#warrior luthien

[arwendeluhtiene]

My warrior Lúthien variation (May 2018)

-My Lúthien cosplay posts

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[peasant-player]

Elrond with dramborleg

"His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of stars."

This drawing was for @armenelols and @polutrope post about elrond using a family heirloom "dramborleg".

Oh boy I had so much fun.

My main thought while painting this was " what would be different about elrond?"

And the answer is alot but a the same time nothing.

Elrond is in a way a sad character he kind of lost everything and the only constance in his life is the heralded past of his ancestors/family and friends.

He almost can't remember his parents but he can read about them even maglor is ,despite being a kindslayer, described as strong imposing and a mighty warrior.

His own brother,who chooses mortality,is a revered king!

This elrond that I depicted here is not the lord of Riverdale. Not married yet.

This is a elrond who will stand between evil and his folk.

Just like his ancestors did.

He is holding a legacy of strong unrelenting men who did change the tides of war who done the impossible no one else did before them!.

This is also elrond who found out that his brothers legacy Numenor is at the bottom of the sea - because of sauron.

This is a elrond who becomes a lord for many different kind of elves because he is a different kind of elve.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Silmarillion AU Where all the Elves are Hobbits and the Stakes are Significantly Lower:

Finwe is mayor of his part of the Shire, happily married to both Miriel and Indis because they all have two hands

Miriel doesn't die after childbirth she just goes off on a trip to find new artistic inspiration and doesn't come back

Don't worry she eventually shows back up again– turns out she got lost and a kind elvish warrior named Vaire helped her find her way back

Feanor has a good relationship with his siblings, although he and Nolofinwe have engaged in several bouts of passive-aggressive one-upsmanship

The most famous of these ended with Nolofinwe swimming several miles across a lake in winter to prove that he was the more dedicated brother. Feanor agreed after telling him off for being reckless.

The Silmarils aren't pseudo-holy gemstones here, they're a set of three really intricately carved pipe-weed pipes that the Finweans pull out on ceremonial occasions

Morgoth isn't a fallen god he's just an asshole elf who regularly breaks into the Shire to steal things

One day he steals the Silmarils; he doesn't kill Finwe though he just knocks him out

The rest of the First Age is mostly just increasingly convoluted plots by various Finweans to break into his fortress and steal back the pipes (and all the other stuff Morgoth has stolen)

The first of these attempts involves Feanor stealing one (1) boat from Mayor Olwe. No one dies though and he puts it back afterwards. It still results in a lot of petty gossip.

After one of the attempts Morgoth catches Maedhros and hangs him up in a really tall tree

He's stuck there for three weeks before Findekano finds him and gets him down with the help of a homemade hang-glider called "Thorondor"

One of the other hobbit mayors is Thingol, a dear friend (and possible ex boyfriend?) of Finwe

Most of the Ainur are elves here but the concept of hobbit Thingol marrying an eldritch goddess is too funny to pass up so Melian is still a Maia here

She and her descendants look pretty hobbit-ish but they have fairy wings and little antennae

It causes a huge scandal when their daughter, Luthien, runs off with a dwarf prince named Beren

Thingol even writes a very strongly worded letter telling her not to marry him, which is a very extreme measure by hobbit standards, but she doesn't listen

Eventually Beren decides to steal some hobbit stuff back from Morgoth to prove his worthiness

He ends up stealing back one of the pipes and giving it to Thingol

Thingol grudgingly accepts him and Bluthien settle into a nice, quiet life in the Shire

There's no Doriath kinslaying either there's just a long, very passive-aggressive series of letters between Thingol and Feanor until Finwe eventually steps in and Thingol returns the pipe

[southfarthing]

crazy that elrond is just walking around in his garden with his hobbit friend reading books and eating dinner or something and then you remember he's. the great grandson of THEEE LUTHIEN. the luthien of legend!!! and then the great grandson of TURGON! literal KING OF GONDOLIN. and then you calm down a bit and then immediately stop again because now you've remembered that if we go back another generation we've reached THINGOL and FINGOLFIN – the merging of elwë and finwë's folk. you know, the OGs?? he could (theoretically) be king of both the sindar (and all the teleri tbh) and the noldor......... that's like 2/3 of the big three groups of elves? he's one of the only living descendants of the high kings of the past, and not in a ridiculously distant way like aragorn is. he... he could be the king of the whole world honestly. and he isn't. he doesn't want to be.......he wants to be the lord of a haven where people can rest and heal and grow and learn and talk and love.......he chooses peace and serenity and safety over glory. he's his ancestors but actually successful. he's the sun. he's beautiful. he's as strong as a warrior. he's as wise as a wizard. he's as kind as summer. he's the bestest boy in the whole world. I'm eating my hat

[newscroll]

In the lotr books, many female characters don't have much agency outside of men or are objectified, but as a woman I appreciate how femininity is portrayed in Middle Earth. Middle Earth is mostly patriarchal and famous warriors get the spotlight a lot and there aren't nearly enough women characters, but the narrative never implies there's something wrong with being gentle or "emotionally sensitive" in a traditionally feminine way. A lot of media that tries to be feminist can't say that.

The power of feminine characters tends to be less forceful, yes, but not less powerful (think Luthien facing Morgoth). In fact, I think women are portrayed more favorably than their male warrior counterparts for creating things (Yavanna, Varda), bringing growth or healing (Este, Nienna), or protecting (Melian's girdle, Galadriel's Lothlorien). The male characters rewarded most by the narrative are ones that show these "feminine" qualities, and those that disrespect them are rebuked.

As for the women in the main books, all are shining symbols of hope/strength to those around them. Their beauty is mentioned a lot, and there's some objectification there, especially with Arwen and Goldberry, but with the beauty power and wisdom.

(Side note: Most powerful, good things in Middle Earth are also beautiful in one way or another. Even Gandalf with the bushy eyebrows past the brim of his hat is described: "his long white hair, his sweeping silver beard, and his broad shoulders, made him look like some wise king of ancient legend. In his aged face under great snowy brows his dark eyes were set like coals that could leap suddenly into fire." i didn't realize Gandalf was like that but ok)

Anyway, Galadriel and Eowyn especially are powerful in the forceful way, but they learn not to covet power. They're given opportunities to join in the cycle of violence and struggle as martial figures and both turn from that path. Rejecting violent power to be wise and compassionate is an honorable thing in lotr, even if the characters and societies that make up Middle Earth often fail to realize it.

Summary: there are issues with how Tolkien wrote women but he made them out of wisdom and kindness and gentleness and understood the value of those attributes. Misogynists don't respect things that are "traditionally feminine", and the most praised attributes in the narrative of lotr are a "feminine" kind of bravery and honor, which perseveres and remains compassionate in the face of war and the temptation of power.

[nelyos-right-hand]

One thing I often hear when talked about kidnap fam is that while the "and love grew between them"-thing is obviously canon, that people don't think it is as happy and harmonic as often portrayed, or even that they actually like the fluffy version more, but logically have to admit that it isn't very realistic.

