yes, indeed. A night to remember.

[cassiabaggins]

Stars

A/N: Kiliel week day four! Thank you again for all your support and I hope you enjoy this, too! It was originally written for Day One, using the prompt The Feast of Starlight, before I decided to reorder all my stories.

First      Next      Masterlist 

Tags: @anjhope1 @deathlikessodaandpizza @lonikje @myrin1234 @wettomatodude @lothloriien @annkdarar @artsywaterlily @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @drowingintheempty @estethell @claraofthepen @kilielweek 

Warnings: n/a

Summary: The feast of starlight is approaching, and a long absent friend has returned

Kili finds Tauriel at the top of the tallest tower in Dale, looking at the stars. He almost doesn't expect it, even though Bard and several others had told him she was back. It's been almost four years since she left. (Three years, eight months, and twelve days, to be exact, but Kili hasn't been counting. Not at all. That would be weird.) 

But here she is, atop the tower, as beautiful and unchanged as the day he first saw her. Her fiery hair cascades down her back, shining in the setting sun, and his fingers itch to braid it. As if she'd ever let him…

"Hello, Kili," she says, turning smoothly from the vision of the sunset to smile down at him.

"Hello," he replies, a little stunned by her smile. When she does, it's like her whole face lights up, like the sun has come down from the sky to live in her countenance. "Bard said you'd be here," he says finally, shaking off the drug of her attention. "I was told that an elf had recently taken up residence in Dale. I hardly hoped…" 

"That it was me?"

"I didn't think you had anything to come back to, here," he says softly. She smiles again.

"To see you again is reason enough," she says. Kili stares, taken aback. She seems a little flustered by his gaping and turns back to the sky. The sun has fully set now, and the stars light the velvet sky.

"Do you know why I came back by tonight?" She asks softly.

He comes over to stand at her elbow, glancing up at her. "Because you missed me?" He queries hopefully.

She glances down at him, the sunlight smile flickering once more across her features. "That is part of it.”

“Only part of it?” He laughs. “Call me a fool for hoping I would be the only reason you came back.”

Her smile brightens slightly, but then it fades and something melancholic slips over her face as she looks up at the stars. “Do you know what night it is?”

Kili opens his mouth to reply, but she doesn’t let him.

“It is Mereth Nuin Giliath,” she whispers. “The—”

“Feast of Starlight,” he finishes with her. “How could I forget?”

“You remembered?” She looks down at him. “I didn’t think—”

“I’ll never forget this night. It’s special to me. Though perhaps for a different reason it is special to you.”

“I wanted to spend tonight with you,” she admits. Kili stares, struck dumb. She bites her lip nervously, shifting on her feet.

“What?” he breathes finally.

“That is the other reason I came back... I was tired of spending this feast alone. I wanted to spend it with you.”

He can feel his face warming, and looks down so she cannot see his blush, looking down at her hand, resting so close to his atop the wall. Their pinkies are almost brushing, and if he moves his hand just a little… He takes the opportunity and clasps his smallest finger with hers. He glances back up at her. “I’m honored.”

She turns their hands so they’re holding hands properly, fingers woven together, and despite the slenderness of her hand, there is no weakness in it.

“We have the same calluses,” He blurts, and she nods.

“From the bowstring,” She says. 

“Aye.”

He laughs a little and she gives him a quizzical look. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says.

"I'm glad I'm back, too." She replies.

[homicidalkinks]

Dirty talk for Corpse

Dirty Talk: My muse is hearing voices, and they’re saying everything they want to hear.

>Oh gosh this was a thing. You’re a blushing mess as all the voices say what they want to do with you, telling you how sexy you are and how much they want to touch you. You can’t help but whine, wishing they were tangible and could actually do what they promised. Grope you, fuck you, anything.

[mists-of-hithlum]

TW: Non-graphic character death

They call her marred.

Finduilas has lived her whole life with those words whispered behind her back, gossiped over when she’s out of the room and sometimes even openly discussed when her family isn’t there to protect her. Her father has told her she should just ignore them.

“They just don’t understand how the Valar work,” he tells her. “Just because you haven’t found your partner on these shores yet, doesn’t mean anything about you. Maybe they haven’t been born yet.” He smiles. “Or you are like your aunt Artanis and your partner waits for you on the other shore. And you wouldn’t call her marred, would you?”

He is right, of course. They are all right. It’s not like their family isn’t the subject of too many rumours already. Her father knows exactly how it feels when people whisper about you behind your back.

But somehow, this is different. It is personal. It is against her, not against the circumstances of her birth or who her grandfather chose as his partner. It isn’t like the rumours the bored nobles of Tirion like to circulate about Indis and what she did to earn a place at Finwe’s side or how Arafinwe’s children and grandchildren shouldn’t count as real Noldor. They hurt too, of course, but when they call her, Finduilas, daugther of Artaresto, a flaw in the music, it cuts deeper.

