#leading to maglor returning to life alone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eirianerisdar · 2 years

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A much-procrastinated pinned post

Complete Writing Masterlist (Includes AO3, FFN, tumblr)

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Major Series

Tolkien/The Silmarillion:

The Ever Fixed Star - The House of Finwë, in the Fourth Age and beyond. Contains The Ransom of the House of Fëanor and related works.

The Ransom of the House of Fëanor (AO3 | FFN) - Maglor goes to war for a final time, the eternal darkness looms, and Elrond bargains with the Valar for the ransom of the House of Fëanor. In which fathers give up everything for their sons, and their sons offer everything in return; title, name, and fëa. Or, the one where Maglor believes he is destined for eternal darkness, and Elrond politely says otherwise. (Rated G, 97997 words, complete)

A Song in Stone (AO3 | FFN) - In the Fourth Age, Fëanor, Maedhros, and Elrond journey to the ruins of Formenos, where they forget to account for the dubious structural integrity of seven-thousand-year-old buildings. In which Fëanor, Maedhros, and Elrond find themselves trapped in a collapsed workshop, contending with rain and injury - and Maedhros comes to understand just how much his foster son cares for him. (Rated G, 18,311 words, in progress)

The Shadow of a Friend (AO3 | FFN) - A century after the fall of Barad-dûr, the tattered spirit of Sauron is at last brought back to Valinor to await the judgement of the Valar. There are whispers he still wears the image of Annatar, spirit as he is. Celebrimbor has an idea. He's fairly sure it's a bad one. He wishes to visit Sauron in his imprisonment, and does not know if he should. (Rated G, 9,338 words, complete)

The Last Ember (AO3 | FFN) - For seven thousand years, Nerdanel lived alone in the great, empty house that once rang with the sound of hammer on anvil and the laughter of seven sons. Now Fëanor and his sons, newly pardoned, have been rebodied - but how does one resolve seven millennia of heartbreak and bitterness? Nerdanel and Fëanor, and the rekindling of their first, flickering flame. (Rated T, 9,858 words, complete)

A Night in Tirion (AO3 | FFN) - In the long yéni after, Fingon and Finrod would always insist the night’s descent into madness began when someone (probably Fingon) ordered a round of Telerin brandy laced with sea-serpent milk. A few weeks after Fëanor and his sons are rebodied, Maglor, Maedhros, Finrod, and Fingon go on an overnight pub crawl and in the process work through their unresolved arguments. With no little chaos in the process. (Rated G, 10,755 words, in progress)

Devil May Cry:

A Heaven in Hell’s Despair - In which Vergil and Nero come to understand each other through a four-day odyssey of blood, and deal with the consequences thereafter. Or: How Dante, Vergil, and Nero learn to become a family again despite all their painful history. Copious amounts of angst, whump, hurt/comfort, with equally large servings of brotherly and father-son fluff to make up for it.

Sweet Dreams form a Shade (AO3 | FFN) - On a demon hunt in Fortuna, an incident with the Yamato leads to Vergil and Nero trapped with endless waves of demons pouring through an open portal to Hell with no way of closing it. In which Vergil and Nero come to understand each other through a four-day odyssey of blood. (Rated T, 19,467 words, complete)

It is Eternal Winter There (AO3 | FFN) - Two months after a horrifying incident involving four days fighting for his life alongside Vergil against endless hordes of demons, Nero does the smart thing and goes to therapy. In which Nero desperately wishes for a father, and Vergil finally figures out how to be one. (Rated T, 49,949 words, complete)

And Binding with Briars my Joys and Desires (AO3 | FFN) - Vergil first sees her the spring of his eighteenth year; the winter snow falls in great drifts of mournful white the day he leaves, and he does not see, as he draws up his hood and steps into the snow, how her hand drifts as though of its own accord towards her stomach. And even now, twenty-three years after her death, a part of him mourns for her still. In which Vergil is hit with hallucinatory demon venom on the twenty-third anniversary of his lover's death, and finds his aching memory of her embodied at last. (Rated G, 3936 words, in progress)

Star Wars:

The Music of The Spheres - An AU of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship where he was born mute - and yet, the course of the galaxy changes because of it. Features The Silent Song and fics in its related universe.

The Silent Song (AO3 | FFN) - When Qui-Gon Jinn is ordered to take a new padawan, the Force pushes him towards a certain initiate - but when Qui-Gon is told that Obi-Wan cannot speak, he hesitates. In which Obi-Wan was born mute, but still finds a way to become the Negotiator, and in doing so changes the course of the galaxy. (Rated T, 270,296 words, in progress)

Midwinter Meeting (AO3 | FFN) - A chance meeting between a brooding Master Jinn and a very, very small Jedi, in the first snow of the year. Can be seen as a Christmas prequel for The Silent Song but very loosely; can be read completely separately. (Rated G, 4,269 words, complete)

Midsummer Merriment (AO3 | FFN) - Midsummer festival on the shore of Coruscant's Western Sea brings merriment and adventure. Featuring jellied Aqualish sea-lizards, a whole lot of sand, and unexpected sentiment. Set in the early days of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship. (Rated G, 6,123 words, complete)

Silent Measures (AO3 | FFN) - Oneshots and snippets set around events and futures of The Silent Song, an AU of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship where he cannot speak from birth. (Rated T, 28,466 words, in progress)

The Jedi Who Endured - Obi-Wan Kenobi, whose victory is one of endurance and hope. A series celebrating Obi-Wan's ability to turn infinite sadness into infinite hope.

Horizon Zero Dawn:

Where the Blade Cuts the Deepest (AO3 | FFN) - After Varl’s death, Aloy is determined never to lose another friend to the cause again. Kotallo is determined to see Aloy succeed at her mission, even if it should cost him his life. A perilous journey south sparks new flame between them - but this fire does not simply warm. It also burns. (Rated T, 91,843 words, complete)

Avatar: The Way of Water:

Half Alive (AO3 | FFN) - In the aftermath of the battle, no one has time to check on Spider, and the last thing Spider wants is to be more of a burden than he already is. All he has to do is survive, as he always has, but it isn’t enough. In which Spider slides down a metaphorical slippery slope, and no one notices until Jake almost loses another son. (rated G, 59,377 words, complete)

From Sky to Sea (AO3 | FFN) - Eight years after the Sky People were defeated at the battle of the Floating Mountains, Tonowari encounters a strange Sky Person child, Spider, under the care of the Omaticaya clan. The more he learns about this child, the more horrified he becomes. Tonowari was never one to allow any child to grow without a loving family; Spider is no exception, even if Tonowari must adopt him himself. Now, if only Jake were to agree...

Fics published under my pseud WinterLantern:

Formula 1:

Icarus (AO3) - Daniel loves to fly, but he needs to race. Every F1 driver joins the grid knowing they have a choice to keep their wings or trim them for less weight, sacrificing flight for race pace. Daniel has always promised himself he will never trim his wings; until he comes to McLaren, and the choice is made for him. In which the most-loved driver of the grid has a long, slow fall, and nobody notices until it is too late. (The angsty hurt-comfort F1 wingfic I have no excuse for)

Other oneshots/drabbles/writing game replies available in full on my writing masterlist above and on my AO3/FFN profile.

#finally made a masterpost #Took me long enough

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youareunbearable · 3 years

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I've been thinking, but what if Beren knew Meadhros before the Dagor Bragollach and the Silmaril quest went down

Sure his father was sworn friends with Finrod, but Meadhros was the Watcher of the North, he probably had worked and fought alongside Beren’s father, Barahir of Dorthonion, Lord of Ladros and Chieftain of the house of Beor. Maedhros worked alongside a lot of men, and he was smart and likeable and a strong general, so he probably kept good relations with the Men that lived nearby that would be willing to lend willing swords to help him protect the March.

He maybe even was a guest to Barahir’s wedding, he maybe even sent a gift at the birth of his son. Beren fell in love with an Elf, and that love must have come from somewhere. As a child he must have visited Maedhros’ kept in Himring for a summer celebration that his family was invited to. He had never seen so many Elves before, and they were as beautiful as they were strange. There was one Elf, tall with dark hair, who could sing Songs so beautiful Beren felt as if he could reach out and wrap the sound around him like the world’s loveliest cocoon.

Even the Lord of Himring, the tall being with survival scars and glowing eyes and hair like living fire, looked gorgeous when he laughed. Apparently the singer he just complimented was his younger brother Maglor, and not in fact a beautiful maid. No one seemed to mind his blunder, and Maglor gave him a warm smile and a head pat so all was water under the bridge.

(Years later, Maedhros would continue to tease Maglor that his beauty and voice must be second to Luthien, if his young lover was able to forget him upon seeing her. Maglor just sniffs)

When the Dagor Bragollach happened, many of Beren’s people fled to Maedhros’ fort, and Maedhros kept them safe. When things calm slightly, he might even send out a search party for the missing Chieftain and his son. The scouts return months later with a sobbing Beren and the Ring of Barahir. Instead of letting the man wallow in his grief alone in the wilds, Maedhros would help him, help him be the leader his people need, help him take his grief out on the swarms of the Enemy at their gate, and help him deal with the grief of losing a father. He might even show him his father’s ring, the Feanorian star signet ring that he keeps as a necklace after his father’s death. Tells him how he gave this ring to his brother Maglor when he went off to go fight Morgoth, and how his brother returned it to him 30 years later after his rescue. Maedhros mentors and guides Beren for four years, long yet also just a blink of the eye.

Beren would lead fighting parties, he would become a swift and terrible blade under Meadhros’ wing, and a kind and just leader. But the bounty that Morgoth put on his head is still the same in this version, and he is still chased and hunted by Sauron until he flees into the woods of Nan Dungortheb, then into Doriath, and still falls in love with Luthien at first glance.

She still loves him back just as fiercely, and when Beren asks Thingol for Luthien’s hand, this time when he asks for a Silmaril, it is a snub towards the Noldor who have hosted and trained and, one could argue, even raised Beren. It is still just as an impossible task as before and Beren still accepts.

He knows he cannot go to Maedhros for this, he has his own battles at the North and Beren could never ask him to go back into the Enemy’s hands, so he writes him a letter explaining that he will not be returning home and still goes to Finrod. Celegorm and Curufin still try to stop their foolish cousin and his men from going on this quest. Finrod once again leaves with his small group of loyal men.