But I think that's exactly the point. No, the likelihood of E&E having a healthy relationship with Mae&Mags after, well, everything is pretty low, but how likely was Beren and Luthien actually getting that Silmaril?

Tolkien loved Beren and Luthien, and not just because it was kind of the only story in the Silm with a happy ending, but also because of the odds of that happy ending. If I didn't know better, a couple infiltrating the enemy's fortress, beating him, getting away and doing all of that with nothing but the "power of love" or whatever would sound like a fanfiction to me. Maybe a well written one, but definitely a fanfiction.

But Tolkien loved this story because somehow it all worked out and that makes it incredibly beautiful.

And wouldn't it be maybe unrealistic but beautiful, if after E&E lost everything and then got KIDNAPPED, they somehow ended up having a happy childhood anyway? If they found love and happiness, by the people who did this to them no less?

Or if those bitter, broken kinslayers, after everything they've done, found some kind of happiness again, however temporary, and, for a short period of time, had the chance to relearn the meaning of mercy, innocence and forgiveness? They certainly didn't deserve it, but didn't E&E deserve a happy childhood?

I think that it makes kidnap fam even better if you think that there's just no way that ten year old children would be able to heal from that trauma and come to love those battle hardened warriors, and it almost makes me cry to think about how little Elrond and Elros didn't forget what happened, but chose to forgive it, even though kids this age shouldn't have nearly the wisdom necessary to do that.

And it becomes even more tragic if you think about how it all falls apart in the end, about how they all knew from the very beginning that this little family of theirs could never last.

So, I think that this version sounds a lot more like Tolkien then an unstable, disfunctional family with 50% love, 25% hate and 25% toxic behavior. I'm not saying that E&E didn't sometimes have conflicted feelings towards Mae&Mags or that the brothers weren't struggling with their sanity, but give this people some happiness guys.

[eri-pl]

the Silm has not enough of women making bad decisions.

(One cursed Niniel, one ambiguous Galadriel, and one Numenorean queen with cats) (Marrying a guy that turns out to be evil or stupid isn't enough of a bad decision. there should be like... Bedchel test for evil / bad decisions. Is she evil in a way not related to a guy she's in love with?)

So I propose:

Maglor's and Curufin's wives were full on board with the Oath & kinslayings

And other wives of Feanorians, if you assume there were any.

To make it make sense:

Maglor married later than his brothers, shortly before the Darkening. Or he wasn't even married, just dating, but she followed him and they married on the ship. She was a warrior and was more effective in Alqualonde than Maglor (he still was effective, don't get me wrong).

She was one of the elves accompanying Maedhros to the negotiations and Maglor had been extremely relieved that she died, and not ended up like his brother, He hated himself for this.

Curufin's wife... She made awesome swords. She left him at the Luthien situation, similar to Huan leaving Celegorm. But she looked too Noldo and got shot by some random Doriath elf before she could explain herself. (The Doom of the Noldor works!)

(Disclaimer: I'm bad with C&C&C lore, so this may not make sense)

Also, if you want to make it more pointed:

Furious that they were not invited to the original swearing of the Oath, they swore later, together. (They invited Galadriel, but she refused in very impolite words).

Depending on how sadistic you feel, they either swore verbatim the same words as their husbands&co, or a more reasonable version of it. (without the blasphemy and more focused on supporting their family? And actually reclaiming the gems?)

[e-the-village-cryptid]

Andor charcter names & Spanish!

so while watching Andor, Saw Gerrera's name popped out to me as obviously being based on the Spanish word guerrera (warrior), but once I noticed that a whole lot of other names presented themselves so I am compiling a list:

Brasso — abrazo (hug) — this man is so friend-shaped

Saw Gerrera — guerrera/o (warrior) — he sure fuckin is

Taramyn Barcona — barracón (barracks) — he was a former Stormtrooper

Dedra Meero— miro (I look/I watch) (pronounced the same as meero) — her meticulous observation is her key character trait

maybe this is a reach but Kassa Andor— casa, andar (home, walk/go/travel), he's someone always running from or trying to return to his home

Clem Andor— clemencia (clemency/mercy) — he was always shown trying to keep the peace and yet was shown no mercy himself

Perrin — perra (bitch.)

also some that are probably just me making something out of nothing but are way too close to spanish words not to include:

Cinta Kaz — cinta is just straight-up a spanish word, meaning tape/ribbon but can also be used to mean film in the movie sense. maybe trying to say she is the tape/ribbon tying this rebellion together? or if it's the film definition, invoking a meta sort of tragic inevitability? (I am reading too much into this and I am wrong here let's be clear)

Vel — vela means candle— as in she is this small but burning flame of rebellion; velo means veil— as in her sight of some parts of this thing are clouded. (once again I am reading too much into this and I am wrong here please ignore me)

also not spanish but. luthen. luthien. an instrument crafter. the way he gradually builds tools to play the music of the rebellion. the NAMESSSS the names

please add on if you have more!

[middle-earth-press]

Who is left in Dorthonion?

Rumours about heroic guerilla fighters abound even beyond its borders.

Beleriand Times

Outlaws of Dorthonion Wiped Out

The Free Peoples will mourn.

Beleriand Times

The Outlaws of Barahir Reported Dead

We join in sorrow with the families of the twelve heroes, many of whom are with us now.

The Brethil Circular

Beren Son of Barahir Allegeded Alive and Still Fighting

Legend or reality, it seems the story has inspired many across Beleriand to join the struggle again.

The Doriath Daily

Morgoth's Lieutenant Sent to Destroy Lone Guerilla Fighter Beren Barahirion With An Army

It is both a testament to the unusual skill the warrior has shown in evading enemy troops so far, and a reason to fear that this might not be enough any longer. We remind that the price on his head is equal to that promised for the death or capture of the High King, though whether it would be paid out in either case remains highly dubious.

Barad Eithel Standard

Beren Barahirion Reported Dead (Again)

No sign of the warrior has been marked for many weeks.

Beleriand Times

A Parcel of Strange Reports

Beren is said to have, recently at least, been alive, somehow involved in the Nargothrond coup, and imprisoned in the Isle of Werewolves, but the strangest rumours concern his alleged liaison with the princess of Doriath and a nigh-unbelievable bride-price.

Dor-Lómin Weekly

Isle of Werewolves Destroyed by Doriathrim Princess; King Finrod Dead

The pressing question of why and how Lúthien of Doriath was involved pushes celebrity gossip into the realm of military councils.

Barad Eithel Standard

Breaking: Silmaril Stolen from Iron Crown

Lúthien of Doriath and Beren son of Barahir have accomplished the impossible.

Beleriand Times

Beren Barahirion Dead

It is alleged the mortal warrior has met his end at the fangs of Carcharoth. Exclusive interview with hero's mother: "He has been pronounced dead so many times... Who can say whether this time it's true or not, or if he hasn't already been dead for months. I allow myself to hope, as ever, but never more than that."

The Brethil Circular

Beren & Luthien Alive?

