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yellow-faerie · 1 year

Note

An edit for Nibenaes or Legolas' sisters?

Ok so the Legolas' sisters edit rather got away with me so wait a hot second for that one to appear. But as I did want to keep you waiting, here's the Nibenaes edit (with a small ficlet attached :))

There is poison running through her blood: she thinks she can almost feel it.

Like drinking from a stream on a hot day, the wicked thing crawls through her veins, making its way from the wound in her stomach up to strange her heart and brain.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles around a thick tongue. "I said we would be married after the war."

Rochind is obviously trying not to cry as he gently brushes her hair from her face. "It is alright meleth-nin, this parting will not be forever."

It is difficult to move now but she finds the energy within her to press her cheek further into Rochind's comforting touch. He gently runs his thumb over her cheek.

"Sleep, find peace so that we might meet again and be married."

"Do you...promise?" she asks through the murkiness in her brain.

"Of course, of course I promise. Betrothed, I love you and I-" hus voice cracks- "I will always find you again."

"Through here," Déowine says as Haleth's daughter appears from the shadows of the village outskirts.

She smiles - she knew Déowine's mother, who was a member of Haleth's original honour guard - and takes entry to the long hut.

There are a few villagers milling around, tending the fire and cutting up food. Their conversation dies as she enters but it is replaced by a hacking cough as Haleth pushes herself up in her bed.

"Mother," she says and hurries forward to help her sit against her cushions properly. "You are ill, you shouldn't move-"

Haleth scowls. "Nonsense, I shall sit up and look my daughter in the eye when we talk."

"Of course Mother," she acquiesces and perches herself on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I am old, my daughter, I have not felt truly well for many winters. I do not believe that I shall make it through this one."

She knew that this waws coming - such was the fate of mortals - but it still hurts to hear it from her mother's lips. They have always had their differences, have never got on perfectly, but to lose her...

"Do not cry Haldis, for your tears could be put to better use."

Haleth is not a soft person and certainly not a soft mother, so Haldis wipes away her own tears and turns the conversation to the last harvest.

"Oi Fëanorian! Get out of our city!"

She stops in the middle of the street as a stone hits the back of her head. Canaer growls beside her but she grabs xem by xir arm and keeps xem close to her side as the elf behind her yells something else that's muffled by the crowd.

"Hey, you can't just let that go!"

"Yes, I can. It's not worth getting into a fight, they were drunk anyway."

"I'm telling Arasell."

"Sure, be my guest. She'll agree with me." She finally lets go of Canaer's arm, determining that they are far enough away that xe won't turn right around to punch a drunk, grieving elf in the face.

"They insulted your family, surely-"

She turns around sharply and the expression she is making is enough to cut Canaer short.

"Insults and honour and that sort of nonsense is what got them into this situation." She swallows, and turns back to the road. "In any case, I'm not considered part of the House of Fëanor anymore."

"Really?" Canaer asks, incredulity crereping into xir voice.

"Yes, now just...drop it. Please."

She doesn't like parties, for they're too loud and invoice to much small talk (which she hates) but thankfully her father is of the same mindset and so parties in Nenost are irregular.

"On your third glass of wine already?"

"Fuck off Nelladon."

Nelladon laughs. "Ooh irritable today Carnistiriel?"

She swigs the rest of her glass down. "I'm going to kill you."

He shoves his own, half finished beer into her other hand, and gives her a lopsided smile. "I'd better escape then, hadn't I? I think I see someone who needs a dance anyway."

He gives her a soft punch in the arm and disappears into the crowd again.

"Haldottir," she's called by the Haladin who march to the Nirnaeth Aroediad.

They ask if she's going to fight, where she's going to fight, and look at her expectantly.

She is very good at avoiding the question. Her father forbade her from fighting, after all: she is to stay at camp and help the healers prepare for injured or a retreat.

Whichever comes first.

"Haldottir," they call her and she hates it.

She tells Crinthammos as much and her father's hard lieutenant softens. "It is always difficult to step out from your parents' shadows, particularly when they are as great as yours."

"What can I do?" She asks, desperate for advice, and Crinthammos just smiles.

"Be yourself. That way people can only see you as you."

"You haven't torn your breeches again Attamíriel," her father says tiredly and Attamíriel gives him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Atya, I didn't notice until we were off the old wall."

"You shouldn't be climbing there," he says, taking the torn clothing from her hands and examining the imperfection with his critical eye. "It's an abandoned outpost for a reason - half of it collapsed in on itself."

"We were careful!"

"Careful enough that you got your breeches torn." Caranthir sighs and pats the seat next to him. "Come on, you can tell me about your day while I fix this."

She's only called Dwarf Friend once, in their tongue which she doesn't repeat to outsiders.

It was Gerí who calls her it as she and Crinthammos come to see her and Nelladon off on a journey north to visit her uncles.

She takes her aside as Crinthammos helps Nelladon check the saddlebags are packed correctly.

"You are strong, daughter of Caranthir," Gerí says, taking her soft hands between her own calloused ones. "You are like your father, a Dwarf Friend, and so you must keep your head high and your sight clear. Do not fall for petty arguments."

She had laughed in the face of Gerí's seriousness. "Don't worry, we are visiting my family, we shan't be in danger."

"I do worry. You are going into a political viper nest."

"Then I shall be sure to bring anti-venom."

Gerí sighs, shaking her head affectionately. "Ah, you'll understand one day. Now go, or else you won't get to the first check point before dark."

The trumpets sound as she dismounts and hands the reigns to Rochind, who will undoubtedly be glad of the company of horses after that journey.

"The King's Squire," someone announces as she strides into the throne room.

She bows before the throne, ignores the stares and whispers as she always has, and addresses the king.

"Lord Celebrimbor is dead and Eregion has fallen."

Gil-Galad must have already known - or at least suspected - that this was the truth. He sinks back in his throne just a bit but keeps his face severely impassive as the room erupts in discussion.

Elrond, standing at the king's side, stares at her in shock and she tries not to think that he knows what she did.

That it was her knife-

"Thank you," Gil-Galad says once he's decided that the nobles have had enough time to digest the news. "Is there anything for this court?"

"No your Majesty."

"Then you are dismissed."

She bows and flees to find Rochind.

Nibenaes wakes up on soft grass and dandelions.

Míriel's cloak is wrapped around her shoulders and she's otherwise wearing the grey clothes off Mandos.

"Nibenaes!" Someone - Rochind - calls and Nibenaes has barely had time to sit up before their face is buried in the crook of her neck.

"You were right. Our parting wasn't forever."