Except this time, as they leave Nargothrond, Amras and Amrod ride on to intercept them and encourage them to first rest, plan, and wait for Maedhros’ backup at their fort in Estolad. There they have more Men and Elves that want to join their group, and when Maedhros comes (furious about Thingol, worried about Beren going on this impossible task, sick with the feeling of the Oath forcing him to want to help send this young Man to his doom on the slim chance he might succeed) they create a real plan, get the schedules of the Enemy’s movements, and maps (a map of Fingon’s path into Angband, a map of Sauron and his lieutenants recent movements, patrol paths, and some secret paths that the trolls and slaves they rescued gave, and the layout of Morgoth’s halls that Meadhros himself remembers from his enslavement)

Maedhros also gives him a small, thin blade of Mithril. "It’s to hide on your person, if you get captured, this blade won’t break and is light as a feather." He gives him this blade, not to free himself or the others, as the purpose his brother Curufin had in mind when he made the blade for Maedhros after he was rescued by Fingon, but as another method of escape. The eldest of Feanor’s Sons grips Beren’s arm and tells him that there is nothing worse in Arda than being at the mercy of Morgoth and his pet Sauron. He tells him this blade may seem like a curse, but it is a gift. Meadhros doesn't pray, he hasn’t in centuries, but he dearly hopes that Beren will not have to use it.

This time, when Finrod sings his Song of disguise, it's over much more than a handful of followers. This time, when they reach Minas Tirith they are better prepared to sneak past the fallen city.

(This time, Curufin and Celegorm don’t kidnap Luthien so Celegorm will marry her, but to keep her safe. She still doesn’t appreciate it and still steals their dog. Well, it’s not stealing if the dog escapes with her. This time, when the brothers are still forced to leave Nargothrond, it's not under exile but as a polite but firm request to leave. This time, when they chance upon Luthien and Beren again, Celegorm isn’t fighting over his ego and heart being bruised, but because this bitch stole his dog, and because they made their dormant Oath writhe under their skin, which one could argue is worse. They still lose against the Man and the Half Maiar, and Celegorm’s dog still won’t come home. This time, when they make to to Maedhros’ Himring fortress, they aren’t screamed at for their political fuck ups, but they get a stern “Why do you two always make things so difficult for me” lecture of disappointment while Maglor plays an unsympathetic and taunting accompaniment)

They still fail. Finrod still fails in his battle against Sauron but he is able to do more damage to the former Maiar, and they free more of their trapped men before he is killed by a werewolf. This time it’s not only Arafinweian Elves that fall, but Feanorian as well. When Luthien comes to save him and carry Finrod’s body away, it is Meadhros’ men that send the news to his nephew in Nargothrond, and this changes things.

When they go into Morgoth’s halls again, this time, Beren uses the little mithril blade he was given. This time, he escapes with not one silmaril, but two. One for Thingol, and one for Meadhros and his Oath.

His hand is still eaten with the Silmaril by Carcharoth. And Beren still grieves for the loss, not because he has nothing to bring Thingol, but because he knows he can’t give Maedhros his due if he wants to marry the love of his life.

When he gives Thingol the Silmaril, he also gives a warning before doing so, that the gem may be cursed with Morgoth’s taint and while it’s shine is beautiful, it hides something darker, for nothing so lovely should make people bleed and die for it. And if Thingol was wise, he would give the Silmaril to the sons of Feanor before the Oath and the Curse of Feanor catches up to him.

Melian agrees. She is ignored. This does not change.

Beren and Luthien are wed, and Beren invites the Feanorians on the Hunting of Carcharoth, and it is Amras and Amrod that slay the beast with the help of Huan after it attacks Beren. Huan still dies. Beren still dies. Luthien still dies. Yet the Fenorians gain a Silmaril. This is different.

The Oath is not completed with just the one, but it is sated. This time, the Sons of Feanor do not send a letter to Thingol asking him to surrender the gem. This time Celegorm and Curufin do not threaten to burn Doriath to the ground on a refusal that never came. This time, Thingol does not tighten security on his borders. Melian still suggests that they give the Sons the stone after she catches her husband staring at it for too long. Once again she is ignored. That, at least, does not change.

Luthien still sings her husband back to life. They still retire tp Amros and Amrad’s lands, and this time Beren’s people in Himring join them. Dior is still born, and he plays and hunts with two red headed uncles.

(Nirnaeth Arnoediad is still fought. Maedhros is not betrayed by Ulfang, who had seen the light of the Silmaril the Sons hold, and does not cave to the sweet honeyed words of Sauron. His people are not cursed. And his sons still live to fight to survive the battle. This time, Nargothrond sends forces, and Luthien convinces her father to send troops as well. This time Fingon, and his men are not focused and he is able to defeat Gothmog. Fingon is wounded from this battle, and he still dies, but not to a Balrog. He dies as his father did, managing to land five blows on Morgoth before he is slain and the Dark Lord flees. Morgoth’s forces are dwindled down deeply, and there is a unity amongst the Free People’s of Beleriand. They still count heavy losses, but not as heavy as before. Maedhros grieves the death of his dearest companion, and retreats to Himring. While he was successful, he is still the shadow of the Elf he was before. He still wears golden ribbons wrapped around the stump on his right arm and he still weeps. His brother’s still don’t know how to help him. But this time, they do not suggest a second Kinslaying)

Thingol still dies to the Dwarves. Melian is still wounded and returns to Valinor in her grief. But this time Beren doesn’t kill the Dwarf Lord of Nogrod, he lets him keep the necklace but takes the Silmaril. Luthien, in her anger and grief, curses that the Dwarves of Nogord will one day succumb to their greed and become a stain upon their people.

(Unknown to Luthien or the Dwarves, thousands of years later, it is a descendent of a Nogord dwarf that convinces the King of Khazad-dum to continue to mine until they woke Durin’s Bane. It is a descendant of Norgord that was a spy for Sauron which allowed him to overtake Mount Gundabad. It is a descendant of Norgord that uncovers the Arkenstone. It was Narvi, a descendant of Norgord and Durin’s Folk that marries Celebrimbor, and whose death caused such a profound grief that became a weak point which Annatar was allowed to breach and convince Celebrimbor to craft with him. And it was in Narvi’s memory and honor that Celebrimbor crafted the Seven Dwarven Rings of Power. However, that tragedy could also be blamed on Feanor’s Curse.)

Dior still married Nimloth, he still had two sons and one daughter. His parents still die of mortal age and he once again becomes King of Doriath. This time, he gives his father’s bridal gift to his Elven foster uncles, Amrod and Amras. For this Dior was raised on the belief that this stone was indeed tainted by Morgoth. He knew and saw the death and destruction left in its wake. He heard Feanor’s Twins whisper about their broken eldest brother. How he blames himself for the deaths of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and for the death of the former High Noldiran King Fingon. All because he was spurred on by the confidence the Silmaril gave him. He saw how it turned the greed of the Dwarves into slaying his grandfather and wounding his grandmother. This time, he saw and he wanted no part in it.

This time Doriath is the one to host the refugees of Gondolin. This time, it burns by the followers of the Enemy that followed the refugees there. This time, Elrond and Elros are not raised by the ones who burned their city. But instead they were carried out by their twin uncles Elured and Elurin. This time, they were found by Meadhros and Maglor (they were on the run, as Himring was forsaken and overrun by Morgoth’s filth) who takes in not one, but two sets of twins in.

For all their mannish blood, Elured and Elurin aged more like Elves, and therefore looked and acted like Elves of thirty-one, which meant they were children themselves when they fled their burning home. This is compared to their father and younger sister, who grew like Men and were fully grown by their mid twenties.

Elrond and Elros are still raised by the Sons of Feanor. Elrond still follows his love of healing by trying to help the broken Meadhros, and still learns to sing at Maglor’s knee. Elros still learns to fight and foster his love of leading by watching and copying and learning from Maedhros and still learns to love and care and cook from Maglor. Their travels across Beleriand still make the younger twins open minded and still want to love the other races. Elrond still wants to create a city that acts as a safe haven for everyone. Elros still wants to live amongst men and make the choice that his grandmother made.

This time, Elured and Elurin get a chance to live. This time, Elurin will learn that he loves working with horses. This time, Elured will learn he likes to build things with his hands. This time, they will live long enough to join Elrond in his safe haven of a city, and this time they will help him raise his children, this time they will help guard Celebrain on her travels to visit her mother and their family. This time, they will be captured and allow her to escape back to her husband and their children. This time, it is them that will sail because they can’t escape the feeling of being chased, running wounded through tunnels, and being tortured. This time, Elrond grieves, but his children don’t grow up without a mother.

But that is a tale for another time.

In this time, when the War of Wrath ends, Maedhros and Maglor leave their two sets of twins in Lindon. They gather their brothers who live there, and collect those that don’t. This time, all seven of the Sons of Feanor fight in the War of Wrath in an attempt to take the single Silmaril from Eonwe. Curufin and Celegorm are still slain together. Amrod still burns, but this time to a balrog.

This time their Oath is fulfilled, but for attacking a Maiar it still burns them. Meadhros, lost to the pain of his remaining hand and centuries of grief, leaves his remaining brothers and still tosses himself and one of the Silmarils into the fire of the earth. Maglor weeps, tosses the second Silmaril in the ocean, and tries to drown himself. For it was he who urged his brother to join the War under the cover of taking the last Silmaril, but Caranthir pulled him back, weeping himself.

Amras, weeping, throws the final Silmaril to Eonwe, who has caught up to them. He curses the stone and with the Oath complete, refuses to let it tear apart what is left of his family. Eonwe sends the stone into the sky, and it still becomes a token of repentance, and it is still cast as a star in the sky.

Amras, Caranthir, and Maglor limp back to Lindon, and they are welcomed by Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor.

Caranthir will choose to stay with Celebrimbor in Eregion. He will continue to do trade with the Dwarves, he will continue to make lots of wealth on his trade routes, and he will continue to raise his own Half Elven children he created with Haleth. This time, he will see Annatar for the evil he is and refuse to accept any of his gifts. This time, when Celebrimbor accepts Annatar into his halls, he calls his nephew a fool and he leaves Eregion Numenor. This time, Caranthir will help Elros’ descendants create Gondor and there he will live with his children well into the Fourth Age. He will die being ambushed by a small band of highway robbers traveling to Lothlorien with trade goods.

Amras will continue to travel the world until he finally settles with a band of Green Elves which eventually settle in Greenwood. This band will soon join Oropher's group of Sindarin Elves. Amras will eventually marry a Green Elf and they will have one daughter, Tauriel. Amras will join the Last Alliance during the end of the Second Age, and he will die in battle. His wife will be left to raise their baby daughter alone, and soon she will fade after a thousand years of grief. Tauriel will be raised as a ward of Thranduil’s (in honour of her father, who was Lord of Elves and who’s own brother raised two generations of their children) and becomes dear friends his own son Legolas and spends many evenings babysitting him and teaching him the shapes of the stars.