Especially because they are right.

She debates herself over and over if she should ask Fëanaro about the rumours. He is the only other one in the family they single out too. But everytime she is either too afraid of his famous temper or another rumour makes her doubt again. What they say about him is so much worse than what they say to her, so she doesn’t. She shouldn’t trouble him with such trivial things.

When darkness falls over Tirion and flames light up eight swords with their light, Finduilas chooses to go even before her parents have said anything. She feels like she’s suffocating here in Tirion, with the gossip chasing her every step. Marred, seem the stones to whisper. Those blank, white stones without a flaw who mock her even in the pale light of candles and torches. Staying here would be a slow, agonizing death only prolonged by the absence of her family. And maybe, a voice in her head whispers, she’ll finally find her other half on the other shore, like her father told her once.

Not even her mother staying and Arafinwë turning back manage to change her decision.

It doesn’t take long for the rumours to start again.

After that first battle and after Findecano’s daring rescue of Maitimo – Maedhros – the gossips stay quiet about her. There are far more interesting things to discuss. But then comes the Mereth Aderthad.

Her father parades her through the entire feast. She cannot find a better word for it. Of course Finduilas knew he wanted her to find her partner. His absolute conviction that someone is waiting for her and he only needed to find them warms her heart on some days. On others, she wants to scream and smash things. She doesn’t need anybody. No matter what the Valar told them about Eru’s plans, how every elf has someone designated for them, she is whole on her own. But the other elves don’t understand and so she grits her teeth and smiles through a thousand introductions, handshakes and empty words.

Just once she gets a moment to herself. When she leaves her father’s side with the flimsy excuse of wanting something refreshing to drink, she can already hear the rumour mill working again. She snorts. For seemingly immortal beings, the elves are awfully obsessed with every little thing that changes.

“Don’t listen to them.”

It takes her a moment to recover from the unexpected visitor at her quiet little corner.

“Still as observant as always, cousin,” she greets Mai Maedhros and smiles the first real smile since the start of the feast.

Maedhros raises an eyebrow. “You know our family. Being observant is a survival skill here.”

Finduilas laughs and for a moment she can nearly forget about the scars that now mar her favorite cousin’s face and the hand he is missing. It’s like they are back in Valinor, young and carefree, with nothing to fear.

Maedhros’ next words destroy that illusion quite efficiently. “Don’t listen to them. You aren’t marred or tainted by Morgoth, no matter what they say. Believe me, I would know.”

It takes a lot of Finduilas’ self-control to not get up and smash the nearest tent into pieces because she can’t get to Morgoth right now to avenge her cousin. “I’m trying. I know they are wrong, but they just never stop.”

“And they never will,” Maedhros agrees quietly. “But they don’t matter, pitya tuilë. Someone will always gossip about you behind your back. That is the nature of the court. Your conviction is your armour. They don’t get to decide how you live your life.”

Finduilas raises her chin. “They won’t,” she promises.

A flicker of white fire raises its head behind Maedhros’ eyes. “Good,” he says and disappears the next moment back into the guests.

It is the last time she’ll see her cousin alive. Afterward, a part of her is glad she didn’t need to witness his downfall.

“Finduilas! Here you are!”

After Maedhros left, it doesn’t take her father long to find her again.

“I want you to meet somebody.”

Those dreaded words. But as Maedhros told her: Other people’s opinion of her doesn’t matter. It can’t hurt her.”

So she takes her father’s hand and lets herself be led to a handsome young Noldo with eyes grey like stone. The way his eyes never seem to leave her make her want to roll her eyes. Another one to disappoint then.

“This is Gwindor, son of Guilin,” her father introduces him. “He is one of your uncle Finrod’s people. Gwindor, this is my daughter, Finduilas.”

“Descriptions do not do your beauty justice, my princess,” Gwindor greets her. “I am glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you,” Finduilas replies politely instead of a snappy retort.

“In truth, you look like the pools of Ivrin when Arien herself shines on them!”

“It is an honor to meet you, Gwindor,” she answers and the hope in her father’s eyes nearly makes her want to throw up.

Once Gwindor gets over his worship of her – and truly, Finduilas isn0t so beautiful, not compared to her other family members – they get along quite well. She discovers his delightful sense of humour and they have great fun mocking the other members of Findarato’s court behind closed doors. Faelivrin, the name Gwindor gave her on their first meeting, becomes a joke between the two of them.

Her father still hopes she will one day discover that she loved Gwindor all along and Finduilas will have to disappoint him once again. She does love Gwindor. She really does. Just not in the sense her father and everybody else seem to want.