"Oh you insufferable woman," Rochind says, crying a little bit, and he reaches up take Nibenaes' face in their hands and kiss her lips.

Nibenaes thinks it is wonderful to be alive.

Wonderful to be her.

#ahh thank you for the ask #I had a grand time with it :)#OC: Nibenaes #Silmarillion #Tolkien #Edit #Fanfiction #Fae's Stuff #Fae's Edits #Fae's Fic #Fae's OCs #Ask #hopefullystillliving

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yellow-faerie · 11 months

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#22 with gil-galad son of curufinrod? with either curufin or finrod your choice! :)

You know I was just thinking about this au when you sent this ask? I love writing it so thank you for sending it in!

Send me a prompt from this list.

22 - "I could never hate you. Not truly."

Gil-Galad has been reborn for a long time when word reaches him, in the far flung lighthouse in which he took up residence, that his father had been reborn as well.

Not Finrod, for he had left Mandos' halls before Gil-Galad had even died and often sailed up the coast to see him with mothers and little half siblings and occasionally other family whenever he could.

No, not Finrod.

It is in his brother's most recent letter that Celebrimbor tells Gil-Galad that Curufin had left Mandos' halls for the land of the living and had been living quietly in their grandmother's house for the time being.

It's not public knowledge yet, Celebrimbor had written, and I do not think he knows that I know. I am only aware for Nibenaes is always away of the comings and goings of all the House from how close she is with great-grandmother Míriel.

So Gil-Galad hadn't been expecting anything, especially not as the months turned ever on and there was neither sight nor sound of his father.

Tindómiel and he are cleaning out the great fire pit while the sun is high and boats don't need their direction when there's an angry shout downstairs, something slamming and then silence.

"Finellach!" Eleniquë calls, her voice slightly strained. "Get down here, your father's at the door!"

Tindómiel shares his confusion. "Finrod visited just three weeks ago, I thought he would be in the Valmar by now."

"I guess something must have happened." Gil-Galad rubs his hands on the front of his apron and goes to the ladder. "You'll be OK finishing up on your own?"

"Shouldn't take too long - although ask if Helcaear wouldn't mind helping me moving the logs up here. Give cousin Finrod my love."

The first sign that something is wrong is the complete lack of conversation. Something about Finrod was that he could talk his way into the hearts of literally anyone, and regularly did it - in fact, he'd been up to visit so much that even Helcaear enjoyed conversation with him.

The second and third signs appear at nearly the same time; as Gil-Galad looks around, he sees the downright murderous expression on Helcaear's face and the weirdly adoring one on Eleniquë's.

Gil-Galad scrunches his face in confusion as he untangles his feet from the rug at the bottom of the ladder and turns around.

"Atya, aren't you meant to be visiting your grandmother-"

It all starts to make sense when it's not Finrod standing there.

Curufin still stands tall, his grey eyes still as hard as flint, but there's a certain unsurety to his posture that makes it seem very likely that he might run out the still open front door at any moment.

He doesn't look at Eleniquë who had once worked as a foot soldier for him, nor at Helcaear who's home he once helped destroy.

He just looks at Gil-Galad as if he couldn't believe that he was standing right there.

"My mother's depiction does not do justice to the ellon you have grown into," Curufin says eventually, breaking the silence.

Helcaear makes a sound and Gil-Galad is distinctly aware that he should probably do something lest a fight starts in the front hall.

"Tindómiel needs help with the logs," he says to his coworkers, keeping his expression painfully neutral. "We'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

He turns on his heel, hoping that Curufin is following him but unable to turn around and look. He can feel the burning gazes of both Helcaear and Eleniquë on his back, and he's already thinking of how he's going to respond to their questions later.

How to explain that he's a part of the infamous House of Fëanor, to admit to being the High King Gil-Galad, to explain his childhood to them and every complicated feeling he holds for his family deep in his heart.

Running away - running here - hadn't worked the first time.

"Would you like some tea?" Gil-Galad asks as he closes the heavy kitchen door behind them, just in case there are any eavesdroppers on the other side.

He's still keeping his face in that trained neutrality, the expression he practised endlessly as king.

"No. Thank you."

Gil-Galad wants some tea though. He leaves Curufin standing awkwardly near the door to boil the kettle and find his favourite mug and the best tea and is slow as he stirs honey in.

It's only then that he turns around, feeling in control again.

Looking once more at Curufin leaves that control in shreds. It makes him feel like a small child who's found his way under his sharp judgement yet again.

"Why are you here?" Gil-Galad asks, more accusatory than he had intended to ask it.

He clenches his hands tighter around his mug and they burn.

"I met with your father a fortnight ago," Curufin says and Gil-Galad can hear the careful way he's stepping around his words. "He told me I should come see you."

"You are here at Atya's request?"

That honestly makes sense when Gil-Galad thinks about it but it leaves him feeling weirdly disappointed.

"No," Curufin says, shaking his head, "I am here because you deserve an apology, even though you undoubtedly hate me."

Curufin pauses, as if waiting for Gil-Galad to say something, but he waits in vain as Gil-Galad takes another sip of tea.

"You and Celebrimbor - neither of you deserved to have your family torn apart because of your parents' actions."

"Your actions," Gil-Galad corrects, perhaps a little harshly for - by his own admission - Finrod took up some of the blame for how their years in Nargothrond ended.

"My actions," Curufin agrees a little too readily. "I have made a lot of mistakes in my life - swearing the Oath, killing in it's name - but you and your brother are most definitely not among them."

Gil-Galad's mouth tastes like ash. "If you try to claim that leaving us in Nargothrond was to protect us," he starts, his voice a little shaky, "I shall remind you that we both nearly died in the ransacking."

"I was never going to," Curufin says vehemently and Gil-Galad finds that he believes him. "It was cowardly, thinking I could leave you there so that you would be free."

"Celebrimbor and Finduilas are the reason I was ever free from you," Gil-Galad says, remembering the way the two of them had managed to manipulate Nargothrond gossip to removing mention of Curufin from his parentage. "You just left and made it easier."

"Celebrimbor told me."

Gil-Galad takes a sip of his tea, revelling in the way it burns his tongue and stops him from getting lost in the melancholy of his childhood.

"I never forgot, not once," Gil-Galad tells him plainly. "I used to ask Celebrimbor to tell me stories about you and Atya and my uncles, and he hated doing it but he still did it."

For once in his life, Curufin doesn't seem to have anything to say. Maybe that was his whole apology.