Maglor will continue to sing by the water, he will still have a hand burned by the Silmaril, and he still will have a mind half lost to grief and guilt. But he will stay with Elrond, Elured, and Elurin in Lindon, and he will join them in Rivendell after the War of Sauron and the Elves, and he will be a grandfather to Elrond’s children, and he will walk Elured and Elurin to the Grey Havens, and he will sing on the shore until he can no longer see their disappearing boat. And come the end of the Third Age, he will sail west with his son and his daughter-in-law with the ring bearers.

This time, the Sons of Feanor will all be reunited on the Shores of the Undying Land.

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animatorweirdo · 3 years

Text

The frost breath

The fortress has been taken over by a force out of another world. Even Langon was embraced by an emotion he thought he couldn't feel, fear. Maglor finally finds you, but in a strange state. You were wrapped in flowers.

Warning; Violence, death and fear

Chapter 19

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It was utter chaos.

Orcs were screaming, trying to flee through the gate, but the beast chomped down on the first orc, who dared to step out of the fortress. The orcs stayed inside. They were trapped.

The orc captains tried to calm down the soldiers and take control of the situation, but orcs were dying one by one around them. Those who tried to escape on their own were devoured whole by the beast's maws. Those who tried to fight back were torn by its massive claws. Even as a group it was hard to fight against it. It would lure the individuals by mimicking the voices, sending a false sense of security and hope before devouring them after they stepped into its trap. The freezing snowstorm didn't bother the creature at all. It was like the snowstorm was its ally rather than dangerous weather.

"Hold your position! Hold your position!" The last surviving orc captain ordered the soldiers. His voice was muffled by the wind and the terror which controlled the orcs made them unable to hear what he was even saying.

"Hold your..." The orc captain froze in his place for what he saw. Like in a slow-motion; giant maws appeared before him. He was whisked away inside the beast's jaw before he could even react. The orcs yelled and screamed after they witnessed the fate of their last captain. There was now no one to lead them. The army scattered into chaos and despair. They were unable to fight against the beast that came out of nowhere.

The snow queen watched the chaos from one of the destroyed high towers, unfazed by the blood and the death before her. Even though; she held no emotions. She was rather proud of how the young one dealt with her enemies.

The chaos continued, the beast continued its slaughter until there were no screams left to hear. The conquered fortress was now filled with haunting silence, like the cheers of victory when it was taken; never occurred.

The doors opened, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Langon walked out into the main hall. Shock and confusion were written on his face as he witnessed the state it was in. Snow and ice covered every stone of the floor and the walls. The frozen statues of the orcs just decorating halls with a haunting theme. "My lord!" The last surviving orcs who came to the main hall for safety ran up to him. They bowed down to him. "My lord! There is a monster outside!" One of them said. "Every orc outside the fortress has been slaughtered or devoured! What do we do?!" Another orc asked. Devoured? Langon questioned in his mind. His thoughts then came to you. Were you doing this? That's impossible, you were in Maluk's hands. Come to think of it; where was Maluk? He should have dealt with the trivia outside long ago.

Everyone froze when they heard a growl. The main hall fell into a deep silence. Langon picked up something dark with his fea and looked toward the ceiling. The huge hole he had covered was now visible again, letting snow inside the hall.

One certain orc recognized the growl. "It's the monster," He whispered in a quiet tone, his face becoming pale with fear. The orcs yelped when the two main doors to the hall opened. The doors slammed against the walls, creating a loud banging noise. The orcs prepared their weapons for a fight, but no one came in. The doors were moving and leaping around because of the wind. "Wait... Didn't two orcs stay behind to guard the entrance? Where are they?" One of the orcs asked. Like his question has been answered; two bodies fell from above. They slammed against the floor with a loud thud, scaring the life out of all the orcs inside the hall. They yelled and pointed their weapons at the bodies. Langon looked at the state they were in. They were decapitated. Their bodies were fine, but their heads were missing. They were ripped out of their bodies. Langon looked up toward the dark part of the ceiling. He had a feeling where the heads were.

Something large moved in the dark. A giant, pale skull showed itself from the shadows. The orcs stood back in fear when they saw the head in the ceiling. Two bright frozen eyes stared down on them like two bright pearls in the dark. One certain orc recognized those eyes. He escaped from a monster which hunted the whole raiding squad and killed his brother. It had the same eyes as the monster in the forest. "I... It's the monster!" He yelled.

The monster growled and lunged toward them. Langon and the orcs got out of they way, so they wouldn't get crushed, but a one certain orc didn't got out of the way in time. The monster landed right on top of him. He was crushed by its weight and died on the spot. It lowered its head toward him then let out satisfied crumbles. It finally caught the prey that got away. Langon stood back and took in the creature's appearance. He recognized your frozen eyes. This was... You. How could this be? You looked nothing like before. He could barely tell if you were even a human anymore. Your frozen eyes glowed under the giant skull of a deer. You were taller than a troll but shorter than a Balrog. Your arms were longer and your fingers were covered in thick ice formed into claws. Thick Grey fur covered your shoulders and your neck like a lion's mane. You stood on your four, but if you were to stand up; you could reach the height of a Balrog.

You were... A terrifying sight. Your human fea was gone; replaced by a dark fea which was cold as ice and was just blazing with dread, and hunger. A hunger to devour every living being. You could be equal to Ungoliant and Langon has never even met the great spider of the void. Only heard stories about her never-ending hunger.

You turned your gaze toward Langon. He stood back, he almost allowed shivers to run across his back. A deep growl came through your throat. You raised your skull face, leaned back a bit, and let out a powerful roar. The orcs stood back in fear, but one orc decided to charge toward you, yelling like a maniac. You smacked the orc away when he got too close. He was sent flying and he hit one of the frozen statues which shattered from the impact. You smacked that orc like a fly. The attack the orc tried to make was feeble and pathetic, but it somehow managed to encourage other orcs to attack. They yelled and came at you like they were in a war. Langon watched as the fight began.

The orcs attacked you from every direction that you were in the middle and unable to escape. They were just about to hit you, but you then disappeared and their weapons hit the dead orc which was under you. "What the-!?" One of the orcs yelled. You snarled, catching their attention. You were high above the ceiling. Langon looked at you, shocked. When did you manage to get there? With a roar, you leaped toward the orcs. Your maws snatched one of the with speed Langon has never seen.

You leaped on one of the stone pillars. The orc in your blood drenched maws struggled until you bit down on him. His body went limb and dark red blood flowed between your sharp fangs. Opening your maws, you let the dead orc fall from your mouth.

The surviving orcs started shaking and whimpering in fear. They didn't see you come at them, but you already caught one of them and killed him in cold blood. This sent a deep, dreadful message to them.

They're gonna die.

You snarled and leaped toward them again. They yelped, preparing for a fight. Even though; it was hopeless.

Langon watched as the onslaught was happening right in front of him. One by one; you killed an orc with your teeth and claws. You moved around the hall, using pillars, the walls, and the ceiling to move yourself to your another victim. It was like moving your large body was a child's play to you. Orcs screamed and yelled as they were slaughtered. You bit some of them down, but some of them you sent flying against the walls, killing them with brute force. Langon has seen your speed when you were in your human-like form, but now as a large beast; you were faster than before. He could barely keep up with his eyes.

Langon finally realized that the screaming had ended. It was silent. He looked for the remaining orcs but found all of them dead. He was alone. Alone with you.

You dropped the dead orc on the floor as your gaze was fixated on the dark maiar. You set yourself down from the pillar and slowly approached him. Langon's heart started beating fast, there was also a dreadful feeling shaking his core. He couldn't almost believe it. He was afraid. Afraid of you.

He started chanting in the dark tongue. The shadows in the hall started responding to him. He then showed his hand toward you. The shadows went to approach you. You noticed the same trick he once used on you. You growled, stopping on your tracks. You cried out a haunting howl like roar. Langon closed his ears from the loudness of it. Your fea suddenly pulsed like a wave. The shadows scattered away from you, returning to the darkness. You focused back on Langon. You quickened your pace and approached him. He quickly recovered from his shock and focused on you. He couldn't believe it. Somehow, you 'scared' the shadows away. He growled in anger. He opened his palm and a blue, grey fire engulfed his hand. He never thought he would have to get serious and use more powerful magic on you. He threw the fire at you in a powerful blast. You took a direct hit to your face and backed away with a cry. Langon observed if that had any effect on you. What he sent was ghost fire. It's a form of flame which doesn't harm the physical body but burns the fea. It's a dangerous flame which would erase a fea from existence. You screeched and growled as it was like something was burning within you. Langon observed as his fire started burning your monstrous fea. The flame was visible in his eyes, it was taking effect but then something impossible happened. You roared and the monstrous fea... Devoured the ghost flame, then it went out. Langon stood back in shock. You devoured the ghost flame! One of the most powerful forms of fire. The dark fea around you started blazing with fury. You roared and charged at him. Langon formed more ghost fire, and threw it at you. Your head only moved a bit from side to side as you took in the hits. You didn't even bother to dodge them like they were nothing to you. You got closer to him and now you opened your maws at him, ready to stab your teeth through his flesh. Langon stopped and stepped back. You showed your fangs then brought them down on him.

Camilla and Maglor jolted when they heard crows cawing , and flying away from the fortress. It became quiet soon and the snowstorm seemed to start calming down. Maglor rubbed his eyes because he almost fell asleep during the wait. How long have they been waiting? He glanced at the snowstorm. The cold air soon vanished into a mild chill. The wind calmed into a gentle breeze, bringing less snow than before.

"I think she's done. Let's go," Camilla continued toward the fortress when the path became clear. He glanced at the fortress. His heart beating anxiously on thoughts of seeing you again. He wasn't sure how your meeting would go, and he was a bit afraid of what he will find when he enters his former fortress. He stopped thinking and followed Camilla toward his former fortress, and toward you.

In a lonely tower. You walked with careful steps into a room. The hole in the ceiling gave you a clear view of the sky and snow was gently falling inside the room. Your blue eyes gazed down on the deer skull. You laid down on your knees, and placed the skull mask in front of you. You placed it that it was looking at you. You stared at it for a moment before looking at the sky. Dark roots suddenly grew around you. It started wrapping around you and grow blue flowers. You leaned your head back, opening your mouth wide open and closing your eyes. Blue flowers started growing out of your mouth until it reached the full growth. You sat there, wrapped in flowers. Your eyes closed like you were in peaceful slumber; unbothered by the snow and the cold.