Rumour has it the mortal hero walks the green earth still (again?). It wouldn't be the first time his apparent fall turned out to have been a false alarm but this incident was better documented than the others. Can Mortal Man return from death? - we ask the Wisewoman on page 4.

Dor-Lómin Weekly

Hithlum Readies Itself for Battle

"For the first time in years, it feels as if we have a chance to succeed."

Barad Eithel Standard

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

AU where Thingol, not Beren, dies fighting Carcharoth

The Hunting of the Wolf begins similar to canon. Carcharoth has eaten a Silmaril and is mad with pain, destroying the woods near Doriath.

As in canon, Carcharoth leaps from the bushes at Thingol.

Beren, fighting with his off hand, still bleeding from his right wrist, is just a moment too slow.

Beren swings his spear, and wounds Carcharoth, but not before the wolf has attacked the king.

There is a bite taken from Thingol's chest, and a savage scratch in his face. Even with the strength of an ancient elf, the light of Valinor, and the love of a Maia, it is too great a wound to survive.

Beren tries to staunch the blood, but it's too late.

Thingol says to Beren, "Love her, my son." The command is unnecessary, but Thingol dies thinking of his daughter and trusting her choices.

Melian screams, and every twig in Doriath shakes with her grief. She does not leave though, not while her daughter still lives and may need her.

Huan and Carcharoth fight, and die.

Mablung cuts open the wolf's belly and takes out the Silmaril. He places it on Thingol's breast.

No one in Doriath really wants to look at the Silmaril though. This is what tore apart the royal family, what their king died for, what brought the Wolf to ruin the forest.

There is talk of burying the Silmaril with Thingol's body, but Melian refuses to have it rest in her earth. The Silmaril is at once too cursed by Fate and too blessed by the Valar.

Melian can feel the Silmaril sing, and it would bring her in harmony with the first Music if she let it, until she was nothing but an instrument of Eru's first will. She would care only for the harmony of Arda and the good of all within it.

Melian is not willing to give up her passion and grief for her husband, or her love for her daughter, or her realm.

So the Silmaril is put to the side of the royal treasury for a few months, while a funeral and a wedding are planned.

Luthien is crowned Queen, with Beren king beside her. Melian is willing to stay and guard the realm as she has for centuries, but she is less able to hold her elven form without the one who inspired her to take it up, and in truth rarely cared for elven concerns.

Queen Luthien sends announcements of her coronation to the Falas and Nargothrond and Ethel Sirion.

(Maedhros begins recruiting for an attack on Angband. Murmurs in Doriath are that he is driven by shame, with the cowardice of his brothers compared to Luthien now known to all.)

Beren sends a letter to the people of Nargothrond, who have suffered as great a loss as the people of Doriath, with the loss of their king. He does not regret asking Finrod for help, but he grieves with them.

Privately, he tells Luthien that he wishes he had something of his own to offer, some token to remember Finrod, the bravest warrior in all elvendom.

Beren could give back the ring of Barahir, but he would just as soon keep it as his own memento, of promises kept and loyal friends.

Luthien has an idea.

It may be a terrible idea, but she is Queen, and all the treasures of Doriath are hers to with as she pleases. No one stops her.

In truth, no one argues that hard. Luthien and her husband are the ones who went on a dangerous quest, so the prize is theirs to do with as they will. Thingol might have standing to argue, but he's dead.

So Mablung, as the one who cut open the wolf's belly, is sent as emissary to King Orodreth, with a package he touches as little as possible.

Orodreth meets Mablung in a private room, after what a mess allowing an outsider to declare their business in the town square was last time.

(Not that Orodreth puts it that way, of course. But if Beren had mentioned the Ring and the Quest where none beside Finrod could hear, the Feanorians would not have learned until it was too late, and Finrod would have marched on Tol-in-Gaurhoth with a full army. He would have lived, Orodreth is sure of it.)

So there is none but Mablung to see how Orodreth's relaxes for a moment at the first moment of Treelight across his face, then nearly drops the Silmaril when he realizes what he is holding.

Orodreth cannot refuse the gift. It would be terribly insulting to Doriath, and all it would do would be move the looming bloodshed to his sister's home rather than his own.

Passing the Silmaril on would be an insult, even as tribute to King Fingon. And giving it to the sons of Feanor is as good as declaring himself open enemies with Doriath.

Orodreth asks Mablung to tell no one in the city what he has brought, to say only that Beren and Luthien grieve Finrod's death and sent a token. Mablung agrees easily enough, not being in the habit of gossip.

But much of Doriath knows, and though trade with the guarded realm is scarce, it is present. The secret may last for weeks or months, but in a year or two everyone will know that Nargothrond houses a Silmaril.

Including the sons of Feanor.

Orodreth locks the Silmaril in the most secure vault, to which only he has key, and thinks.

After a few days, he summons Celebrimbor before the court.

Orodreth declares Celebrimbor the Steward of the Vaults, responsible not for the daily spending of the kingdom, but for the safety and upkeep of the gems and elaborate ornaments that belong to the king.

Orodreth made the position up just now, but he gives it real responsibility. He doesn't wear the Nauglamir as his brother did, but neither does he want it stolen, and it needs the links oiled and the gems polished.

Celebrimbor is a jewelsmith, and a perfectly reasonable choice for the role.

And in the private audience afterwards, Orodreth emphasizes that Celebrimbor has authority over the vaults second only to his own. If Celebrimbor wishes a piece repaired, or a gem reset, he needs consult no other, even if it's a piece made by Feanor himself and brought from Valinor.

And speaking of things made by Feanor...

Celebrimbor is a bit insulted that he was given the role more due to the family he denounced than due to his skill. But he is not so insulted as to refuse the title, or the chance to closely examine so many masterpieces of jewelcraft.

Neither Celebrimbor or Orodreth are sure if this counts as hiding and hoarding a Silmaril, but it's now under the care of Feanor's kin so the Oath should be satisfied.

Right?

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Then They All Fell To Their Knees As He Raised His Fist Before He Spoke Chapter 1

Summary: Elrond decides fuck it and joins the fellowship of the ring. Sauron should be getting very worried right about now. Title from Hells Comin’ With Me because that’s kind of the vibe here.

He appraised those before him, many valiant warriors certainly, some with enough good in their hearts to perhaps fight the corruption. Maybe they would stand a chance, just maybe, of overcoming this darkness. They would have to he supposed, after all the age of the elves was coming to an end, his kind were dwindling after so many ages of loss, few remained on these shores and fewer still of the famed heroes renowned in song.

Even they were chiefly renowned in songs recounting their heroic deaths, their last stands, their attempt to fight against total despair just that, attempts; brave ones of course but…. The Elven heroes of song almost always failed, with particular emphasis on those coming from the house all three of his fathers belonged to who in their case were quite literally doomed, ‘to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well,’ summed it up quite succinctly he thought.

Now, Earendil had circumvented that Doom for himself but only by forsaking all else, an untold sacrifice of all he held dear and through incredibly fortunate timing that was unlikely to be replicated and they certainly couldn’t wait for. If there was hope to be found was it really to be found in those great heroes? Perhaps their time had truly passed, now their only role was to provide shelter and counsel to those who needed it and protect their own until the time came to sail.