There's this memory, that Gil-Galad has, of hiding behind Celebrimbor's legs as his father and his uncle rally the people of Nargothrond behind them and his father had had so many words then.

Maybe it was because he wasn't baring his whole soul back then.

Maybe it was easier for him to talk a whole people into a frenzy than it was for him to have an honest conversation with his son.

A moment passes where they just stare at each other, and then another.

"I should go," Curufin says and turns to the door.

And that's the thing that gets Gil-Galad the most.

"Again?" He asks, ignoring the lump in his throat and the hitch in his voice and the heat welling at the back of his eyes. "You're going to just up and leave again? You can't even give me an address or-or anything?"

Curufin turns around and looks - Gil-Galad laughs despite himself - terrified, all because Gil-Galad is crying now, in that ugly way that will have his face all red and blotchy and his nose bunged up.

"You just...you come and you go and you never make a fucking effort."

Curufin is frozen, the hand that was on the door handle falling to his side.

"What do you want me to do?" He asks, soft and tentative.

Eru above, there is so much that Gil-Galad would want him to do.

"Right now?" He says, putting his mug down lest his shaking hands pour it all down his front. "I would like a hug."

Curufin is still shitty at hugs. He's all awkward corners and edges that don't quite fold into something comforting, and yet...

Gil-Galad buries his face into the coarse fabric of Curufin's travelling shirt and starts crying even harder.

There's another memory Gil-Galad has.

It's dark, the lights in his room all off but the one by his light dimmed to almost darkness. His father sits on the edge of his bed and he's running his hand through Gil-Galad soft curls.

Gil-Galad is somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and he never quite worked out if Curufin really pressed a kiss to his forehead before he left or if the grief of finding out the next morning that his remaining father had left as well had conjoured the memory in his head.

He doesn't know.

All the time in his childhood that he had known Curufin, he hadn't done gentle affection. If Gil-Galad ever wanted a hug and comfort, he ran to Finrod or Celebrimbor or Finduilas or even his uncle Tyelko.

When he scraped his knee, Finrod would kiss it better but Curufin would wrap it carefully in a bandage and tell him to be more careful next time.

Curufin distracted him when he was sad rather than talking it through, he was painfully practical where Finrod nurtured and smiled and was full of silly metaphors.

Gil-Galad sometimes wonders what attracted the two of them together.

But this hug, the first one since Gil-Galad must have been really small, reminds him that Curufin is still that painfully practical elf. The apology is so him, so stupidly perfect and planned that it makes Gil-Galad want to scream.

"Your apology was based on a false assumption," he says, sniffing and still hiding his face in Curufin's shoulder. "I could never hate you. Not truly."

"Really?" Curufin sounds genuinely incredulous.

Gil-Galad sniffs again and pulls away to rub his nose with the back of his sleeve. "I missed you and I was angry and you have done some really shitty things but I never hated you."

Elrond - one of the few people who knew his actual parentage - had asked him that once, during his continuing angsting over the Maglor Situation (as it had been deemed).

Gil-Galad had told him that whenever he tried, all he could think of was his calloused hands tying a bandage around his knee or the random information that attached itself to the stupid problems little children have or the softness of a kiss to the forehead.

Maybe he was too young when Curufin left to have grown to hate him, and too old to not have fond memories, and the two had mingled together until he had this idea of a father.

Maybe if he forgives Curufin for leaving and for breaking up their family so dramatically, he will find that the man is actually insufferable and grow to hate him.

That, Gil-Galad thinks, is worth the risk.

"Would you like some tea now?" He asks, going to put the kettle back on.

Curufin accepts the tea but declines the offer of a bed for the night - likely wise, considering that Helcaear would probably try and kill him - citing that he left Huan and Celegorm out in the snow somewhere and that they would be returning to civilisation together.

"He probably wouldn't even notice if I left him out there," Curufin says, significantly less tense as Gil-Galad leads him to the door than when he had been let in. "But I would rather not lose him."

"Is that likely to happen?"

Curufin shrugs, making it look remarkably eloquent even in rough travel clothes. "He gets bored very easily."

"Alright then, I'll see you in a few months?"

"I'll send you a letter when Nelyo and Ammë decide on a date." Curufin rolls his eyes. "It's a yearly debate with how many people you have to organise."

Gil-Galad smiles. "Will Atya be there?"

"He might turn up. You should ask him yourself."

Gil-Galad nods, putting that on his mental list of things to do. He opens the door, waves his father away and then he's alone again.

"Is he gone?"

"Fuck," Gil-Galad exclaims, almost falling against the wall. "Tindómiel, don't sneak up on someone like that."

"Sorry," Tindómiel says, not looking very apologetic. "I came down to ask if you wanted any of the roasted hazelnuts Helcaear is making." She lowers her voice theatrically. "If I was you, I'd say yes. He's been pissy all afternoon that we brought a kinslayer into the house."

"He's not going to let it go, is he?"

"Better find yourself a good apology Fin."

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yellow-faerie · 1 year

Text

Silver Twins, Red Lovers - an Eluréd and Elurín fic where they're adopted by Caranthir and his wife

Maybe We Belong Among The Stars - a Silmarillion Sci Fi AU that I only ever posted one fic for

The Paths We Tread - a buckwild Silmarillion AU that I wrote loads for but I haven't touched in actual years

All Good Things Comes In Threes - a Silmaril triplets AU based off @ibrithir-was-here's AU that I keep meaning to finish...

Ah, Look At These Fucked Up Little Doctors - a name that was meant to only be a place holder for my *slightly* AU House MD fics but sorta...became permanent

Anything Goes - the title of the series that was meant to follow my Sandman AU and then...nothing happened lol

Dancing With Your Ghosts - a DSMP fic that I swear is getting updated, I just keep getting distracted lol

A Guide To Raising Elflings - that one AU where the Fëanorians are kids and end up being raised by Mairon

View With A Grain of Sand - a TMA AU where Martin and Jon go back in time in the aftermath of MAG 200 and accidentally adopt the Lukas kids

Tumblr Prompts - 😔 I do love to look at the prompts and go 'Wow! This is such a good idea!' and then not do anything about it...