Camilla opened another cell door. "Alright people, you can come out, you're free!" She told the elves inside the cell, then went to open another cell. The elven prisoners walked out with hesitation, but then calmed down when they saw Maglor. They yelled in their language; relief and joy in their tone. Maglor calmed them down. He recognized some of them as his former servants and soldiers. He spoke to them and told them the way to leave the fortress. To be honest, he was surprised that so many prisoners were still alive. Maybe the cells protected them, or maybe you don't go after a easy prey. Maybe as a wendigo, you still have some of the morals still in control. He noticed Camilla opening another cell and the prisoner who came out gave him a shock. It was a very familiar face, who he thought was dead. It was his captain. He vanished when the sudden flames assaulted his fortress.

The elf bowed to Camilla in gratitude. "Rhaon!" Maglor called out, walking up to them. "My lord!" Rhaon said in deep surprise before bowing to his lord. Camilla walked away to give the two peace. "(I'm glad to see you alive)" Maglor spoke in their language. "(Same here, my lord, but... What are you doing here?)" Rhaon questioned. Maglor was about to answer, but then someone loud decided to use their voice very loudly. "Excuse me! Has anyone seen a human girl this tall, with these features and a personality of a fool, who knows how to get into trouble!" Camilla explained. Elves started whispering to each other as some shook their head. "Human girl... Wait, isn't she?" Rhaon pointed at Camilla. "Yes, we once saved her from a warg. The other human girl was captured here. Have you seen her at all?" Maglor asked. Rhaon stood quiet for a moment. "I don't think so... I did hear there was one human captive, but..." He started. "Wait..." He remembered something. "I did! She was forced to work under a crazy maiar named Maluk as he did experiments on us! But then the creature arrived and... I haven't seen her since," He explained. "I don't think she might be alive..." He added. Maglor sighed. "Don't worry... I know she is," He said. "Rhaon, lead these elves to Himring. The roads should be safe enough to travel," He explained. "I will follow you behind," He was about to go to Camilla until Rhaon grabbed his arm, stopping him. "My lord! The creature has slaughtered every orc in the fortress and it might not be friendly to us! I don't think it wise for you to go!" He explained. "I will be fine. Take these elves to Himring as fast as you can. And I will not be alone, trust me on this," Maglor pulled his arm away and walked toward Camilla. "... Yes, my lord," Rhaon said with hesitation before going to fulfill his lord's order.

Maglor walked up to Camilla, who was standing in the entrance of the stairway after checking every cell." I guess that's a no since no one answered my question," She said. "Oh well. Let's go," She turned around and started walking up the stairs. Maglor is right behind her. "She might be somewhere around here, so let's hope we will dump into her sooner or later," She said. "I was told (Name) was taken by a maiar named Maluk," Maglor said. "Maluk... Now, who the heck is that?" Camilla questioned as she came to the top of the stairs. She opened the doors then they came to a hallway. "Who knows most likely just one of the maiars who got seduced by Morgoth's power," Maglor explained. "Who are the worst maiars under his service?" She asked as they then walked along the hallway. "They would be the balrogs, they are his most cruel servants, and their bodies are engulfed in dark flames. My father perished when battling with them," He said. "How many was he against?" Camilla asked. "At least six," Maglor remembered the day like it was yesterday. "No offense, but going alone against six balrogs without backup is a plan of a fool," Camilla boldly stated. "I... You're not wrong," Maglor said. They came to another hallway. "Are there any other maiars we should be worried about?" Camilla asked. "There is Gorthaur the cruel, or commonly known as Sauron. Morgoth's lieutenant," Maglor explained. "Interesting, now let's end the chit-chat and try to find our girl here," Camilla looked around. Maglor nodded and followed along.

The two looked around for minutes, going from hall to a hall, checking out rooms and rooms. Camilla turned around the corner, then stopped when she saw a dead body in front of her. It wasn't another orc and it was in another state than all the other dead bodies. "What did your guy said about a maiar named Maluk?" She asked, turning to Maglor. "That (Name) was taken by him and that he's crazy," He explained. "Well, we don't need to worry about him anymore," She pointed out. Maglor frowned then walked around her to see. On the floor in the hallway laid a dead body of Maluk. He was white and covered in frost. He looked like he was frozen to death. Even Maglor knew this was not your doing. Your handiwork is more like ripping and tearing limb from a limb. This had to be the snow queen's doing.

"I think I know why (Name) hasn't shown up yet," Camilla said. "What is the most desolated place here?" She asked. Maglor looked at her with a confused frown.

The two walked into an open room of the tower. "Ta-da! Here's she is!" Camilla said, then walked up to your figure. Maglor stopped at the doorway and stared at your state. Why were you wrapped in vines and flowers? He walked closer toward you and Camilla, then was startled when he saw the blue flowers growing out of your mouth. Out of instinct, he grabbed on the roots of the flowers, intending to pull them out. "Don't!" Camilla grabbed his hand, preventing him from pulling the flowers. "But-!" Camilla interfered again. "Don't worry, this is normal and she's not suffocating," She explained, letting go of his hand. Maglor pulled his hand away from the flowers. He stood quiet for a moment. "What happened to her?" He asked. "She's in a... Hibernation-like... Slumber. There isn't really a proper term for it. When a wendigo gets severely injured, they tend to go to a desolated place and shut down their bodies. These flowers are like their healers, they fix their injuries," She explained. Maglor took a moment to progress the knowledge. "Why are they growing out of her mouth? "He asked." They're called Frost breaths; I think that's why, " Camilla then stood up. Maglor frowned at her. "Let's make a fire and wait. It's for the best we wait her healing is done, then we don't need to worry about getting her to the healers, " She explained. "Now help me look for some dry wood, " She started looking around the place.

Maglor crouched down to you. You looked peaceful. Even though; you had flowers growing out of your lungs. He inspected the injuries you had. Your shoulder was in a bloody mess; he can guess in what kind of pain you were in. What kind of torture you went through. It broke his heart to even think about it. The frost breath was wrapped around you like you were a decorated corpse. He glanced at the deer skull which was sitting in front of your slumbering figure. It was disturbing to look into its eyes, so he turned it around that it was looking elsewhere than you. He then glanced at you again. He wasn't sure if you even were alive, but he's gonna trust Camilla's word and wait for you to wake up.

The night soon came. The snowstorm stood calm and didn't bother you three at all. The bonfire crackled and illuminated the room with warm light. Camilla tended the bonfire and made sure it wouldn't go out. Maglor was glancing at you from time to time. He was usually a patient elf thanks to his younger brothers, but now he felt restless. The silence was overbearing and he kinda wished he brought his harp along; so he could at least fill the silence with music. But his worry over you was the main reason...

His ear caught cracking sounds. He looked toward you and saw the dark vines wrapping tight around your arm. There was a loud crack before your arm moved up by itself. He watched the scene with utmost concern. Were those sounds... Your bones? The cracking sounds stopped and the vines moved no more, but his worry for your health didn't cease at all. It just got bigger. "The frost breath fixed her broken arm," Camilla stated. "They can fix broken bones?" Maglor questioned. "Yep, that's what makes them special and very rare," She answered, then pointed at the flowers on your body with the stick she has been poking the bonfire with. "The frost breath outside will place the bones back to their places and hold them there until the frost breath inside her lungs heals all the internal injuries," She explained. She then put the stick down and moved next to you. "Check this out," She said, moving your shirt to show your bare shoulder. Maglor almost looked away because Camilla was literally showing your skin without your consent, but his attention was caught when he saw water flowing on your skin. Your deep shoulder injury slowly started healing itself then... It was gone. The water even cleaned all the blood away, like the injury was never there. He looked closer, there wasn't even a trace of a scar.Camilla finally covered your shoulder. "Let's boil some water. I think it's a good time to return to Himring," She stood up. "Do you have a kitchen around somewhere?" She asked. Maglor snapped out of his trance. "Yes, I show you," He stood up.

After boiling the water in a pot. Camilla held your mouth open and moved the frost breath a bit to make space. Maglor stood in front of you, holding a bowl of boiling water. "Now, carefully pour the water into her mouth in tiny pours, too much hot water might damage her lungs," Camilla explained. Maglor looked at her with hesitation. "Isn't this gonna hurt her?" He asked. Boiling water in your lungs didn't sound great at all. It sounded very painful, a bit worse than drowning. "Don't worry, her body temperature is so low that a little bit of hot water will not do anything to her. We just want to remove the frost breath," She explained. "I... Uhm..." Maglor looked at you. You were now in a better state, but pouring hot water didn't appease him at all. "I can do it if you don't want to," Camilla suggested. "No! I can do it," He quickly said. To this point, he hasn't been much of a help. He wants at least to do something for your sake. He leaned the bowl toward your mouth as Camilla held you steady. He poured tiny drops against the walls of your airway and a bit against the roots. The act continued until the petals of the frost breath suddenly died down and started withering. Maglor stopped and stood back. He watched as the blue flowers became colorless and withered. "Now, we just need to pull it out," Camilla stood up. "I take care of this part. Keep her steady while I pull it out," She said.

Maglor set the bowl down, then did what Camilla told him to do. He carefully held your head steady as Camilla grabbed the withering flower. She slowly started pulling the flower up. Maglor watched discomfort when he saw how long the roots were. That was in your lungs?! He almost jumped when you suddenly jolted. He held you tighter in his hands, then glanced at Camilla with worry in his eyes. "Don't worry it sometimes happens," She said then continued pulling the flower. She kept going until it was fully out. Your eyes suddenly opened, still blue in color. Your head leaned forward, closing your mouth. Maglor caught you in his embrace. The flowers around you withered, releasing you from their hold. You let out a deep breath before your eyes closed automatically.

Maglor held you in his arms, unsure what to do. "It's done. We can go home now," Camilla said then held the withered long plant up. "Check this out, it's almost long as your sword," She said. "Please put that down. It was in (Name)'s lungs," Maglor said. "Alright," She crushed the flower into dust. Maglor glanced at you then held his fingers against your cheeks. You were cold as ice. He took off his cape and wrapped it around your body. He put the hood over your head. He can resist the current weather, but you needed some warmth in that state.

"Ready to go?" Camilla asked. "Yeah. Let's go," Maglor picked you up in bridal style. Camilla kicked snow into the bonfire, putting the fire down and letting the room fall into darkness.