Gwindor is alright with this. It was a long, tearful conversation after Finduilas’ armour finally broke down and she told him everything. He accepts her the way she is and he couldn’t give her anything more. In return, he told her about his partner who died crossing the Helcaraxë and how he wants nothing more than what she’s ready to give him either. They never tell anyone else about those things. Their bond is their own and if others want to assume things, they are free to do so.

And then, the Noldor start to lose.

Aegnor and Angrod die first. Then Celegorm and Curufin come, Finrod gives everything up for a stranger and when the tales from the heroics of Beren and Luthien are sung all over Endor, Nargothrond quietly mourns its king. Her father steps up after his brother, but it is never the same.

When Gwindor leaves with his warriors, Finduilas nearly wants to call him back. She doesn’t. She knows why Gwindor needs to do this. He knows why she can’t be at his side. They don’t owe each other more than the other is ready to give.

They part and he doesn’t return. Finduilas knows he isn’t dead and that makes it worse. Their bond isn’t as strong as a marriage bond, isn’t as solid as one of two people who know their feelings for each other, but it was always there. She feels the pain Gwindor goes through even if he tries to shield her from it and she mourns for the elf he was. Even if through a miracle he gets back, he will never be the same again.

Through it all, only the hope of Gwindor one day returning keeps her going. After everything, the whispers have transformed into sharp-edged things meant to hurt. Her armour is strong, but even an armour can’t protect her from everything. Maedhros’ words have always helped her, but they can’t help her when she blames herself too. Maybe she really is marred. After all, everyone she loves leaves.

The miracle she hoped for goes by the name of Agarwaen and carries himself with the aura of a king.

Finduilas isn’t proud of herself for what she does next. But over the years Gwindor was away, the rumours slowly started to become unbearable and the man is right there. He clearly won’t fall in love with her and even if he somehow will, one day, she won’t have ruined him by pretending to be in love. Humans have more than one option in their lives, her uncle once told her. It still seems strange to her but she won’t complain when she gets such an opportunity.

Her father doesn’t look happy, but at least the rumours stop.

Gwindor doesn’t agree with her, but he understands. After their big argument, when he tells her Turin’s true name, they come to a truce. He still loves her and she still loves him. Their bond once again strenghtens when they decide they don’t need to put a name that doesn’t fit on their relationship. When she (badly) pretends to be in love with the human, Gwindor won’t stand in her way.

And really, she doesn’t truly love him. Maybe that’s enough to shield her from the curse.

Later, that misjudgement will cost her everything. Later, she will die alone and afraid on a hill for something out of her control. Later, the history books will paint her as a tragic figure, torn between two men she fell in love with. Later, the people who once couldn’t stop gossiping about her will forget her, an unimportant figure in a much grander history. Later, she will be remembered as the weak-willed child of a weak-willed father, a princess who died with her kingdom.

The history books won’t mention how she didn’t even get to die beside the one she loved.

When she finds herself in the halls of Mandos, she keeps to herself.

Gwindor’s beloved is here. She’s felt him die before her, so he is here too. Now they have a chance at reuniting. No need to ruin their happiness when they still haven’t found out how they truly feel for each other. Nobody on Arda needs a second Finwe-and-Miriel-and-Indis type of situation. Maybe in a couple of centuries, she’ll go and search for them. Right now, they are better off without her.

Finduilas doesn’t get a couple of centuries. She doesn’t even get a month, if her hazy sense of time in those halls can be trusted.

“Here you are! We had search everywhere for you! You aren’t still mad because I ruined your favorite brush, right?”

Finduilas looks up, disbelieving, straight into Gwindor’s grinning face. “Gwindor, you apologized at least a hundred times, got Tyelpë to make me a custom fit new one and that was more than twenty years ago! You can’t possibly believe I’m still mad at you…”

She trails off when his grin only gets wider. “I knew that would get you to talk,” he proclaims, satisfied. “Now get over here and meet my partner. I’m sure you two will get along great.”

Of course he’s right. Tinwë is a delight and she can see why Gwindor fell in love with him so many years ago. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued but surprisingly gentle and an excellent opponent in a discussion mark him as someone they had dire need of in Nargothrond. They’d have so much fun at court.

And maybe, she slowly likes him too. She doesn’t fall in love, just like it was with Gwindor, but there is something between the two of them that just feels right.

Tinwë is it too who finally gets her agonizing feelings for Gwindor sorted out. “You love him,” he says to her once, out of the blue, when they walk together through the endless passageways of Mandos’ halls. “And he loves you. Anyone who can’t see that is blind.”

“And what do you think about that?” Finduilas’ voice sounds strong but her hands shake.

He surprises her by turning around. “I love you too,” he says simply. “Not like I love Gwindor, but I love you. You make him happy. He makes me happy. You make me happy too.”

Finduilas has to blink a tear out of her eye when he lays a hand on her shoulder.