Honorary Mentions (because I could only put ten things in the poll):

Twelve is a Lucky Number - an AU I've barely started where Fëanor and Nerdanel have five daughters on top of their seven sons

A Step-By-Step Guide To The Universe - an ATLA AU wherein Lu-Ten has a childhood friend except I wrote one fic and then...don't entirely know where I'm taking it from here

Time Convergences - a KOTOR time travel fic where the Jedi Exile, Revan and Alek come forward to the clone wars...in the bodies of adolescents

All Ways Lead to Hilltop Road - a fic that delves into the possibility of a TMA multiverse with a Somewhere Else that Jon has to go through to find Martin

Who on Arda Invited the Elf? - a very self indulgent fic where I put my OC Nibenaes in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield so that she can cause Chaos and generally be mad

#anyway this is also slightly to see what of my stuff people enjoyed #comments in the tags or the replies are always appreciated :)#Fae's Fic #Fae's Stuff #Polls #Silmarillion #TMA #DSMP #KOTOR #ATLA #House MD #Fanfiction

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yellow-faerie · 1 year

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For the wip game! How about sobbing and or please? :)

I have one for both!!

Sobbing:

The Silmarils sit warm in Ivárë’s hands and she wants to start sobbing again.

Ok so this is from a time travel au starring Nibenaes and Ivárë who are my absolute favourite OCs - Dagor Dagorath goes badly but instead of their eventual deaths, the two of them steal away with the Silmarils and accidentally time travel to when the Finwëan cousins are still really young. Chaos then ensues.

Please:

“Like when Tyelkormo ran off to join the hunt? And all of Tirion got into a tizzy because for a week, because there had been a genuine fear he’d been abducted?” Maitimo shakes his head. “Please don’t do that, I don’t think my poor heart could stand it.”

This is from the fic I'm hoping to post on Monday for Maedhros, it's gonna be twelve little snippet-y bits from my Twelve is a Lucky Number AU which all focus on Maedhros - this particular line is from a conversation he has with his eldest sister Cíllas.

#I love sharing WIP stuff #Ask #herinke9

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yellow-faerie · 2 years

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Ooh, how about One Hell of a Cousin Bonding Experience for the ask game? <3

Oh yes my obligatory time travel AU fix-it with a good deal of family bonding. Essentially it focusses on Celebrimbor, Ivárë (my daughter of Maglor and Daeron), Gil-Galad, and my two daughters of Caranthir Niphredilien and Nibenaes, who at the end of a Dagor Dagorath where Morgoth wins, find themselves together with the Silmarils and get thrown back in time to Fëanor's exile.

What then ensues is a nightmare of diplomacy and morally dubious acts to try and avert the oncoming crisis while also trying to make sure enough things happen that people are born like Elrond and Elros?

Anyway, there's more under the cut.

Right so we have five descendants of Fëanor who have been thrown back in time from what is objectively the Worst Future Possible.

Celebrimbor gets chucked into the laps of the Fëanorians: a bunch of angry, suspicious Fëanorians who have just been exiled and who do not trust this stranger who looks a lot like their father dropping into their dining room. Celebrimbor is shocked for all of three minutes before being like...I'm your grandmother's father who Mandos released??? Because Míriel is too dead to say otherwise and no-one else still in Valinor know who her father is (not even Finwë)

Somehow, this very flaky story works because Mandos' servants are always up for causing chaos (also Celebrimbor gaslights them a bit and they don't want to admit to accidentally losing a spirit)

Gil-Galad gets sent to the palace due to his relation to Fingon where he's met with the same amount of suspicion but not so much immediate violence. He manages to get around awkward questions by pretending to just straight up have amnesia. He's like...no I have no idea why I'm here or who I am or-

Anyway, the bottom line is that the Ñolofinwëans take him in.

As for Niphredilien and Nibenaes, they get tossed straight into the middle of a forest. It is literally miles from any civilization. They arrive at Alqualondë sometime around the Darkening. They just spent twelve years of their life alone but for each other in the wilderness. It's actually a miracle they didn't kill each other because siblings should not be alone with each other that long.

And Ivárë is all the way in Beleriand, having been tossed into Thingol's court where she is promptly adopted by Beleg, Mablung and Nellas.

And from there it's them attempting to not be found out or assumed to be servants of evil as they push everyone to a better future (and fade away as they're born in that era because I make sad things - Celebrimbor fades with Niphredilien because he already has a little him running around and Niphredilien is born in the third age or smth and shouldn't have to be lonely all that time).

And that's kinda it? It just sorta floats around my head, making itself at home tbh 😅

#Silmarillion #On Hell of a Cousin Bonding Experience #Time Travel AU #Ask #Ask Game #wren-of-the-woods

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yellow-faerie · 2 years

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ooh may i ask about the naming of feanoriel istarniel?

Oh yes, absolutely! And I'm gonna subject you to my nonsense chapter notes for this as well (under the cut).

The long short of this is that Fëanor and Nerdanel, well into the future, have made up (after Fëanor's reembodiment) and they have another child - a daughter this time - and it's a fic that surrounds the House of Fëanor (and the rest of the House of Finwë) coming together to greet her properly.

It's the most concise fic I think I've ever planned and also features mentions of a lot of my ocs - it did start it's life as me attempting to write a fic where all my House of Finwë OCs appeared in some extent.

[Fic titles found here]

Ok so here are my chapter plan because I think they're hilarious in some places (although they are not that accurate to how the chapter actually ended up most of the time):

Chapter 1 – Maedhros

:Maedhros wakes up in Fingon’s room. They have a sweet moment reminiscing about pre-darkening Valinor and the Peace in Beleriand and comment on how everything is almost perfect now except that tensions are still high and Fingon comments on the lack of Míriel. They talk about Gil, Erien and Finbor. This is ended when they talk of Erien (Aistamíriel) and Finbor’s (Quarefinwë, Elbeon) naming and Maedhros remembers that they have Nínneth’s naming ceremony that day. Fingon reminds him that they live so close to Fornalondë (once Formenos) that it does not matter if they are a little late and tells him to come back to bed:

Chapter 2 – Maglor

:Maglor wakes alone in a forest glade, travelling to Fornalondë. He can hear talking and finds Daeron and Cantasië, Daeron sitting on a rock and Cantasië wading in the stream. They are talking about Maglor and their collective group of children (Elrond and Elros, Ivárë, Eärenissë). They stop when they spot Maglor and he sits on the river bank with his legs in the water, listening to them as Daeron begins to play his pipe. He takes a moment to introspect – is this how his Grandmother felt with two people who loved her so dearly (being Indis and Finwë)? He wonders why and how she could have possibly left them behind (and also her child):