#silmarillion x reader #maglor x reader #silmarillion #maglor #wendigo reader #silmarillion imagines #maglor imagines #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagines #Silmarillion fanfiction #supernatural reader #silm fic #tolkien #maglor x wendigo reader

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volvaofowls · 3 years

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Reader is someone who is struggling with depression, but when their elf got captured by orcs, reader musters the courage to save them and bring them back to safety

Maglor

- Maglor was someone you liked to spend time with, you would seek him out and spend time talking to him about everything. You would talk about music, life, family, history, yourselves. Maglor was probably the only one who got you, he would often talk about not seeing the spark in his reflection anymore, and actively avoiding it. It helped you to know that there is someone you can relate you, but it also made you wonder sometimes if he would be better off without you dragging him down. Maglor always assured you in these moments that he prefers the honesty and openness that you have than anything else, that there are moments when you are manage to comfort him and pull him out.

- At first when you heard that Maglor has been captured you freaked out; it was so sudden. It was a chaotic assembly of the finest group of fighters to return Maglor. As the rescue party was being quickly put together you hesitated. Surely, they can do it without you, Maglor is one of the best warriors, if even he couldn’t make it what makes you think that you can do it? You will just be in the way of everyone else, you can get captured as well and let everyone down.

- You were about to return to your rooms when someone called out to you. It was Celegorm who asked you if you got your horse ready. When you replied you were not going Celegorm looked at you confused. When he heard your reasoning of being in the way he got annoyed, saying in a situation like this there are no useless people. You felt getting a little lightheaded, being overwhelmed with emotions. You were not believing in yourself, but Celegorm was right, if you can help to rescue Maglor then it doesn’t matter what you or anyone else thinks. The most important part is to return Maglor home.

- You joined the rescue party and you all rode out, the large group splitting in several smaller ones, going in different directions, covering more ground trying to find your Maglor. Due to your overly nervous state, you were hyper aware of your surroundings, the slightest movement made you turn your head and double check. That is when you saw in the distance a faint flickering of orange light. Signalling to your group, you all made way towards the light, with you in the front, navigating everyone towards it. The company ambushed the orcs, with elves circling the band of orcs, cutting off the escape routes.

- The elves charged at them, someone from the orcs called out and a fight ensued. As Celegorm and others were busy fighting, you were focused on finding Maglor. You see him on the other side of the small battlefield. A rouge orc had one of his hands was in Maglor’s hair and the other held dagger against Maglor’s throat. Maglor tried to get free, but the orc was yanking at his hair with great force, controlling the elf and not allowing him to make a movement wrong under a threat of his neck being pierced.

- Without thinking you took up the bow and arrows that were idle by your side before, running around the field to find a more favourable position. The first arrow you had shot had managed to wound the orc. It provided a moment for Maglor to fall forward and away from the orc. As you come closer, the victorious rage within you surges forward as you shoot another arrow at the now laying on the ground orc. Feeling like it’s not enough, you would have shot another arrow at the dead enemy, but Maglor calls out to you.

- Maglor is still on the ground, he managed to get his hands free. But then you see it, his shirt is covered in blood, the wound on his neck a thin line. You run up to him and fall next to him as your knees give way. Under the influence of your adrenaline rush you rip of sleeve and wrap it around his neck, making Maglor put pressure on it. You take him away, giving single to Celegorm as you two hurry back home with him in front of you, as you make sure your grip is tight on Maglor as you lead the horse.

- When already home Maglor will thank you, jokingly calling you his knight in shining armour. Celegorm will sit next to Maglor has, listening to his words, when you look at him Celegorm will give you just a silent nod of approval and leave you two alone.

Fingon

- In the beginning of your acquaintanceship with Fingon, you tried to avoid him. You liked him but from afar, you think he was quite overbearing at times, and it was annoying that no one else seems to think so. So, you would just be polite with him, smiles and nods, at the same time trying to escape his invitations for whatever endeavour he came up with this time. It seemed to you that Fingon had no sense of personal space, whenever you would be feeling down and isolate yourself to try to cope with it Fingon would appear and invite for a horse riding.

- Usually, you would go along with him, sometimes you will have a good time and others you would just pretend to. Bu this last time has been very bad. For nearly a week your sleep routine was ruined – you were not able to escape your thoughts at night, not feeling any desire to sleep and during the days you were very tired and moody, just lying in bed, isolating yourself from everyone, punishing yourself for not being good enough. That day the despair and anger at yourself would not subside, they will keep growing and festering, clinging to you and everything you touched like a glue.

- It was in a moment like this Fingon found you. As if he knew when you were at your worst and actively sought you out. He didn’t even manage to finish what he was saying as you exploded at him, making jabs at him for being so overbearing and disrespecting your personal space, always being so active around you, as if making it his personal goal to highlight everything you cannot do. In the end you just asked him to leave, saying that if you wanted to see him you would have found him yourself.

- After he left the anger and frustration within you were overcome with a feeling of guilt and disgust with yourself. It was not his fault, and the only person to blame here is you for your outburst. Suspecting he wanted to invite you on a hunt you got ready and took your ride to Fingon’s favourite hunting area, the one he always took you to. You tracked Fingon following the fresh set of footprints, that was until the single footprints were overcome with several sporadic large ones, it was clear as day – an orcish ambush.

- Muttering your breath, you followed the footprints deeper into the woods. You had only a bow with you and a hunting knife, no weapon for a close combat with several armed orcs. You had little hope in success of your mission, but you moved anyway. When you found them, you saw Fingon, thrown on a ground with his head bleeding, seemingly in pain but at least conscious.

- You managed to move silently to a position where Fingon’s eyes met yours. As soon as he spotted you his expression of pain was replaced with terror. But you managed to signal him to be calm and be ready. Making noise by twigs and stones you loured one of the orcs a good distance away from the camp. Jumping at him from the tree you silenced him with your blade.

- There were two orcs to go, you started to feel nervous – how to lour the other two without risking Fingon’s life. You quickly got closer to the camp again to see what was happening. The other two orcs were standing with their backs and necks straight, listening to for the return of their companion. You got your arrows at the ready. As soon as one of them moved a little in the direction of the dead orc and away from the camp you pierced his throat with arrow, making him choke. The second arrow went straight to the last remaining orc but it missed, wounding him on the shoulder. The orc screamed going for a swing at you with a club, but Fingon seeing this attempt kicked the orc with all his force, making him trip over the root and fall in the ground, worsening the arrow inflicted wound.

- In the moments that you had you cut binds you on Fingon loose, leaning him on himself to stand as you run walked to your horse. Returning bleeding Fingon back to safety caused a lot of ruckus within the castle. Everyone surrounding you, bombarding you with questions what happened and how. You delivered Fingon to healer and went into your room, the adrenalin disappearing from your system and realisation of what just happened weighting heavy on you. Slumping in your closed room you cried in fear, thinking about how you and Fingon nearly died, how you could have been quicker and how it all could have been avoided if Fingon didn’t come to talk to you today. As you heard someone approach your room you quickly rubbed at your face, sniffling and clearing your throat, making sure no one would even think that you cried.

- It was healer’s assistant, saying that prince Fingon was requesting for you to come into his rooms. Fingon was in his bed, with his bed and minor wounds already cleaned and bandaged up, it made you wonder for how long really were closed up in your room. He begun with thanking you for saving him and apologising for today. Yet again for today you interrupted him, saying that you also wanted to apologise for your behaviour, you are not like him. You tried to explain to him that you are not like him and you need your space and that there are times when you cannot care to do things, no matter how much you enjoyed them previously, and even the simplest things such as having conversations to other people feels useless and too much. That you hated the feelings and were enraged with yourself for being like this, but couldn’t help it. At this Fingon started to apologise again, saying that he was so pushy because he could sense your sadness and tried to cheer you up, but now he understood you a bit more, he wanted you to know that he will give you space, but he wanted you to know that he will be always available for you and you can seek him out, as he is ready to help you in any way you need him to.

If you want to be in a tag list please let me know.

#maglor x reader #maglor imagine #maglor #fingon #fingon x reader #fingon imagine #Silmarillion x reader #Silmarillion imagine #silmarillion

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tilions · 3 years

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A long way from home

I always wanted to write something about Maglor's wife Cellin and how she goes searching for her husband. Daeron also made his way here and I'm not complaining. The relationship between him and Cellin can be interpreted however you want but I think of it as queerplatonic.

It had been her goal to find a lost, sad minstrel but as fate played out she ended up with the one she didn't go on a journey for. It was her first journey without any family or friends accompanying her and from the start it had seemed like it would be a lost cause to even go and search for him. Even her always optimistic father had said that such a search would be fruitless.

If someone doesn't want to be found, my dear it becomes an almost impossible task, he had said and smiled in her general direction.

She knew he wasn't just saying empty words but that he spoke from experience. When father said serious things like this he was always speaking from experience but Cellin was never brave enough to actually ask what had made him think that way. What had made him believe this was the way of things?

Now she looked in the direction where Daeron was waiting for her at the end of the pathway some people of the atani had made and wondered if her experience will be different from her father's.

Sure she hadn't found her husband - yet - but someone else whom her people had believed was lost forever.

Would she return with only Daeron in tow, the Sindar would probably praise her for bringing back their lost prince and maybe refrain from referring to her as the victim of her husband's wicked power, brainwashed and manipulated like they also did with Elrond whenever he spoke up in his father's behalf. Or rather done up until rather recently, since Cirdan had noticed it. And if there was one person in this world who could match the terrifying way in which Cellin's mother could show her disappointment, it was Cirdan.

Now the thing was that Cellin's didn't set out to find Daeron and she wouldn't return with only Daeron in tow. Even if everyone else would be overjoyed. Cellin's journey would have missed its purpose and she wasn't sure if she would ever find the courage to set out on another one ever again. She would always find something to do instead of traveling alone, no matter how much she yearned to see her husband again.

She was not an adventurer. Not in the sense in which they are portrayed in stories. She liked to travel in good company, with her family, their little caravan of wagons and a song on her lips, a known destination ahead and nothing to worry about except for the place they would rest at night. She was a comfortable person and she was wise enough to admit that. Her husband had known this too and never pushed her to do things she didn't want to do especially when it came to traveling.

Sure they had to pick up a more nomadic lifestyle halfway through the war but this had been a necessity not something Cellin could decide against. She could have decided against going on this journey and that's where the difference was.

The matter of choice.

She followed Daeron down the path further south, through the lands of those of the atani who not yet had discovered the wheel and who still lived in huts made of clay and dried grass. Those people watched them pass through their little settlements with wonder in their eyes, trading their knowledge of the land willingly for one of Daeron's songs or Cellin's handcrafted toys for their children.