“He told me about the things people used to say about you. I don’t think you are marred, Finduilas. I think you are just the way you’re supposed to be. How could you be wrong? If you were different, you wouldn’t be yourself anymore.” He laughs and adds: “Certainly far more boring, that’s for sure!”

And then Gwindor comes and embraces all of them and Finduilas thinks, maybe she was right all along. Why would she need anyone when she’s the happiest she’s ever been right here, right in this moment?

And one day, all three of them walk together out of the halls of Mandos. Finduilas takes a deep breath of clean air, grips Gwindor’s and Tinwë’s hands a bit stronger and for the first time in her whole life, she feels whole.

[the-battle-lesbian]

Horizon Zero Dawn Playlist

Aloy

Aloy's Theme by Joris de Man & Julie Elven

You'll Be In My Heart by Phill Collins

Force of Nature by Miracle of Sound & Sarah Murray

Wild Heart by Two Steps From Hell & Felicia Farerre

Fearless by Kellie Loder

True Strength by John Dreamer

Metal Ruins

The Ancients by Two Steps From Hell

Elisabet Sobeck

Human Legacy by Jo Blankenburg

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep by Bright Light Low

The Carja

Flight of the Silverbird by Two Steps from Hell

Crusaders of the Light by Globus

Fear Not This Night by Clamavi De Profundis

The Shadow Carja

Shadow Republic by Future World Music & Aram Mandossian

Helis

Antagonist by Jo Blankenburg

The Wolf in Your Darkest Room by Matthew Mayfield

The Eclipse

Eclipse by Twisted Jukebox

Corruption by Two Steps From Hell

The Cauldrons

Machine City by Immediate Music

The Frostclaws by The Flight

The Banuk

Warrior of the North by Peter Crowley

The Old World

Children of the Sun by Thomas Bergersen & Merethe Soltvedt

Six Feet by Patent Pending

Feed the Machine by Poor Man's Poison

The Faro Plague

Rise of the Machines by Future World Music

Project Zero Dawn/ Operation Enduring Victory

Architects of Life by Ivan Torrent & Celica Soldream

Going Down Fighting by Phlotilla, Andrea Wasse & Topher Mohr

GAIA

Creation of Earth by Thomas Bergersen

Mighty Rivers Run by Globus

The Forbidden West

Promise of the West by Joris de Man & Julie Elven

A Tale of Sea Dragons by Marcus Warner

Red Leafs by Soundcritters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ If you have a Spotify account, it can also be accessed there as "Horizon Zero Dawn Playlist"! Obviously, this is an ever-evolving playlist as Forbidden West is released and eventually forms a complete second part. While I have the songs divided up by header, I feel the best exerience is listening to them all together in this order, especially the Old World through GAIA- it feels like it tells a story. There is also (obviously) Rost love in here through "You'll Be in My Heart" and "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" even though it was too awkward to fit headers in for him there. I know Sylens is not here but I have a feeling with the character development coming in Forbidden West I will be able to find some great soundtracks for him! TBA! Please share/comment/reblog/like or if you ahve some song recs throw them in the replies! Can't say they'll make it on the formal playlist but I'm sure everyone who comes across the post would love the broader recommendations.

[llatimeria]

thanks so much! and also thank u to the person that replied! im probably gonna buy it and like... hope for the best that my outdated version of windows on the family laptop can support it, if not ill prob wait til i my parents buy me a new laptop (in 2 yrs, going into uni lol) and hopefully the files can be transferred on a different pc. I rly don't know how it works lol. at least I know the money will be in good cause and it won't feel like it's wasted. ty again!

np!! as long as you bookmark the link and keep that safe somewhere, you should be able to have access to the bundle forever. Even if the link is lost, itch.io has process to recover it, but I can’t speak to how well that works since I haven’t needed to go through that myself x-x

(also @merethic, thx for the helpful reply!!)

[qethnehzul]

The way you wrote "Bad!merethic! AU!" made me wonder if there were two Merethic era AUs? A good one and a bad one? Also, is Casil just mute or is she deaf as well, because if she's just mute can you imagine Miraak using her as a spy. "Shh, that elf holding the serving platter is listening!" "No, she can't hear." Casil: Yes I can you ingrates.

I’ve always kind of imagined two different ones WEH. The bad AU where Casil’s Miraak’s slave and everything is Awful, vs the much nicer one I think that you had bounced around with me where Casil’s sort of been raised by a dragon and has any level of respect / autonomy CRIES.

Oh my god. She’s just mute, but acting deaf would certainly work- especially since people basically treat her like that to begin with since she has no idea what anyone is saying no matter what language they’re talking in. I imagine Miraak does eventually use her as a spy, since people really don’t pay her any mind. What is a mute elf gonna do?