Chapter 3 – Celegorm

:Celegorm is returning from a hunt with Aredhel, Edhellos and Huan (Huan!). Aredhel talks about how well Lómion has gotten on with Celebrimbor since rebirth and Edhellos talks about meeting Hallas and Inglor properly, and reuniting with Orodreth and Finduilas. They both talk about the guilt they have for abandoning their children in some form. They part ways, Edhellos and Aredhel planning on meeting their respective families before the ceremony. Celegorm tells Huan of talking to Rávassë – Quildatiris (now Calatír) and Vercafion (now Feredir) were elsewhere – and how she had blamed him for abandoning them after finding them and giving them a home – however, it should be noted that she is the only one who keeps the original name Celegorm gave her. Huan comforts him a little – but not too much, Huan knows he’s an idiot – and they come in view of Fornalondë:

Chapter 4 - Caranthir

:Caranthir is alone with his sister, asleep in a rocking basket weaved by Díriel. He is putting the finishing touches to Nínneth’s blanket for her naming ceremony. He thinks about his own daughter’s much smaller, naming ceremonies – Nibenaes’ by Lake Helevorn; and Niphredilien’s, just him – and how much they have all grown and changed. He puts the finishing touches to the blanket and folds it carefully onto the table. He ponders momentarily on how his sister will turn out. He is then disturbed by his daughters who have come to find him as they have arrived from wherever they have been:

Chapter 5 - Curufin

:Curufin is in the forge tidying because the preparations for Nínneth’s naming ceremony remind him of Celebrimbor’s which is making him sad because his baby is all grown up now :( and he is hiding from that. Celebrimbor is the one who finds him after returning from visiting his mother and stepmother in the mountains with Maeglin (who appreciated the mining operations). They talk about how Rinwendë is doing and talk also about Maeglin and Finrod and perhaps also touch on Sauron then make their ways upstairs to finish getting ready and help Fëanor and Nerdanel welcome guests:

Chapter 6 - Amrod

:Amrod is helping Argon set up chairs. They chat about how it’s so weird that there is going to be a brand new Finwëan in this new peaceful age. They are clearly close after being the only reborn Finwëans for so long – perhaps mention the fact Amrod is a healer and Argon is a painter. They are distracted from their conversation by Maedhros appearing and asking if they had seen Nerdanel. When they say no, he leaves. Amrod mentions that this must be the first time the whole family has been in one place since the Darkening. Argon says that Míriel will not be there but that yes, even Indis will be coming. They continue laying out chairs and tables and putting out name labels, talking about different family members and who they’re excited to see. Then Curufin appears and says Nerdanel has gone missing. Cliff hanger! (but not really because this is fluffy):

Chapter 7 – Amras

:Amras talks to his sister after he was given her. Caranthir had tried to get her to stop crying but had been unsuccessful and passed her onto Amras. He complains saying that he had never been that good with babies, even Hethest’s had taken a while to warm up to him. He then talks a bit about Doron, Eirien, Tathar and Neldor, and Meril. Then he talks about Beleriand and missing his twin. He then apologises, a little roughly, for complaining but his sister has quieted and is looking up at him with bright eyes. He gets a bit sappy. Celegorm skids past the room, saying that their mother has been spotted leading a horse upon which sits a mysterious figure:

Chapter 8 – Nerdanel

:Nerdanel is talking to the mysterious figure about how her sons were when they were little. The figure is quiet but clearly attentive. She mentions how much she missed them when they were parted and the figure talks for the first time, agreeing that being apart from her son was painful for her and that she empathises. Fëanor comes out to meet her, worried, not even taking note of the woman on the horse. They banter until the woman slips from the saddle and stands next to Nerdanel. She takes down her hood to reveal – le gasp! – Míriel:

Chapter 9 – Fëanor

:Fëanor is a little bit in shock. Indis, Míriel and Finwë have a conversation within Fëanor’s study and Fëanor paces the corridor outside with Nerdanel in attendance (their kids had been banished) until they finally open the door. Finwë says something vague and comforting; Indis says nothing but gently pats his shoulder/cheek; and then Míriel comes out. Her lovers hover before deciding to give her space with her son. They talk and it ends with a bell ringing out for sundown and their walk down the place where the ceremony is taking place:

Chapter 10 – Vanimeldë

:Epilogue of sorts with a little Nínneth. Short and sweet where she talks about the names she was given and how big her family is and how loved she is – or something similarly sweet and sappy:

So yeah! Lots happening, mostly fluff and introspection but a bit of drama because what would the House of Finwë be without it?

(I also don't show the party but I imagine there are like three fights, someone cries, there's a lot of drunk arguing/making out - it's chaos, no-one can control anyone)

And here are a few snippets:

“I’m sorry, I was just…thinking…”

“About?”

Maedhros shrugs as best he can. “Mostly us. I’m glad we have time now.”

“All the time in the world,” Fingon agrees. “Until we have to get to your sister’s Naming.”

“Shit!” Maedhros begins to push himself up. “That’s today, isn’t it?”

Fingon makes a sound of complaint as Maedhros swings himself out of bed, and makes a futile attempt to pull him back. “Come back to bed Russo, or I swear I will make you!”

“Not today Órenya, today we have things to do!”

“Ugh, you’re impossible!”

Maedhros can hear a disgruntled flump of pillows behind him as he searches his dresser for the outfit he thought he laid out the night before.

“Finno, did you see where I put my tunic?”

When there’s no answer, Maedhros turns around to see Fingon lying in the bed with his arms crossed and looking very pointedly out the window.

“Oh Finno,” Maedhros says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be immature.”

“I’m not being ‘immature’,” Fingon mutters but he still doesn’t look over, “I just think that if you loved me, you wouldn’t leave so early.”

“Melanya, we have all of eternity to sleep in. Just not today.”

Silence.

“Look, Quarefinwë and Aistamíriel are coming this morning and we would have to get out of bed for them anyway.”

This also garners no response and so Maedhros uses the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. “If you help me, I’ll make you honey pancakes.”

It takes only a moment for the indecision to clear from Fingon’s eyes.

“Anyway,” Cantasië is frowning, “it’s depressing to think about your grandmother on what is supposed to be a happy day.”

Maglor hums something and lies back to stare at the sky. There are a few clouds up there that look almost soft to the touch.

“That cloud looks a bit like a cat,” he says, gesturing vaguely upward.

“Really?” Cantasië wades through the water with a splash and drops down beside him. “Where?”

Maglor points a bit more definitely. “Just there.”

She cocks her head. “No, it’s more like a rabbit.”

“It’s a cloud,” Daeron says. “It doesn’t look like anything!”

Cantasië sits up sharply. “Oh that’s just too far!”

Maglor covers his mouth to hide a laugh as Cantasië swings herself back up to her feet and challenges Daeron to a duel.