Celllin could watch them for hours for they had not yet seen the terrors of the world and lived and thrived at their own pace, much like her own people had done according to legend.

Neither her nor Daeron spoke much with one another. Their travels were wrapped in silence, like they were strangers… which they weren't.

Cellin had been Daeron's friend when both of them had been children and they had done everything together, had shared secrets and made promises. Cellin was sure that if she hadn't met Maglor she would've ended up marrying Daeron, even if she wouldn't have loved him in the same way she loved her husband. And if she was being honest she still would marry him any day, not out of the same love that she felt for Maglor but out of a very similar feeling.

She didn't know if he felt the same way. He had always been incredibly difficult to read even during the time when they were the closest. But once again she was not brave enough to actually speak to him when the silence between them became too much for her, instead she would start humming some silly traveling song her father had made up of she would keep herself distracted by watching their surroundings with even more care than necessary.

She noticed the side glance he would give her but since he never said anything, Cellin assumed he just found it silly how she behaved.

Only very rarely would he join her in her silly songs and those were some of the most carefree times on their journey, reminding Cellin very much of her life before the War, before the Fall, before everything. Those moments never lasted long and she mourned them once they were over. The memory however she kept close to her heart, so that it could make the silence that would always follow again more bearable.

"We're coming closer to the shores," Daeron said one day when they once again left an atani village behind. "I can smell the salt of the sea."

"Can you?" Cellin wondered. "I didn't know that."

"Me neither," he replied and shrugged. "Father never allowed me to go near the shore and I never actively went there myself even after I left."

"It's… nice," Cellin said but tried not to think about the last time she had seen the sea, tainted red in the blood of yet another fight her father-in-law's path had caused his son's to take.

"So I have heard but there is even more. Some of the villagers spoke of a ghost that roams the black shores to the southwest, with a voice as enchanting as a siren - whatever that may be."

He didn't need to say more because Cellin knew what this could mean. She would've loved to cry out in joy.

"We shouldn't get our hopes up," Daeron said and put a hand on her shoulder. "Humans tell many tales and most of them prove to be quite untrue, they're not good at remembering history correctly."

"Every tale holds a bit of truth," Cellin shot back and Daeron just nodded.

Neither of them asked the other why they hadn't bothered looking near the sea in the first place, given that everything Cellin had heard always said that her husband was wandering the shorelines, but then again Cellin had never asked Daeron why he was helping her and Daeron had never asked Cellin what she actually was looking for. There was a silent understanding between them, that didn't need questions or answers.

They took the little they had and continued to travel, this time with a destination in mind and Cellin felt how this alone made her feel much more comfortable.

The closer they came to the shore, the more frequently they were plagued by storms and rain. Thunder would roar high in the clouds with the might of ten thousand lions and lightning would strike across the dark skies as bright as a star. They would huddle together under the cover of the trees, Daeron's large cloak covering their heads, shielding them from the cold, the rain, the lashing winds.

Still they didn't speak much but the silence between them was different now. Cellin couldn't put into words what had changed but she wouldn't dare to complain.

She would wait and listen to the thunder, the distant waves, the howling winds and Daeron's quiet breathing near her ear. And sometimes, sometimes there was something that sounded like a voice carried by the wind but each time she thought to hear it it would be swallowed by some other noise.

"It's not your imagination," Daeron would tell her, calmly stroking her shoulder. "I hear it too."

"Just like you can smell the salt?"

"Hm.." He replied and smiled faintly. "Just like I smell the salt. Come now the sky is clearing up. It is time to reach the shore."

Eventually they did so and it was as the villagers had told them. The sand upon these shores was a black as obsidian, as the darkest night under a starless sky but it was warm underneath their bare feet when they walked on it, following the distant voice even further south.

Cellin wondered which part of the world they had reached now and whether her husband would lead them to the end. How far would Lake Cuivienen be from where they were now? And would it be like her father and mother had told her? Should she ask Daeron if he wanted to go looking for it on their way back?

…

If he wanted to return with her and Maglor that was. She wasn't sure if he would. Maybe he preferred to travel like this? Was it possible that he only helped her find her husband and would leave them once they had done so?

The thought actually made her sad and before she knew it she was wiping tears off her cheeks. Tears that had somehow found their way from her eyes and didn't go unnoticed by her companion.

"He's not far, no need to cry now. You'll be able to go home with him soon enough."

But what about you?, she wanted to ask but her throat could produce no sound aside from ungly sobs. Won't you come with us? Will you leave us? Again?

He stroked her back and helped her silently through the avalanche of emotions that had overtaken her heart.

Eru, she loved him, as much as one could love their best friend, as much as one could love their family. She wouldn't want to go home without him, leave him. It would feel like leaving a part of her soul behind. She knew that feeling all too well, she had experienced it before and she didn't want to live through that pain again.

"You're not crying because you're happy to see him again?" Daeron asked.

"I… I am happy," Cellin replied when she found her voice again. "But I'm also sad because finding him would mean for you to leave us."

He remained silent then and in silence they continued to walk, towards the voice that was lamenting, only fueling the many feelings that were battling inside her chest with all the sadness told of.

Daeron's hand remained on her shoulder for the rest of this short way.

#maglor #daeron #oc cellin #maglor's wife #tolkien #silmarillion #silm fic #fic #my writing #tolkien elves #tolkien oc #my oc

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

Text

And now for something completely different - I’ve written a fanfic!

I’m well aware that the rescue from Thangorodrim is the single most heavily-written subject in the Silmarillion fandom, but I wanted to put together some of my own ideas on it.

I’m far more interested in Maedhros’ reaction to his rescue than his reaction to his captivity, so the physical/psychological effects of his time as a captive are much less emphasized here than in most other fics I’ve read.

Fanfic - Mithrim

“...recall some pity,” Fingon had said, and Maedhros has wondered at his delusion. Did you not hear the Doom, cousin? We have forsaken the Valar, and they have forsaken us.

Then the Eagle came.

*********************************

He wandered long between sleep, nightmare, and delerium, but when he awoke it was to find Maglor sitting in a chair next to his bed. There were used plates and cups beside him, and an air of long watching without sleep or rest, yet from the moment Maedhros opened his eyes his brother seemed unwilling to meet his gaze.

“How are you feeling?”

Maedhros took a moment to consider. “Suprisingly well. Not in pain. How long has it been?”

“The healers have been tending you around the clock for nearly a month. Four days ago they said they’d done all they could and you mainly needed rest. Yesterday I convinced Fingon to get some sleep, on the basis that it would be rather ironic if he greeted your recovery by falling unconscious from exhaustion.” Maglor’s gaze slipped to the floor and the deliberately-light tone left his voice. “First time he’s been willing to leave me alone with you since he arrived.” He clenched his jaw and words came in a burst. “I know I’m a coward and I know what you must think of me -”

This needed to stop. Immediately.

“Maglor. Look at me.” The commanding tone came with the ease of instinct, and Maglor slowly met his eyes. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping our people safe. Thank you for not leading them on a reckless mission that would get them killed or captured, like I did.”

“I could have tried - . Fingon - ”

“Was mad to have attempted it. And had aid that we would never have had. Maglor, there was nothing you could have done. Even if you could have found me without being captured, rather than handing Morgoth another hostage, the most you could have done was kill me. I am alive because of Fingon, and because it was Fingon, and not another.

“I do not even know how he is here. Did they build ships of their own? Even with years for the work, there is little enough timber in Araman.”

Maglor’s gaze slipped back to the floor. “Yes - I mean, no - I mean, it hadn’t occurred to me, but of course, you wouldn’t know. How would you?”

“Maglor, what?”

Maglor was biting at both his lips now, and his voice was very low. “They didn’t build ships. They came across the Ice.”

Maedhros’ mind considered the possibility and rejected it. “That’s impossible.”

“I know. They did it anyway. It cost them years, all their horses, and a tenth of their people, but they did it.”

For long moments the words refused to register, as though his mind was fighting againt this knowledge, and the knowledge was fighting its way in. A tenth of their people.

“They should hate us! We have killed them. They should want us dead. Maglor - “ another terrible thought following on the heels of this “- has there been violence?”

“A few minor incidents. No deaths. Fingon went looking for you in part to head off anything worse.”

Well. Given the circumstances, that made a great deal more sense than any other motivation.

“You didn’t kill them, Maedhros. You didn’t burn the ships. That was us. And I knew we were wrong, and I knew you were right, and I didn’t -” Maglor was biting at his lips again. “You know I don’t like to defy father.”

No one in their right mind had liked to defy Fëanor, especially when he was in a rage.

“There’s no difference between us. I did nothing to stop it. I watched them burn, and I did nothing, and thousands of our people are dead because of it. Believe me, Maglor, we are all the same in what we have done.

“But this time, I need you on my side. I think - I think I am beginning to realize what will be needed to unite our people. Our brothers will not like it. You may not like it. But I need you with me. Do I have your support?”

“You are my king.”

“Not for long. Do I have your support?”

Maglor at last met his eyes, his face set. “Yes. Always, and in everything.”

.....

The next conversation would not be so easy. He scarcely knew how to face Fingon, except that he could not doing it lying in bed, like an invalid. He had just managed to drag himself to his feet when FIngon entered the room.

Maedhros made it three steps before yielding to the impulse of both body and spirit and collapsing at his friend’s feet. Fingon caught him before he hit the ground.

“Maedhros, you only just woke up! You should be in bed! Here -” Fingon instinctively reached for his now-missing hand before stopping with a wince. “Maedhros, I’m sorry, I couldn’t find any other way -”

Maedhros’ voice abruptly returned. “You’re sorry?” Fingon looked almost frightened at his tone. “You save my life and you say you are sorry? After I have betrayed you? It was bad enough when I thought I was abandoning you to the judgement of the Valar for deeds I led you into! We put you through torment, we sent you to your deaths, and all without cause! And you say you are sorry about my hand? You could with more justice have buried your blade in my throat!”

Fingon’s voice shook. “Do you want to be dead?”

“No - I am very grateful to be alive! - but I cannot imagine how you do not wish me dead! We have done you worse hurt than Morgoth. Fingon, you should hate me!”

“I was angry - for a long time. I tried to tell myself I didn’t care what happened to you. But I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering. I forgive you. I forgave you before I left to find you, or I couldn’t have done it.”

The offer of a crown that he had never deserved in the first place felt lke a small and paltry thing. His voice came quiet and fervent. “I could live until the end of Arda, and serve you all of my days, and never repay you for this.” He slipped from Fingon’s embrace and bowed his head to the floor at his friend’s feet.