Had they not already given enough to this Middle Earth? Now they were truly spent and the other kindred must finally learn to do this completely for themselves, they’d needed him less and less as the years wore on regardless, fewer travellers coming through as his house’s existence was occasionally forgotten to mortal memory . In a few more millennia it would be as if they’d never been there.

He was willing to see it done, the Fellowship of the Ring with the hobbit as Ring Bearer, least likely of all the kindred to be corrupted if Bilbo Baggins was any example to go by. He was willing to see it done until the youngest hobbit appeared from where he’d been observing proceedings and demanded to be included in the quest. Elrond knew he would not be able to turn him away, just as he and Elros could not have been made back down from bearing arms at what must be a comparable age.

How many times must this happen? How many would have to sacrifice their innocence for their safety, make such impossible decisions for those they loved? Could he truly let this continue, let more people continue to suffer as he and his brother did in a world torn apart by war? He could not in good conscience stop Pippin from fighting to save Middle Earth from subjugation or refuse him his loyalty to his friend but perhaps he could protect him as he hadn’t been protected.

If Earendil had broken the Doom through sacrifice Elrond would do it through sheer righteous fury. One thing the Noldor could not be criticised for was their lack of will to keep trying when all the odds and common sense were stacked against them. Besides, Luthien and Beren had won against Morgoth. Perhaps he could take some of those ‘whatever the opposite of cursed is’ genetics and combine it with the stubbornness and fury to end this once and for all.

He was definitely not doing the ‘and my weapon’ bit though. This was a time sensitive matter and it would take many more years than they had for him to list all the items he had on his person that would be considered weapons in his hands.

*****

They waited for Elrond to finalise it, surely he must say something, after all this was his council so it only followed that he would announce its end. He simply furrowed his brow, Frodo wondered if perhaps he had decided they may not have hope after all; if Elrond believed it was futile he wasn’t sure what they would do next. There was nowhere else to go, no one more likely to have all the answers.

After a tense moment’s pause Elrond rose to his feet, all eyes in the room waiting for him to voice his approval of the quest. He announced with suitable solemnity ‘You will be the Fellowship of the Ring.’

Gandalf nodded to Elrond in a private moment of conference, accepting the path that had been chosen. Then, for the first time in Frodo’s memory, Gandalf seemed genuinely taken aback when his old friend continued to speak, eyes widening in complete shock.

Elrond smiled at Frodo, with just as much kindness as he had before but an edge of something, of light and passion glinting in his silver eyes that Frodo hadn’t seen anywhere before. ‘I will accompany you on this quest also and give what assistance you may require to see it to its end.’

This was met with a moment of confused silence, no one quite knowing if they had understood correctly; it was one thing for a reckless young archer prince from Mirkwood to volunteer his services but elven lords- elven lords known for their scholarly and healing prowess at that- did not go on quests. They simply didn’t, they hadn’t for more generations than hobbits as a species had existed for, they hadn’t since the One Ring was new to the world.

Glorfindel was the first to recover his voice, ‘My- my lord are you certain?’

The advisor at his side, Erestor if Frodo remembered correctly, looked at him incredulously, distracted from the look of pure exhaustion he was sending towards Elrond, ‘Of course he’s certain. We hoped this day would never come but just look at him, he’s gone full Finwean. There is no way you’ll be able to get him to back down now.’

The look of pure terror that took hold of Glorfindel at these words, when he had shown not a trace of concern at those black riders, was staggering to behold as he swung around in his chair and stared at Elrond in horror, ‘Elrond- I beg you to think rationally. Please don’t do this.’

Elrond spoke gently, ‘Glorfindel, you needn’t worry, I can manage-’

Glorfindel exclaimed in despair ‘I’m not worried about you! You don’t understand, your family will kill me if you pull a Fingolfin. We’ve gotten so far, you can’t do this to me now.’

‘Glorfindel no one is going to hold you responsible. I’m several millennia old, they know I make my own decisions-’

‘Do you think that will be enough to hold off the Lady Idril if I tell her her only grandchild rode off to face Sauron the year he was meant to sail! That’s not even to start on if the Feanorians in Aman have recognised your adoption as making you a genuine heir to their house, they’ll tear people limb from limb! Starting with me!’

Erestor seemed much more calm about the whole thing, inquiring in a voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘Will you require a large hound of some kind? Since we seem to be resorting to plan L of our Last Alliance contingencies?’

Elrond did not pay him much heed and began to move on to other matters, ‘Arwen will take care of Rivendell, she’s more than capable.’ Here Gandalf shot Elrond a questioning look and Elrond nodded in response which seemed to both satisfy and surprise him going from a brief rise of the eyebrows.

‘And I have full faith my captain and counsellors will assist her should she need it. My sons will muster the Dunedain, they are not as many as they once were but I’m sure Aragorn can attest they may be of no small importance in the fight to come.’

‘Is there anything else?’

*******

By the end of the week Elrond had set as much in order as he could, organising a few packs, mostly comprised of whatever healing herbs he may struggle to forage for and anything he thought his companions likely to neglect, he had enough faith to know Aragorn would pack well but it was best to be cautious for the rest of them.

The hobbits were not used to such journeys and while they could be relied on to think of things that would be nowhere on anyone else’s list of priorities such as, from what some of his rather mystified kitchen staff had informed him, pots and pans, they may pass over more urgent matters such as tertiary blades in case they lost their first two. They would have packed at least two wouldn’t they? He’d heard the Shire was a peaceful place but surely not so peaceful they wouldn’t carry little knives in their boots just in case? Maybe it would be best he pack them five each as a precaution.

The old motions brought more memories back than he usually cared to respond to all at once, Maedhros drilling into him what he would need to have on him at all times, yes even while still in Amon Ereb you never knew when orcs could attack, grabbing the essentials from a camp that needed to be abandoned without a trace faster than anticipated.

He knew he was putting this off, it was a greater struggle than he should like to admit to relinquish the power Tyelpe’s last creation gave him; despite never seeking it out, to feel it leaving him, especially on the brink something that would require any reserves of strength he could call on, was no small thing.

The longer he left it the higher the likelihood he would manage to convince himself it was unnecessary when he knew how disastrous the consequences would be if one of the three left Rivendell, where it was safe from Sauron’s designs and protected this place that was so dear to him and would not survive without it.

He found Arwen by the shores of the Bruinen, the spray dancing about her hands as if it had already recognised her as its current mistress; perhaps it had. There was a melancholy air about her, an apprehensiveness; the fate of this quest certainly held more at stake for her than many others as now it would include both her love and her father in the balance.

He carefully slipped Vilya from his finger and gazed upon it for one last time, cradling in his palm the flawless work of one of the greatest smiths who had ever lived, his beloved, far too trusting, cousin, betrayed for his good nature by one he had let into his halls.

This was for him, for his Tyelpe and for his king who had pressed the ring into his hand, entrusting it to his keeping, in the bright dawn of the day he had ridden off never to return, a parting gift to the person he had loved most in the world, given with a chaste kiss to his hands.