There’s only Crinthammos now who could tell him if what he remembers is the truth and she is with whatever is left of her people – across the sea, perhaps, or more likely faded from memory until the breaking of the world.

Caranthir sighs.

Niphredilien’s naming he can remember a lot clearer. It had just been him: he had spent three days making a blanket from what remained of the craft supplies in his bag, and when he’d stood in the water with her in his arms, she’d been wrapped in the same purples and silvers as his sister.

“Sweet heavens, look at me getting all sentimental,” Caranthir laughs, a little bitterly, to himself. “Don’t get like me, nettë.”

The baby sleeps on, uncaring as her brother ties off the end of a gold thread, cutting it down and tucking it away.

#The Naming of Fëanoriel Istarniel #Fae's Fic #Fae's Stuff #Ask #miriel-therindes #OC: Nínneth

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yellow-faerie · 2 years

Note

Hi! For the pinned prompt list, could you do number 11 for Maeglin/Celebrimbor please?

Oh yes! I’ve seen a bit of these two around recently and I have really wanted to write something.

From this prompt list.

11 - “Come on, open the door. Please.”

The thing is, is Celebrimbor has never been stellar at emotions.

He's known for being the most emotionally competent of his family but that is no great praise when you know the Fëanorians.

And he doesn't know what to do when, halfway through their normal suppertime, Maeglin just freezes.

Celebrimbor doesn't notice at first and just keeps talking about his latest ventures in the forge until Maeglin's chair screeches on the flagstones.

"...and so - Lómion?"

Maeglin doesn't say anything, doesn't look up at Celebrimbor at all, just hurries from the room with a clatter.

The door swings shut with a bang and Celebrimbor blinks after it is shock.

“Lómion?” He asks again to the now empty dining room and then sets down his knife and fork to hurry after him.

Maeglin isn’t in the forge or their bedroom, nor can he be found in the kitchen or the office. He eventually resorts to asking Nibenaes, sitting with a book in the garden, if she had seen him leave the house but that was a dead end too.

Worried though he was, Celebrimbor had then admitted defeat and decided that when Maeglin was ready to talk about it, he would return.

It was at the three day mark with no Maeglin in sight that Celebrimbor began to reevaluate this decision.

“Oh you lost him?” Nibenaes sets down her tea mug and raises an eyebrow - Celebrimbor hates how she seems to have inherited the ability to raise only one from her father. “How did you manage that?”

“I honestly don’t know. I was just…talking about what I had been doing that day when he just stood up and left.”

Nibenaes wrinkles her nose. "I have...no idea what happened then. I'll tell everyone to keep an eye out but-"

She hasn't even finished speaking when there comes a rather despondent knock on the front door.

"Come on, open the door!" A very familiar voice calls out, sounding rather...excited of all things. "Please!"

Celebrimbor puts his own mug down and makes his way to the front door, sharing only a quick look of curiosity with his cousin before tugging it open.

And there stands Maeglin, drenched in what looks like pondwater and looking very worse for wear.

"Hi 'Brim," he says with an air of great contentment. "I found you a frog."

He reaches into the pocket of his oversized coat and pulls out a jar.

"You...got me a frog?"

Nibenaes laughs behind him and turns back into the kitchen.

"You said you wanted one. To...study. For that statue." Maeglin stares at him, the excitement on his face beginning to drain away. "Did you...not want one?"

"Oh, Lómion..." Celebrimbor feels his face grow into a grin. "I love you so much."

Maeglin blinks. "Oh...oh! Thank you?"

Celebrimbor laughs, mostly to himself, and drags Maeglin into a hug. "You're alright," he whispers and Maeglin sinks into the embrace.

#They're in Valinor if anyone's confused #when everything's kinda blown over #also i hipe you like?#sorry it took so long but im actually kinda proud of this one #Also Nibenaes worked her way in here i hope you dont mind #Celebrimbor #Maeglin #OC: Nibenaes #Fae's OCs #Fallen Banners #Silmarillion #Tolkien #Fanfiction #Fae's Stuff #Fae's Fic #Prompt List 2 #Prompt #Ask #ladygavroche

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yellow-faerie · 3 years

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actually, wait, can i send in my own prompts? ‘you realise you are the source of most of your problems’ - oc of your choice

You absolutely can send in your own prompts!

OK, this is going to be post-Celebrimbor's death so very angsty because it drags up everything from her past. It might be a little confusing but that’s kind of intentional? Mainly because everything is so jumbled in her head at the moment.

Nibenaes can't remember getting back here but here she is, covered in her cousin's blood and standing by the ashes of last nights fire, sitting incongruously under a pile of mud and leaves.

She stares at it incredulously.

Was it really just last night? Had they really been laughing and joking around this fire only last night? It feels like it should be impossible.

"Miss Nibenaes?" It's the young boy with bright eyes who had unlocked her chains and helped her escape.

She thinks. It is all a smudge in her memory after Celebrimbor had smiled at her and said that it was alright, really, just one quick swipe with her knife and he would be free.

She can't even remember the boy's name or if he even gave one.

She grunts softly and doesn't move.

"Miss, I don't...I don't think your friends are still here," he says quietly, fiddling with the edge of his tunic.

Her father never liked it when she did that - he said it made the edges fray - and he had given her a small strip of frabric for that exact purpose instead.

She lost it in Dagor Dagorath and hadn't ever thought to replace it, too grown up for the childishness of fiddling.

Because he's a child, isn't he? Like she was, when Morgoth uprooted her from her home and sent her and her people fleeing south and then west and then east, chased in some cruel game of cat and mouse.

And now Sauron is doing the same thing to children in this new age. This age was meant to be better, they had had so many plans in those early days, her and Gil and...and Celebrimbor.

They had sometimes huddled together around a campfire in the small hours of the morning. The night would be freezing cold, the fire low, but they would be there whispering and giggling like little children about what they would do after the war was over.

Just a little bit of fun in the midst of the horror.

“Miss Nibenaes?” The boy asks again. “What are we going to do now?”

She turns sharply, away from the broken campsite that is filled with ghosts that had never been there, and peers into the dark forest.

Right. Onwards. Away. Forwards.

She pulls on her bond with Rochind, maybe a bit sharper than she would have normally, and follows that - the faint pulsing feeling in front of her of worry and concern and faint anger guiding her.

Like when they scouted during the War of the Wrath, spending days and days out in the wilderness alone, avoiding earthquakes and spontaneous chasms and parties of orcs that often roamed about.

All alone in the endless wastes of a broken continent, finding the straggling survivors of smaller outposts - sometimes alive, most often something else entirely.