“There is no repayment. I forgive you.” He pulled Maedhros back into an embrace. “I forgive you. I forgive you. I will keep saying it as often as you need to hear it.”

Maedhros could feel himself trembling. “You are a better friend than I ever could or ever will deserve.” He forced his thoughts back to what needed to be done. “I cannot atone for our deeds, but I can try to heal the divide between our people. Do you think you can convince your father to speak to me?”

“I would give it a week - both for me to convince him, and for you to be able to stand on your feet. What do you intend to say?”

“To offer him my apologies, and the kingship - though I do not want him to know the latter until I say it. And I will need the time to convince the rest of my family as well.”

*****

That day was the first time Maedhros had seen the new sun unclouded by the smokes of Thangorodrim. From the window in his room, he watched it set in a glory of orange and purple.

It was not only Fingon who had offered him mercy and rescue far beyond his deserving.

He leaned his head against the windowpane. His voice was scarely a whisper.

“Thank you.

I am sorry.

I will do better.”

*****

The journey to Fingolfin’s camp took hours, although it was only five miles. Maedhros refused the use of horses as diplomatically insensitive, and moved slowly even with an arm around Fingon’s shoulders the whole way.

“I could carry you,” Fingon suggested at one point.

“I think the difference in our heights would present a problem.”

“The difference in our heights is already presenting a problem.” Maedhros had to hunch over considerably to maintain the arrangement, or else find places where the path was on a slope.

They managed it in time, though, and once they had reached the camp Maedhros was able to walk unaided to the house where Fingolfin had agreed to meet him.

Fingolfin was less than delighted with the meeting.

“What did you want to say to me?”

“That we were wrong. That I am sorry. That I will be grateful to Fingon as long as I live.”

“Very well. I hear you. Was there anything else.”

“That our people need to be one. That we cannot fight the war against Morgoth in two divided camps, much less ones that are scarcely on speaking terms. We need united leadership.”

“Ah.” Fingolfin’s look was knowing. “So this is about the succession.”

“Yes.” Maedhros held his uncle’s gaze. “I am here to offer my fealty to the King of the Noldor.” He went to his knees. “You have my life, my loyalty, and my service from this day until my death, if you will accept it.” He paused deliberately. “Where you lead, I will follow.”

“Any why should I desire the pledged loyalty of one who has already betrayed us?”

Maedhros forced himself to keep his voice steady. The question was not unjust. “I can only hope that you will permit me to earn your trust.”

Fingolfin turned away. “Stand.” Maedhros stood. “Why are you doing this?”

“In the first place, because our people need unified leadership, as I said. Yours will never follow me, nor should they. Even if they could be convinced to do so, they would not trust us to value their lives as their own, not after what we have done to them. Can we fight battles with an army that will ever be wondering if we have given them more dangerous positions to safeguard the lives of our own men? It would cripple the war effort from the start.

“Our people will follow you, if we lead them to do so. Your achievements were already much admired even before Fingon rescued me; now they are more so. If you treat them fairly and equally to your own, you will have their loyalty. You and your son already have mine, unconditionally and in every need; it is the very least that I can offer.

“In the second place, it can scarcely be denied that you have shown better leadership than I have. It is difficult to convince a great people to place all their faith in a king whose sole accomplishment was getting himself captured.

“And in the third place...”

Maedhros broke off. This was the hardest to say, and he had never been used to speak frankly on such matters. He paced the length of the house, once, then twice, trying to gather his words. He noticed that Fingolfin was looking at him with more concern, almost with pity, and as Fingolfin’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword he realized what his uncle must be thinking.

“No. It is not that. He did not break me. Granted, that is what you could expect a released captive to say in any event, and there is no way of proving that my rescue was not deliberately permitted. But if the Enemy had intended me to escape, I cannot believe that he would have placed me where the intervention of the Valar was required for my rescue. The merciless has no comprehension of mercy.”

He saw Fingolfin relax. “I cannot fault your logic. I do not deny that I wondered if my son had not been reckless, but I can trust the judgement of the Lord of the Skies.”

Maedhros let out a deep breath. “That is what I was trying to speak of. The wrath of the Valar is upon the House of Fëanor and those that follow it, but it seems that your family has not entirely lost their grace. At Fingon’s prayer, they have given me back my life, which is far more than I deserved of them; I submit to their judgement. The Noldor will no longer follow the House of Fëanor. The Doom has already proved less immutable than I thought; perhaps it can still be set aside.

“I would ask you not to speak of this to others. My family do not all see matters as I do, and they would take the decision more ill if they knew my thought.”

Fingolfin looked rather stunned. Especially in the later years, the Fëanorians were not known for devoutness. “I believe you are sincere. And I thank you for seeking to unify our peoples. I hope you can believe that I never sought the kingship for my own sake, but I agree that I did not think my people would follow the House of Fëanor after what they have suffered.

“We can arrange a more formal ceremony at a later date, but for the present I accept your offer and your apology. Until the camps can be reordered into one settlement, we will need to institute more regular meetings between commanders to share intelligence.”

“For the moment, you look exhausted and my son bid me to be careful of your health. Please, sit. I will have food and drink brought.” He waved Maedhros towards one chair at a small table, and seated himself at the other.

“An easy enough first command, my king. Have you any others?”

Fingolfin’s face turned weary, and many of the stern lines softened out of it. “One, if you are willing, and I fear you may find it more difficult than all the rest of this negotiation.

“Please, tell me how my brother died.”

#tolkien #the silmarillion #maedhros #maglor #fingon #fingolfin #fanfic

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theelvenhaven · 4 years

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Marriage to Fëanor

- Being married to Fëanor presents a whole new set of challenges and experiences.

- There will be many responsibilities that will be expected of you considering your position of power that you now have.

- If you are unsure of where to even begin your husband will patiently guide you on where to start and how it is he can help you, Fëanor wants this to be as smooth of a transition as possible for you.

- You will not only have to adjust to your new busy life as wife of Fëanor but you will have to adjust to being step mother to seven grown ellons.

- Which goes as interesting as one would expect and most certainly not as smooth as Fëanor was hoping for.

- Most of the Fëanorian’s will welcome you into the family, mostly Maedhros and Maglor, perhaps even the twins.

- Though you will be met a lot more distantly from the other three; Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin.

- Curufin will be your biggest challenge in setting some kind of acquaintanceship down where he isn’t out to be so cold and harsh to you.

- Curufin is so much like his father, that the same hatred Fëanor had for his step mother, Curufin would harbor similar feelings towards you.

- Especially if he felt as though Fëanor was making it where you were replacing Nerdanel altogether.

- Celegorm would of course defend his brothers feelings and decisions, and in turn would find ways to toy with you too.

- Fëanor, ironically and rather hypocritically, will not tolerate such grievances against you and will come to your defense every single time Curufin or Celegorm wants to try and antagonize you. (Which will be often)

- Depending too on how hurt you are by whatever Curufin said- which can sometimes be nasty- Fëanor will take the time to comfort you as you being emotionally comfortable in his family is very important to him.

- He wants you to be happy and comfortable in your new life even though he knows it’s a lot to take on.

- Though Fëanor has lots of responsibilities on his shoulders, he always finds a way to spend some time with you, even when it seems like he is absolutely swamped with work.

- He seamlessly manages to juggle it all, though if we are being honest you get most of his time than anyone or anything else... except maybe the forges.

- Anticipate for his fire to try and be more untamed with you being married as now he is even more willing to push boundaries.

- Both intentionally and unintentionally, as he will be wondering if your opinions or thoughts have changed about things, and he can be too brash, or if you will ever even attempt to try and tame him.

- So your will have to be stronger than it already was to keep up with his more unfiltered self.

- Fëanor is very generous with you and will make sure everything you own is of the finest quality you have ever laid eyes upon.

- He will spare absolutely no expense, even going out of his way to make something for you tirelessly until it is absolutely perfect.

- Affections with Fëanor have increased tenfold, no matter who is around, if you thought he gave no care when you were courting while married he somehow manages to take it up a notch.

- With Fëanor being so passionate his love is done to an extreme and he is always giving or taking if you let him.

- Kisses are no longer pecks in front of anyone, they are deep and passionate and there is definitely some tongue thrown in there.

- The more uncomfortable someone is over the kiss the better, and knowing you get so hot and bothered by it is the best part.

- Fëanor is always seducing and teasing you even if it doesn’t actually lead to anything, he wants you to feel wanted and needed.

- He fully expects for you to do the same and return any and all affections as he does view you comparatively equal and he wants to be needed and wanted as well.

- In fact the more often you go to him, seducing and loving all over him rather than him pursuing you the more you feed that ego and pride of his.

- Anticipate and expect fully for the moment you bring up you want children that Fëanor is going to jump at the opportunity to start trying to get you pregnant.

- He has wanted more children since he has been with you, all he was waiting for is verbal confirmation and he sees to it almost immediately and repeatedly until you are pregnant.

- Fëanor already has a very high libido, so it’s not a matter when it will happen, it is absolutely a matter of how long it is going to take.

- Even though there will be many challenges alone just facing his children, Fëanor will do everything he can to keep you happy and satisfied, not wanting to let you slip through his fingers.

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blankdblank · 4 years

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Ridikulus Pt 26

Four in the morning came with another rainy trip out to the quidditch pitch again with an odd peek into the nursery now with Teddy on his next to last night here as Tonks had taken up Remus’ offer to freshen up their home in Godric’s Hollow. After so long apart they wished for a night alone before she would bring Teddy home to their house next to Bill and Fleur’s so they could have more time to be used to being together again. His crib would be moved to their home leaving more room for Fin and Em. Surely the boys would want to spend more time at your home possibly leading to a possible solution. Mid workout you had thoughts to design their own room sort of like your Puff dorm, full beds built into alcoves in the walls with wardrobes and desks that they might enjoy over sharing a large bed since Em had her own space.

You knew they had their own nursery in Northern Greenwood in Glorfindel’s suite soon to be joined with the King’s through a sitting room a doorway would be carved into easing the growth of space to welcome you all comfortably into what would be your new home as a family. They hadn’t approached the topic of moving in together yet, though it had been mentioned in passing once, your thoughts on how his apartment had looked to see if you might want to redecorate.

Between laps you still tried to wrap your mind around the fact both men were wanting to be yours, both of whom now having four sons under their care. Now on top of Em you would have more children to add to your own daily lives that would be shifted to fit all of them. It was hard enough to figure out how your own days would go as you were trying to settle in the new state of this world while also settling into the reality you would have to shuffle Em in and out of Barty’s attention so she wouldn’t feel left behind or set apart from her younger siblings.