This was for Celebrian, his wife who had endured horrific torment and suffering at their hands, who had been forced to leave by the vindictiveness of all that Sauron had created. This was for all of them, what they had begun must finally be called to completion, they must finally be able to see that it had not been for nothing, he would not sail and join those he loved until they could rest in the knowledge that Middle Earth was safe, that their tormentors were gone.

He could not hope to succeed if he allowed his desire for the power he could call on from this ring if situations left his control to cloud his judgement of what would truly be best for their goal. He must be able to trust that he was strong enough himself, if he was going to need to fall back on external power to save them once things got challenging there was no point in this entire endeavour.

So he smothered any lingering hesitancy and sat by his daughter’s side, holding the ring out before her. ‘I think it is time you take this, my daughter. It will give you the power to shelter this valley from those who would do it harm in my absence.’

She met his eyes and took it, watching for any hint of reluctance to relinquish it, cautious as he had taught her of the snare objects such as this held on those who possessed or coveted them. He watched her place it into her finger with a combination of many emotions but mostly an overwhelming sense of pride.

She closed her eyes and he could feel her mind pushing out cautiously around her, prodding her and there and embedding herself into the valley’s fabric, the force of the river setting in her consciousness with the throb of her heart, the earth beneath her bursting into bloom quite suddenly with the excess of power flowing through her veins and spilling out in the form of a few new rose bushes on the river bank.

The valley may have been reluctant to accept another guardian after so long, even one who was in many ways familiar to it, so to intertwine with it fully Arwen only needed a little push. Elrond’s heart was somewhat lighter after discovering that the process did not push him out of alignment but only have her settle in beside him, even without Vilya he could feel the hum of the valley around him as he had before.

He was also much relieved that he hadn’t been relying on the ring as much as he’d feared, hadn’t become complacent enough to forget years of training and he felt his- well Galadriel didn’t like to call her own abilities magic but he was less certain about that matter in his case, as, he believed, was she though she hid it well- was as honed as ever, restless and waiting for a chance to be set free on it’s unfortunate enemy.

When Arwen opened her eyes at last her eyes were wide and shining, reeling from what she felt coursing through her, suddenly having things that she had only glimpsed in her father’s eyes her entire life at her fingertips in a single moment. She had most likely never looked more like Luthien Tinuviel, the certain sense of the otherworldly enhanced to a degree rarely seen in those with as slight Maia heritage as her.

‘Ada, I,’ she blinked rapidly trying to carry a train of thought through when bombarded by that of so many in the valley’s at once than she was used to, finally setting for a disbelieving, ‘Is this how you feel all the time?’

Elrond chuckled, ‘You get used to it my dear.’

‘Really?’

‘Just give it a few thousand years.’ The glare she gave him was met with perhaps less cowering and a good deal more chuckling than she would have liked.

[arwendeluhtiene]

My warrior Lúthien variation (May 2018)

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[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 7 - And then you know, you just know

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

seventh chapter synopsis: Tomorrow came and became yesterday. In Woodland, you found more than just a roof over your head: you discovered a different way of living. And Thranduil also discovered something, a secret hidden by his own heart. [4K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. padme you will never be forgotten! if you watched pushing daisies i have something to tell you: 😉. another thing and i promise it is the last: anyone interest on hearing the playlist i made for this series?

glossary: Maenwë: Clever girl┆Losto vae: Sleep well┆Melön: Friend┆Vendë: Maiden┆Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Aithor: Warrior┆Alassëa rá: Good morning┆

“You are as intimidating as a butterfly, maenwë.”

A dry laugh escaped your throat as you rolled your eyes. Most people would not do that to a king, but that was a limit already crossed. And the alcohol did not helped. It was all Thranduil’s fault, and he would admit it too. Woodland’s wine is stronger than what you thought, and the sindars party for way longer than you are used to.

You held yourself against the door of your chambers, your fingertips brushing the wood carved elk. It was your best attempt of standing still while also being serious. “You are testing my pati…”, a hiccup stopped you from finishing your sentence.

Thranduil laughed. He guffaw. After a moment of silence, so did you. Everything felt so bright and lighly. “Losto vae”, said Thranduil. It sounded so far away, even thought you knew he was right there in front of you.

How long has it been since you both left the dining room and were there, standing in the corridor of your chambers, talking the night away? Thirty minutes, maybe an hour. You lost track of time. All you knew is that your feet hurt, and your eyes were heavy.

You started to open the door, finally doing what you meant to do since you got up from your seat beside the Elvenking. “You too, dear.” Entering your room, you felt sleep joining forces with the strong wine to get you down. “You too.”

The door had already been closed for a few moments before Thranduil could move. He just stared at it, unable to do anything else. Thranduil gave a step back, his gravity trembling even though he was far away from being as wasted as you, and walked towards his chambers trying not to look back.

For the last week you spent at the inn, you could not keep your eyes closed out of rage. During your small journey, boredom made you sleep for the most part of it. Sleeping have once again become an unachievable task. 

Not out of rage, or disinterest, nor sickness. But because of something else. Something better. Little by little it overcome your body. Strange, but not unsettling. For a moment it felt just like happiness, then it was something else entirely. You never wanted so bad for tomorrow to start. For something else to happen.

Longing. The problem is that you knew exactly what you were longing for. You knew exactly what your mind could not stop itself from thinking about. Who haunts your sleep, accompanied by the full moon. And the more it haunts you, the more you understand what it truly is. Or what it is not.

Gandalf has a gentleness that hides in the brutality of his words and actions. He cares, deeply. Aerin was present, forever concerned about you. Respectful until she was not. Luthien helped you with your shoulder, letters and secrets. Gildor surprised you with his lightness. Even Lorie, whom you know for a few days, already means something for you.

Thranduil is a friend, one that so quickly found a way into your soul, but he is not just that. What you feel for them is something completely different. To call him a friend is to diminish what he really is. To diminish what you feel for him. Thranduil is… 

He is not a friend.

Thranduil is your favorite person in the whole world.

Those days you spend at his Halls, all those moments you shared with him, just made you more sure of that. At every meal, Thranduil saves a seat for you by his side. After every training session with Tuor, he has that concerned gaze that makes impossible for you to not share what happened. And Thranduil, a king, somehow has time to hear all your dirty jokes.

It felt like you had just closed your eyes when Lorie opened the curtains, complaining about how cold it was there. You blamed the wine for not being able to get out of bed, and Lorie for not being kind enough to let you stay in there for a few more hours.

Sat on your bed, you agreed when Lorie showed you a dress. You did not even glanced at it. She spoke a few more things, not that you payed attention. You would have agreed with anything if it meant you could close your eyes and pretend you were sleeping. Your body felt just like static, and your brain was far away from functioning.

Lorie helped you change from your nightgown, mostly because your body would not stand for itself. The dress was so comfortable. So soft. The fine silk made you feel like you were wearing a cloud. It was of a blue that remind you of clear waterfalls. Chains of pearls held it against you.