Elrond and Elros had been among the lucky few. Arasell says that her uncles had sent the twins out with about twenty of their most trusted guards and by the time that they had come across Rochind and Nibenaes, it had only been Arasell and Erestor and Meril by their side.

There is a rustle to her left and Nibenaes starts, drawing her knife and pulling the boy behind her.

She has thoughts of orcs or wolves or one of Sauron’s spies flying through her head but all that comes bursting out is a small bat who circles around her head once before flying up and out of the trees.

“Nibenaes!” Someone calls and is immediately hushed.

She turns again, a little less sharply but no less alert. It’s Canaer, she is sure of it - xe has never been quiet once in xer life - but she doesn’t know if it’s Canaer or some imitation of Sauron’s.

Better safe than sorry.

She stands perfectly still, one hand tight on her dagger and the other squeezing the boy’s shoulder, ready to push him and the rings-

The rings! The rings that hang around the boy’s neck, the rings that Celebrimbor died for, how could she have forgotten about them? How could she have, even for a moment, taken her mind from such an important task?

How could she have…?

How…?

“Mírë!”

Nibenaes hadn’t realised she was on the ground until Rochind gently brushes her hair out of her face the faint touch grounding her very suddenly in the moment.

Mud is soaking into her leggings (not that it matters, her clothes are already ruined) and her face is wet and warm with tears. She is faintly aware that she is shaking.

Someone drops her cloak around her shoulders - she had left it at camp along with most of her things - and she pulls it tight around her, taking in the familiar smell of pinewood and feel of soft fabric roughened by age under her fingers.

“Mírë,” Rochind says again, softer this time. “Can you tell me something you see?”

Nibenaes blinks and her vision clears a minute. She meets his gaze, dark and steady and a moment of perfect calm.

“Your eyes,” she whispers, her hand reaching forward - unconsciously, really - to tangle her fingers with theirs.

“Mhm.” Rochind squeezes her hand gently. “Anything else?”

She shakes her head, not breaking his gaze. She doesn’t want to, she can’t - it’s safe when they look at her like that and she can lose herself.

“Can you try for me?”

For him. For him, yes, she can…she can do that. She glances down.

“Our hands.”

“Mhm. And?”

She looks slightly left. “That leaf.”

It’s bright yellow - an early faller, her mother used to call them when they went for walks through the woods - and curling in on itself.

“Yes. And?”

“The mud.”

“And?”

“Your scar.” It’s faded over the years but she can still see it, wrapping tightly around his left eye.

“Yes. What about something you can touch?”

“Your smile.” She reaches out with her free hand to set the pad of her thumb against his lips. They gently press a kiss to it and then she lets the hand drop again.

Rochind smiles wider. “Something else?”

“My cloak.” She lets her fingers run over the bumps of the embroidery on the edge.

“And?”

“The ground.”

“And?”

“You,” she says, squeezing Rochind’s hand.

“Good.” They cock their head slightly. “What about things you can hear?”

“Your voice.” These questions feel familiar and she doesn’t need his prompt to keep going. “The wind. Canaer.”

Rochind laughs and she smiles too, a little shakily perhaps but it feels nice.

“Smell?”

“Rain, it’s going to start raining soon. And horses.”

The smell of horses, of course, are Rochind.”

“What about taste?”

Nibenaes runs her tongue over the back of her teeth and swallows. It is bitter and her heart drops.

“Blood,” she whispers and scrunches her whole face up. “I can taste blood.”

Rochind sighs. “You went, didn’t you?” They say and there is that silent blame behind those words saying that all of this is her fault really.

You realise you are the source of most of your problems, the voice in her head says scathingly and Nibenaes begins to cry again and this time, she can’t stop.

Because it is. It was her who took that knife to Celebrimbor’s throat, not Sauron nor any of his lackeys.

Her. His cousin who he should have been able to trust with his life.

Who he did trust with his life.

She sobs brokenly and buries herself in Rochind’s shoulder, silently wishing that it would all just stop.

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yellow-faerie · 3 years

Text

For day 7 of @tolkienocweek! These are two scenes of Nibenaes that I’ve had rolling about in my head for a long while so now I’m going to share them!

Mírifinwë – and that is the only name she really has now – can still see the flickering lights of the Haladin in the distance. The long train of men and women and children stretch off into the horizon of the flat plains. She wonders that if she runs, whether she might be able to catch up with them and if she did, would her mother welcome her or send her back?

The window is cold beneath her forehead and she shivers, her bare feet curling up on the thin fabric covering the window seat.

She is here, counting the torch lights out there in the distance, when she hears the familiar beat of her father’s shoes coming up the corridor, quick steps of leather hitting against flagstones.

“You weren’t in your room.” He pauses. “I thought you had gone to bed.”

She shrugs and her father sighs.

“Mírë,” He takes another step forward and drapes something around her shoulders. It is made of a thick fabric of the same dark-purple-it’s-almost-black and edged in the same dark grey as her father’s colours. There is a thread loose halfway down one edge and a tear near the bottom that has been fixed with expert fingers.

He comes to sit next to her, perched somewhat awkwardly at her feet, and carefully fixes the silver clasping at her throat, his symbol of the Nornútë. He gives her a pat on the shoulder and clears his throat, his eyes not quite meeting hers as they never do when he is trying to talk about important things.

“Mírë,” He says again and somehow his hand finds hers. He rubs circles in the place just beneath her knuckles. “I know I cannot…be your mother…but I would…be here for you…if…if you need me.”

Mírifinwë slumps. Feelings she has been pushing down all day – all month, really, ever since her mother declared her intentions to leave – come tumbling up from where she has hidden them.

She falls forward into her father’s chest with a sob.

Her father reaches up and hesitantly strokes her hair, leaning his chin on the top of her head. He rocks gently back and forth, making soft noises that sound like the beginnings of a lullaby, if Mírifinwë’s father sang lullabies.

“So you are my name sake.”

Nibenaes looks up as someone’s needle-calloused hand brushes her cheek.

“Atya?” She whispers but then her eyes adjust in the darkness and meet silver eyes and silver hair.

“No,” the woman says softly and smiles. “I am his grandmother.”

“Míriel.”

“Yes dearest.”

“Tataruni,” Nibenaes whispers, turning the word over in her mouth.

“Yes again dearest.” Míriel doesn’t stand, staying put as Nibenaes gets used to existing again.

“Where…” Nibenaes begins when she is a little less disoriented. “Where are we?”

“Lórien.”

“Oh…I…died then?” Her memory is blurry but she can recall the war against Sauron and something dark and calm wrapping itself around her.