Glaring at yourself through the mirror, you were mesmerized. You never thought a dress could make you feel like the fairest girl alive, but there you are. You touched the fabric, and it seemed to glow with the contact. It was unlike anything you had ever seen. 

Yesterday you wore a beautiful dress. Today you wore the sea itself.

“The Elvenking will love this one”, murmured Lorie, running her fingers through your hair. She decorated it with flowers, leaving the length loose. “Maybe even more than you do.”

You let go of the dress, turning your head to face her. “You think so?” 

Suddenly, shame hits you without mercy. Lorie should not have realized that Thranduil’s opinion matter so much. Nor should you hope of her being right. “He will not even notice.”

Lorie returned her attention to your hair, weaving the pearly flowers into your strands. Her fingers felt so great against your skin, so delicately tooking care of you. “I thought this was your goal”, she hummed. “To become more.”

You looked at her by the mirror. “To become what?”

“To become our queen.”

You coughed. Hysterically. “What? No, I… I never said that I was trying to do… this. That. Whatever you thought I was doing. I am here to learn.”

And all she did was to smirk. “Alright”, Lorie raised her arms, surrendering. “I judged you poorly. I apologize, melön.”

“It is fine,” you whispered, without looking at Lorie again. Your whole being was aching. Burning. Thranduil and you. That is… impossible. A king, a immortal graceful being, and you. He would laugh at the thought.

"And still, I must admit that I am definitely right about the king”, Lorie touched your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “I never saw Thranduil look at anyone the way he looks at you. And I was born only a few years after him.”

Lorie is old in a way impossible to understand or explain. And when you have the chance of hear a being that saw lands form, seas dry, stone fortresses rise and fall, you do it. You do it, despise fear or embarrassment.

You held her hand, feeling Lorie’s warmth emanate into your skin. “What do you… mean by that?”

Lorie leaned down, her face fit against yours. She felt so warm. So caring. “One day, maybe sooner than i can predict, you will become more”, she whispered against your ear. “And when that happens, I will say ‘I told you so’.”

It felt like a promise. Maybe because it was.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

When Tuor threw you a sword, you credited luck for catching it before it sliced you in half. It certainly was not for a previous experience. Or any further warning.

“That is… new”, you hesitated. “Did you confuse me with someone else?”

There is something so young about Tuor. Perhaps because of his comforting smile, somehow always half present on his face, or for the way Tuor seems so in peace with his own silence. But looks can be deceiving. Tuor appears to be young, but he is eons older than you. Maybe his memory is just as flawed and untrustworthy as one of an elderly human.

Because there is no other sane, logic explanation for Tuor to throw you a fucking sword.

"I know exactly who you are, vendë", Tuor's sword was in its sheath, and you could see it was much larger than yours. You have gone through Gandalf's things a few times, and got used with him hitting you in the head with his staff for using his sword as a toy. You recognize a two-handed sword when you see one. "Now we need to understand who you will become."

You looked around you, hoping someone would enter the hall and give you a reason to avoid whatever this conversation was supposed to be. Only then you questioned yourself about why you both were in a different room than the usual. No furnitures, tapestries, not even paintings or sculptures of any kind. It was just you, four wooden walls, and Tuor.

A perfect room for people to bleed in.

"You will not try to murder me, will you? I know our past lessons did not ended up as we wished, but is this really necessary?”

Tuor lead you throught ancient knowledge in an attempt of getting you in tune with your powers. He showed you Woodland, told stories about gifted people, gave lessons about self control. And no matter how much Tuor tried, nothing ever evolved.

Tuor seemed to lose the thread of his thoughts. "Why would you ever say that, vendë?"

"You have a menacing sword."

"So do you."

With a sword in your hands, the only person in real danger was you. “It would be very unfair if you try to murder me now."

"I will not murder you. I will train you", Tuor could not stop the smirk from growing on his face. "Just in a different way.”

"And how will it help me?"

"I heard so much about you", Tuor walked slowly around you, resting his forearm on the scabbard of his sword. "About how you did not waste a second to act when it was needed. That requires a lot of courage. To face a river."

"Anyone would have done the same on my place. And if I did nothing I..."

"Would have felt bad", murmured Tuor. Was he quotating you? "It all lead me to a obvious conclusion: you work better under pressure."

You sighed. When Thranduil offered you to be trained, you thought he meant read ancient tomes and talk to people older than the sun itself. And for a time it was. But now you will be trained. Trained trained. What have you done with your life?

"You do not have control over your gift", Tuor glanced at you, and in his eyes you saw something beyond confidence. Something similar to competence. "So we should redirect it to something you do.”

The sword you held seemed heavier. “And what should I do with that?”

"Hit me."

You waited for Tuor to say something. Then you waited longer. And longer.

You tried to remember the way Gandalf wielded his sword. How he seemed to use it as an extension of his own body. You also thought about the gleam of Thranduil's longsword.

You looked at the one in your hands. It was so thin, the metal was forged into an almost cylindrical shape. The handle was not long, and it had the right thickness for you to be able to hold it firmly. Paying attention, you saw how beautiful it was.

Your first blow was quick, but Tuor only had to turn his face for you to miss it. He laughed, and so did you. After a long, deep breath you attacked again. This time Tuor took a step back, and you stumbled as if the world was pulling you down.

“Now that you are warmed up,” hissed Tuor. “You can go all out.”

You swallowed the excess saliva, trying to keep yourself from feeling irritated. You aimed harder this time. The sword came down, and if you had hit Tuor he would been split in two.

At every attempt of yours, Tuor just backed away. Unaffected. It did not matter how hard you tried, if you did something different, how you held the sword. It just never hit him. 

And of course it would not. Tuor is a general. Way more experienced than you. A warrior. Respected because of his abilities. And you know that. It is obvious for you. But how could you not get mad when he kept on smirking everytime you fail? Even his eyes mocked you.

With your wrists burning, you decided to stop for a second. Tuor noticed it, and made sure to not keep his mouth closed. “Are you even trying, melön?”

“Right now I do not feel like your friend”, you sighed.

Your response got him off guard, making Tuor chuckle. He quickly returned to his serious face, reminding himself about his goal. Tuor need to get a reaction out of you. To make you feel something deeply, something other than that warm tranquility that is somehow always present in you. 

“So what should I call you? Vendë? Or maenwë?” 

Tuor waited for you to say something, then it clicked. He remembered a thing he heard. At the moment it did not meant anything, but now it could be useful. Thranduil was so upset about it — he mentioned it once and never again talked about it, which could only mean he thinks constantly about it. Tuor hopes it will get an reaction out of you too.

 “I know exactly what to call you.” Tuor gave a step towards you, smirking like a poisonous snake. “From now on, I will only address you as Lossëistar.”

And he did get an reaction out of you. A dumb one. A stupid, idiotic one. You made a decision no one remotely intelligent would have done. You did not even actively thought about it, it was instinctive. 

You slipped your foot on the ground and closed your hand over the base of the sword. For a second the thing on your hand was a spear. One that you threw right at Tuor.

It missed his cheek by an inch.

The sword chased into the ground and broke into a hundred little pieces. But what reached your feet was not forged metal or the base jewels. What broke, floating in that empty hall like a shallow fog, was ice.

Tuor kneeled down, took what once was a piece of your sword, and watched it melting on his palm.

“Melön. From now on, melön.” Tuor’s smiled was infectious. “And we need to get you a spear.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It has been so long since Thranduil had seen his advisors so dedicated. In a matter of days since the translator gave them all documents found, every change was planned. New lookout routes mapped, expenses for new guard posts stipulated, blacksmiths chosen to forge new weapons, evaluations scheduled for soldiers’ skill.

“Which generals will lead the evaluations?” Thranduil inquired, glaring at the dagger in his hands.

It was perhaps the ugliest he had ever seen in his long life. A blackneded dagger, with its tip bent, the edge lost and wrong angles. Even if Thranduil had not know the stench of blood, there would be no need to cling to that sense. The dried blood was begging to be seen, daring anyone to ignore it.

The bag that revealed the betrayal of free people had it hidden in one of its secret pockets. To imagine how many people died at the hands of that disgusting being, and to never be able to discover if any of them were from his realm.

It interested Thranduil almost as much as the loom shaped pendant with snow inside the crystal. Thranduil cannot help but feel offended by it, the same way he felt lured by the jewel. 

So much had been done in Greenwood, and yet not enough. They can change everything, make only the best choices, and it will still not matter if they do not know who the spy is. There is no way of stopping the Enemy without that answer. 

Thranduil knows that it is not a advisor responsibility to find a culprit. He do not blame any of them for not having a name for him to blame. Thranduil has his suspictions. A traveling wizard with long white beard and a pointy blue hat tops his list.

“I will begin with the evaluation of the king’s guard”, said Tuor. “The officers are-”

“There is already a training under your responsibility, aithor”, Thranduil stopped him. “With your focus divided between so many tasks, the chance of one of them being done mediocrely is higher.”

“I disagree, your grace. I am the leader of the king’s guard, I know their limits and abilities. Furthermore, it is not as if your guest’s training is not progressing.”

After a few seconds of silent planning, he nodded. “Then I shall trust your discernment,” Thranduil begun with the subject he was supposed to. After acting as a king, he said what he wanted to. “Her training is progressing.”

It makes no difference Tuor calling him your grace if when given the chance his devilishly smirk will appear for anyone to see. “If there is something I can guarantee, your grace, is that she knows how to use a sword”, rejoiced Tuor. “Or a spear, to be more specific.”

A brief moment of silence came, but it was louder than any scream.

“Out”, said the king.

Tuor was the only one that remained sit.

As the door was carefully closed, Thranduil stood up. Leaning on the table, he bent over look into Tuor’s eyes. “What have you done to her?”

“I trained her. And it worked. Better than I expected.”

“With a spear?” Thranduil growled.

 “A sword”, corrected Tuor. He could feel Thranduil getting angrier, but he did not saw what Tuor did. “Next time it will be with a spear.”

“I thought I ordered you to guide her with her gift”, hissed Thranduil. “Not to make her fight. Not to maim her.”

“I did not…”

“I have no interest in hearing your empty excuses”, Thranduil interrupted. “If she is hurt, if by Varda her shoulder suffered because of your stupid delusions, you will not evaluate the guards. You will be one of them.”

Thranduil stormed out of the room, and Tuor felt as if his breath had followed his king. He shook his head, the echo of the doors slamming against the wall still in his mind, and stood up. “So over the top”, he whispered.

The Elvenking marched towards your chambers. Thranduil knew it would inconvenient to enter a maiden’s room unannounced, but he could not just wait. To think he trusted Tuor. That he believed in his ability. And that is what he get in return.

Thranduil remained determined in his path, until he heard a distant laugh. An all too familiar laugh.

He followed the sound, and was startled to realize it was coming from one of the kitchens. A servant came out, bowed as she passed the king and forgot the door open behind her. Thranduil did not even noticed that. He just continued walking, this time without rush, until he was right in front of the open door.

“And just when I turned around, prepared to walk away and never look at his face again”, your voice lured him. He could not see you, surrounded by elves that were supposed to be working, but to hear you was enough. To know you were there, laughing while sharing a story he did not heard the beginning, was enough to make the Elvenking just stop in time. “The horse decided to run away from me.”

The laughter returned, but his heart remained the same. It was not yours, so it did not affected him.

One of the cooks saw him, and she bowed with an awkward, startled movement. This caught the attention of others around her. With a gesture from their king’s hand, they left the room pulling their distracted colleagues with them.

You already had a smile on your face, but it just got bigger when you saw Thranduil. “Alassëa rá!”

Thranduil steped closer to you, admiring the way you radiated calm. You were fine. Not hurt, and using the dress he personally commissioned Lorie to sew when he saw the sketches. You looked divine.

“What you do here, maenwë?” A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face.

“I craved something sweet”, you gestured towards the half-made pie in front of you. You were stretching the dough to cover the filling when you got distracted by conversations. 

His smile disappeared. “You should have warned me then. It is Lorie’s responsibility to guarantee you will not lack anything here”, Thranduil scolded. “As my guest, you will never have to work. I will find the best pie-maker and make him do everything you crave.”

“Sometimes it is just not that deep”, you answered. The basket of raspberries was turned over by flour-stained hands, and you turned to him with the prettiest one you could find. “Try it,” you offered him the fruit.

Thranduil stared at the fruit in your hands. “It is a offense that you think you need to deal with hardwork under my home, maenwë.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed his hand and pulled the Elvenking closer. Chocked, Thranduil did not pull away when you opened his hand and placed the raspberry on his cold palm. 

“Again: not that deep”, you smiled as you stared into his ocean blue eyes. “It is just a pie.”

Thranduil did carried you all the way since the meadow until Luthien’s cabin. He did helped you get up from the bed after your long unconscious time. His fingers brushed against yours when you gifted him a precious book.

And still, this was the first time you held him. And by doing that, Thranduil never before felt so complete.

Thranduil could not hear anymore. He could not breath anymore. He did not saw the flour stuck to the bench, or noticed the heat, nor smelled the scent of sweet raspberries. The world could have burned and he would not see the ashes.

His world was reduced to only you. Like a mantra is his head, your name echoed throught the halls and hidden passages of his mind. Time moved, but you remained still. His world was expanded to only you.

Spring flourished in your hair, summer sparkle on your body. Smelling like pomegranates and lilies, you enchanted the earth. Water surrendered too, with rivers running down your curves. And meanwhile the sun shone above, Thranduil finally saw you for what you are.

Like the moon, you empermeated into his darkest nights. And just like the moon, you shone on him.

The sun is warm, but the tight embrace of the darkest nights and its brighiest stars are unstoppable. The sun burns, but the moon heals. Nothing would ever compare to the sweet returning home, or a dream filled with hope, nor the yearn for a sleep that never come. The sun shine on some, but the moon watches them all.