“Yes. It will come back to you in time, never fear. Lórien helps with the disorientation of being reborn.”

Míriel’s hand has taken hers and she has it gently held in her lap, rubbing soothing circles into her knuckles in the same way her father did.

“Aren’t you…dead?”

“I was. But now I serve Vairë in her halls and visit my family on occasion.”

“And help wayward descendants to re-acclimate to living?”

Míriel smiles and her face dimples in the same way her uncle Maedhros’ did. “That too. Now, I made you some clothes for it can be quite cold here.”

She helps Nibenaes to stand and pull the simple robe over her head, made of a soft lilac fabric that smells faintly of pinewood and reminds her of sleepy days in summer, lying under the trees in the Greenwood with her family.

“Your cloak did not come with you into death,” Míriel says and produces a small pile of dark purple cloth. “I know it is not the one your father made but I thought you might like it.”

Nibenaes takes it with hands that refuse to stop shaking and it unfolds to pool on the ground.

It isn’t the same as her old cloak – there is a different pattern along the edge, more delicate and swirling, and it’s linked with a tie not a clasp – but it’s soft and comfortable and Nibenaes feels tears welling up in her eyes as she wraps it around her shoulders.

“It’s wonderful, thank you,” she whispers very, very quietly.

Míriel smiles. “You should sleep Mírifinwë. We can talk more when you wake.”

It has been a long time since Nibenaes has felt safe enough to sleep in the presence of strangers and she has many questions that are beginning to itch at her mind, but she cannot quite work out what they are yet and Míriel isn’t really a stranger.

She lies down on the soft grass, cushioning her head with a hand, and drifts off with Míriel’s hands braiding her hair.

#OC: Nibenaes #Caranthir #Míriel Þerindë #Fae's OCs #Silmarillion #Tolkien #Fanfiction #Fae's Stuff #tolkienocweek

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yellow-faerie · 3 years

Note

10, 24, 39 for nibenaes, and could you also introduce someone you haven’t talked about yet?

Yes! Absolutely! (I love this girl!)

10 - What kind of jokes make them laugh?

Dark humour, mainly, but she’ll laugh at anything if you can surprise her enough.

24 - What are your characters special skills?

She is really good at disguises and sneaking into different places. Like, crazy good, and she doesn’t even use that much magic.

Also, accumulating semi-reformed criminals into what is basically a gang. (Much to Gil-Galad’s chagrin as she is meant to be in charge of his entire espionage department)

39 - What’s your character’s guilty pleasure?

Probably that she still dares Gil-Galad to do things.

So basically, in the first age, she met her cousin at Himring (I go by the Russingon as Gil-Galad’s fathers) and they got into this weird rivalry where they never backed down from any dare the other gave them.

It became a sort of relief for both of them when their lives got really serious so it’s a guilty pleasure as they should really be above this but they don’t particularly care.

(Elrond is just rolling his eyes in the background but doesn’t stop them)

As for another of my OCs...

I’m going to give my children of Findis and her husband Rilyanixë (all of whom I will be talking about in a post soon!) and the siblings of Glorfindel. These are Finrun, Faniel and Finvain (I used the names of previous children of Finwë who were eventually abandoned).

#Tolkien #Silmarillion #OC: Nibenaes #OCs #Ask Game #Ask #feanorianethicsdepartment

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yellow-faerie · 3 years

Note

Yet Another Prompt - 13, nibenaes (or oc of your choice? sorry for sending so many in)

Yes! Time to talk about Nibenaes and her band of semi-reformed criminals! (Also, don’t worry at all! I’ve loved doing all of them - you can send in even more if you want!)

From this prompt list.

13 - “Look! A shooting star! Make a wish!”

“Canaer! That’s my knife!”

“You left it lying around. Really, it was practically begging me to pick it up.”

“Give it back.”

“Or what, Nelladon? You’ll make me? I’d like to see you try.”

“Children, please...”

“Keep your nose out of this Arasell.”

Nibenaes smiles to herself at her friends bickering. She lies on her back in the long grass, close enough to still see the bright fire light and to hear the cheery voices of her companions but far enough away to have her own privacy.

“Lhoeweg!” The argument cuts off at once.

“A successful hunt then?”

“Aye,” Rochind - for it is Nibenaes’ belovéd - says. “Where’s ‘Naes?”

“Oh, she wandered off again. It’s a clear night: she’s probably star-gazing somewhere quiet. Now, give me those rabbits: it’s getting late and I would like to eat before next week.”

The conversation settles down into something comfortable about food and Nibenaes turns her attention back to the sky. Out here in the wilderness, the night is alight with purples and reds and blues, stars clustering into bright clouds of light and the shining moon sitting among them.

She holds a hand up, spreading her fingers out as if to reach up and peal it away.

Maybe her mother is up there: maybe that is where her soul went, to light up the world for her.

“Oh, here you are.”

She drops her hand and turns her head. She smiles at her belovéd as Rochind drops down beside her.

“Here I am,” She agrees. “The stars are particularly beautiful today.”

She sighs.

“Thinking about your parents again?”

“Mhm.” She leans her head against their shoulder. Her father hadn’t ever been good with feelings and they had always been distant despite being the only family they each had for a long time but during dark nights when neither of them could sleep, he would take her out of the city and they would sit outside and he would tell her all the stories of the stars he could recall.

She closes her eyes and sighs again. She misses, sometimes, the peace of Thargelion and the quiet years with just her and her father.

Rochind takes a hold of her hand and the faint homesickness for a place she can never return to fades. She loved her childhood but she is here now with people she loves just as much.

“Look!” Rochind says and Nibenaes blinks her eyes open. Through the gap in the swaying corn, she can see...

“A shooting star! Make a wish, ‘Naes.”

It is not just one but a whole shower of meteors, sparking to life in a glorious explosion before fading away again. It takes her breath away a moment.

And then she turns quite suddenly and kisses her belovéd firmly on the lips.

“Whyever should I, when I have all I want here?” She asks, whispering it into the faint space between them. Their eyes are wide and reflect the multitudinous stars above them in their only blue depths.

They smile and lean forward, resting their forehead against hers and Nibenaes is at peace.

#I’m literally so happy someone likes my OCs #OC: Nibenaes #OC: Rochind #Nibenaes’ Merry Band of Thieves and Brigands #OCs #Silmarillion #Tolkien #Fanfiction #Fae's Stuff #Ask #Prompt #100 Follower Prompts #Prompt List 1 #feanorianethicsdepartment

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