“Will you eat with me?” You asked, fingers still holding his hand. You were looking at the pie, trying to calculate how long it would take, but Thranduil continued glaring at your eyes. Thranduil dived into them, and he would gladly drown. “I think it will take about a hour.”

As discreetly as the lady who arrived late for dinner revealed herself to be able to stop a river, Thranduil discovered that this ache on his heart was what people call love.

You are his moon. Thranduil’s moon and stars. His treasures and riches. His sweet, toothaching sweet, friend. How stupid was him to not see it before. How deaf, dumb and blind.

“I can wait.”

[Eigth Chapter]

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[thesummerestsolstice]

I think it would be very funny if half-elves were just all short. Even the ones who are descended from really tall elves or mortals. By mannish standards, mind you, they’re fairly average, if built a little lighter. But compared to elves? Consider:

Earendil, descended from Turgon AND Tuor, great dragon-slaying warrior, and he comes up to like, the average elf’s shoulders

Erestor son of Caranthir looks almost exactly like his father but he’s about a foot shorter and much nicer

M&M fully think something’s horribly wrong with E&E as children because of how small they are (is this because of the cold they got two years ago?? Are they not eating enough???) but turns out no, half-elves are just like that

Elros was shocked when he first met humans and realized he was taller than most of them

Elros would also love to use Maedhros's sword but he's way too short to wield it so he ends up using a an elvish knife instead

The main way people tell Luthien and Elrond apart is that Luthien was really tall and Elrond is really not

Elrond also uses his shapeshifting specifically to be tall enough to reach books on the higher shelves of the library (Erestor is very jealous)

Glorfindel appreciates this because it makes it easier to physically drag Elrond into bed after he refuses to sleep for a week

[spreta-invidia]

Do you have a daemyra fic rec list please? I’m desperately searching but they don’t live up to what you write I love your writing so much !! ❤️

Thank you so much!!! <3 That means so much to me! Thank you for reading and loving my writing.

I didn't have an actual Daemyra rec list, but I put a short one together today! There's so much fic in this fandom that I love, and so much that I have in my tbr queue also!

One Shots (canon or canon AU)

Those Happy Golden Years by SeveDeChampagne: This is actually a series of one shots set between episodes 7 and 9 that I think are just lovely. This is also maybe my favorite subgenre of Daemyra fic?

girls have their secrets by ginvael: This fits the subgenre above also! This is more focused on Rhaenyra, Baela, and Rhaena, and their relationships as the girls grow up. I really love ginvael's writing.

watching, always from the outskirts by vintagemocha: This is Alicent POV, but hear me out- it's great. The outsider POV works so well here to show Daemyra through the years.

burn for me by luthien_under_bough: Dark young queen Rhaenyra demands a special declaration of fealty from Daemon. Luthien's writing is so, so good basically always, and in this piece what got me was her use of detail. Also. Hot.

Multi-chapter (canon or canon AU)

Lavender Haze by madgirlslovesong: I think this is my favorite take on the idea of a disinherited Rhaenyra. This fic pairs really wonderful emotion with really interesting plotting/politics, and some excellent Daemyra content.

Bigger than the Whole Sky by CharlieLeau: Would you like your heart to be broken and broken and then mended? Then this is the fic for you! Instead of bearing her three sons during the ten year separation, in this fic Rhaenyra suffers a series of miscarriages, so the Rhaenyra Daemon reunites with is very different than in canon.

WIPs (canon or canon AU)

Threads of Black, Threads of Green by madgirlslovesong: I described this the other day as "if HotD was actually like ASOIAF" which is probably the highest compliment I can give. The hunt for the white hart inspires Rhaenyra to step up her political game. I caught up with this over two nights and I was so tired at work. Worth it.

Battlefields by calenlily: I'm a sucker for warrior Rhaenyra, but especially in the way calenlily does it here: very much a young woman in a new arena, with missteps and moments of glory both. Super excited for the rest of this. (Calenlily is another writer whose work I enjoy very much!)

Maternal Love by ginvael: An Aemma fix-it! I LOVE time travel fix-its, and this is one of my favs. There are some excellent moments between Aemma and Rhaenyra here.

Speaking of time travel fix-its... I think these two are abandoned, but I love what's there: Beyond the Black Door and five seconds later.

Modern AUs

Petrichor by sweetestsorrows: Really great Rhaenyra POV that takes the reader on a seven-year roller coaster through her relationship with Daemon.

entropy by firecollide (WIP): One of the first modern AUs I read in this fandom! In addition to being super fun, this fic also reignited my love for Arctic Monkeys.

This is definitely incomplete as lists go. I am perpetually behind on things and sort of a sloppy bookmarker (and also not a great comment leaver, though I am trying so hard to get better at that- it means SO much to me when people leave comments that it's almost talked me out of the incessant "oh god why does anyone care what you have to say, ugh you're probably sounding like an idiot" that goes through my head often/always tbh). There are gaps in here I should fill, and some fics are not available right now that any list of my favs feels naked without (High Hopes, I'm looking at you).

Let me know if you love any of these in particular! <3

[growingingreenwood]

Also, one ask based on your last answered one:

How big was Thranduil's friend group back in Doriath? Like we know he was friend's with Luthien and obviously Ferdan, as I think Beleg was mentioned as hanging around them once or twice, but was there anyone else?

And did any of them survive til the end of the fourth age, or they died in some war/life drifted them apart as time went on?

I think that the group of people that Thranduil was FRIENDLY with was quite large when he was still living in Doriath. Much larger than anyone who met him in the third or second age could easily believe. I think that he was on good terms and friendly terms with most of the “”younger”” elves living in Menegroth that he came into regular contact with. Generally speaking, Thranduil was easier to get along with back then, as long as you weren’t trying to tell him what to do you were probably fine. His good naturedness and kindness was a lot more open to the world back then, rather than something that he kept guarded away and sometimes all but denied its existence. He just wanted to have fun and explore with those who also wanted those things. 

He wasn’t just there for the vibes, Thranduil WAS the vibes. And others wanted to enjoy those vibes, but he didn’t really strongly care if they were there or not. He was doing his thing either way, probably with his partner in crime. 

However, there were still very, very few elves that Thranduil considered to be real, actual, genuine friends of his that he would trust with anything important or private. I think he probably always had around 2 or 3 friends, likely fellow warriors, but always had a best friend that he spent most of his time with. First Luthian and then Ferdan after she passed away. 

I think that Beleg was somewhere in between being real friends with him and being friendly with him for the simple reason that he was Thingol’s Chief Marchwarden and was therefore obligated to report certain shenanigans. So while Thranduil enjoyed his company greatly, he could not be trusted with The Shenanigans under any circumstances. 

Other than Ferdan and Celeborn (does he count as a friend if they’re related?) In my little universe, Thranduil only has one other friend from Doriath that made it through everything to the fourth age without dying or losing touch. His name is Maedir, he and Thranduil went through their training together and became friends and remained as such. He’s Ferdan’s right hand man when it comes to training new recruits for Greenwood.