Finally you had grown centered enough to not feel like you had to find a man to fill in the gap you assumed you had missed out on romantically growing up due to the death trap your life was. Now it was just trying to settle with the fact that your blondes were soul mates of sorts and the fact you had to wait, die twice and watch your world burn to have to meet them. Things seemed to be going well and your nights were significantly less vision filled since reaching Rivendell, it just took some work not to swerve yourself out of things assuming the worst was coming around the corner.

Mid final round of pull ups your eyes shifted to Ginny seeing her own exhausted self pushing through things physically, always settling through as you had, physically to work out your aggressions or irritations. Fin was absolutely adored by her, there had been enough time for her to have processed the infidelity nearly a year back now, merely feeling the weight of the loss of her first love still while getting to know a wonderful soul mate who had been waiting for her all this time. The Elves were a bit odd to get used to, lovely people just differently cultured and socializing than you all had been. Slowly but surely he was coming out of his shell and was learning to slip into the group outings he had attended more comfortably. But on your way to shower before breakfast you could tell she might need a bit more of a workout to help her get through what seemed to be a rough day for her.

An hour to the workout and Ginny had woken remembering nothing more than a late night rainy night session of cards with Harry, his comforting way of seeing her through the summer after she had split with Dean. Not just as her former boyfriend and father to the baby she had lost, but her friend who knew subtle ways to help her out when you weren’t around. It wasn’t often when she couldn’t reach you, though as the youngest she did have the best spot to notice what the older teens couldn’t, just how tired you were, how hard things were, subtly missed signs that you weren’t okay and you needed someone to save you leading to her nudging Harry to realize it too. As she grew she wanted to be just as supportive as everyone had been to her but the sting of this new world did have her in a haze some times.

Shifts at the shop were going to help, starting up in the next week when the shop would be freshened up and the routine would do wonders in helping to keep her from shaking Haldir into just saying what he was thinking. She wouldn’t let him be the third guy not saying what he was thinking. It was obvious that there was so much he wanted to say. She just had to find the subtle way to get him to open up, the one way you seemed to find easily she was trying to learn and was getting better at. He just seemed to be a new sort of puzzle and clearly he liked her but the Elven way of things was really trying her patience on not tackling the stunning man in a fiery kiss just to get some oil on the gears of all this past another foot between them stroll through gardens or supervised visits.

Showering and a stop to visit Mum where she broke into a frantic bout of cleaning shooing everyone out of the house so she could fix what another kerfuffle had done to her kitchen. Chuckling in a path to head back to the Black Manor Percy was going to snatch up some time with Em and Fin on his day off to take up the chance to get the chance to spend the day playing after all the stress of the flue system.

Though on another stroll unwilling to go on a garden tour just yet, just another day where she would be treated as a Princess by the Elves she came into contact with. Truly her sibling relationship with you had somehow latched a title onto her whole family in connection to you that seemed to be aiding in the slow pace of her connection deepening with Haldir. Even Lindir had shown a reluctance to ease comfortably with Regulus at first until he somehow had caved the soufflé of a man into courting bliss welcoming him near daily to family meals when he’s available.

Being a Lady seemed to be hard enough as even Hermione had trouble being overly feminine, she could pull off respectable but even spending time with the Durins hearing about Dis especially Ginny was easing into knowing that Princesses could be strong and not be criticized or challenged for it. At least in that she could relax in not having to change from the strong woman her mother had shown for all of you to aspire to be. Some fresh air might be what she needed. The rain had stopped and looping between the puddles she strolled through the streets only to turn at the sight of the brothers who seemed to aim to give you a hard time. And turning out of their path she found herself right where she knew she’d eventually end up, where she always ends up on days she feels like this, right back at the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow.

Standing between the twin headstones that stabbed the deepest in the sea of tokens and mementos to honor those lost and left behind until the full memorial would be set up once the design suggestions would be weighed and voted upon. A subtle wave of her hand and a set of crystal flowers she left at each of the headstones with words to each of the relatives eventually losing her train of thought sharing more about Fin in his first days.

All night the Feanoreans, once again lost to their curiosity about your people to get better pictures of who you were, they had found the enchanted pathways and stared through the one marked Pumpernickel with narrowed eyes wondering what the odd word meant. When the rains had ceased the returned Lords led the way through the archway. After a glance around ensuring the Dragons were not loose and with sight of a few milling Elves exploring themselves they followed the path eyeing the various homes along the way until they came across a small set of cottages.

There behind a ruined and graffitied cottage they spied the fenced in courtyard filled with floating orbs in linked spirals containing glowing images of the faces of those that had been survived by your fleeing people above each of the worn gravestones in varying shapes. For a moment however Elrond froze at the symbol on the Peverell headstone parting his lips as he recalled it as Namo’s mark instantly reminding him of your ring. In the distance Elros led the path to the familiar red head in the distance rising from her knees at the base of the most unusual statue, at least from his position at the side of it.

Behind him Maglor flicked aside the vines covering the plaques below each statue he passed unable to read the markings on each while Caranthir and Clegorm stopped to each pick up one of the scattered notes only to eye them unable to read what they said in the Common Tongue. Curufin behind them raised a curious looking stuffed whale, their attentions to the items brought the stern glare from Ginny straight on them making Maedhros freeze in place as she called out, “Do your people not have rules against disturbing grave sights?” Instantly the men froze and gingerly set the trinkets and tokens back.

Elros raised his hand from a string of vines on her turn watching them approach her eyeing the statue behind her, “We were not aware what these lands were.”

Elrond tilted his head inspecting the statue behind her asking, “We did not intend on interrupting your mourning.”

Ginny drew in a breath, “I was leaving flowers for Jaqi’s Mother, they always say they will, but they can rarely stand to visit.”

Amrod, “She cannot visit her own Mother’s grave?”

Ginny raised her arm pointing at the crumbling cottage coated in notes they had all inspected in their trip inside, “That cottage is where Jaqi apperated to after watching her Mother be tortured to death. Where she watched her Aunt Lily and Uncle James get killed by Riddle before he tried to kill her and her Cousin Harry in his crib.” Her arm moved to the one next to it, “That cottage is where she lived before Sirius sent them into hiding, she hasn’t been able to go inside of it since then. My Mum had to help her Uncle Regulus pack it.”

Their lips parted and they eyed the statues again, Amras asked, “That is her Mother’s grave?”

Ginny turned guiding them to the statue of the couple holding baby Harry in their arms with their birth and death dates under their names at the base, with Harry’s having two death dates, “This is James, Lily and Harry’s grave.” In a step to the left she showed them the statue of Jewelia and Jaqi in her arms with a large black dog beside them, “This is Jewel’s and Jaqi’s.”

Curufin, “Jaqi’s?”

Ginny pointed at the second plaque reading, ‘Jaqiearae Suzsieanne Anistasiea Pluto Black’ with two death dates before another dash leaving room for your third, “She’s been killed twice. Well, technically three if you count the time in the third floor hidden corridor. When Riddle had possessed Quirrell and when she was assumed dead as a child and the Battle at Hogwarts.” Their eyes scanned over the dates leaving them gasping.

Clegorm, “How old is she?”

Ginny met his eyes coldly, “22 on the first.” Drawing out another gasp from all but Elrond, who already knew from your Father. Her eyes shifted to Maedhros, “For all you might not trust or like about her, she has spent the last 18 years of her life never once being considered for how deeply the choices our world forced her into would inflict pain on her. One single man hoping for power and immortality heard a prophecy naming an infant that would be able to bring him down, so he went to kill him. 18 years she has been a pawn in someone else’s war and an endless battle of egos and she somehow managed to survive and bring us with her here, to safety. We were children, and somehow we were expected to take out the darkest Wizard of our age. Before you came we had finally settled, started to heal again, what right do you have to doubt her when you were the one to kill those boys’ Parents. How does that give you any rights to them?!”

Maedhros, “Their cultures must be honored!”

Ginny stepped closer to him as her glare tightened, “Their cultures?! You destroyed their culture! Their home, Family and lives! You killed them that day! Who they were going to be, what they could have achieved! You just don’t understand!”

Maedhros huffed stating sarcastically, “Oh please do enlighten me.”

Ginny’s eyes sparked and she muttered an incantation casting the graveyard into a field of mist starting a stream of memories locked in this memoriam for any willing to witness them.

Starting with the public announcement of the events at Godric’s Hollow echoing with flashes of titles reading in their own native tongues, ‘The Boy Who Lived and The Girl Who Died Protecting Him’. After this it rippled through your years of hiding as a Weasely. Sirius’ escape short after. Next was the naming of your being named as alive and your house in Hogwarts to the world.

Then it was the news of each of the teachers being dismissed in your position. The troubling trip to try to save Quirrel leaving them covering their mouths when you saw that you had failed. Up till the Chamber of Secrets being opened leaving you sent to Azkaban leaving them with mouths agape at the headlines and image of you being carried bloody and beaten in Lucius’ arms from Azkaban in their tying to beat the location of the Chamber from you. After was the apologies and clearing of your and Hagrid’s names.

All the headlines of your trip to the States defending the Lycan Citizens flashed up with a memory of your speech to the President of MACUSA and the effect those words had on their lives. All of the Vaults in the school and creatures you had battled and protected the students from. That skipped to the trip to Paris where a lost child had been returned at least to be honorably buried bringing with it an entire family claiming up an entire chunk of your familial history.

The attack at the Quidditch cup and Triwizard tournament, that left Cedric, you and Harry the final survivors with the image of you gagging on your own blood after one of the Crabbe’s had nicked your neck with a cursed blade that inflicts wounds that slowly expands, nearly decapitating you. Shortly after the world exploding in half, all torn about Riddle being back or not.

After was the flurry from the Ministry about trying to hide Riddle’s return and Umbridge, revealing her methods of ‘teaching’ to the men watching. In the middle of the Department of Mysteries you battled in the sea of glowing orbs then raced to fight in the rocky hall with the smoky archway that dissolved your father’s ghoul when it was killed. From there at the heart clenching image of your rage at the assumed loss of your father into the Ministry of Magic the main hall of fountains was shown with you attacking Bellatrix, slapping Riddle then dueling in Albus’ form. Up until Riddle held you off the ground strangling you until you shifted back, just in time for the picture etched in the floating newspaper passing the group was captured moments before Riddle fled.

After this the images sped on, one after another of various deaths, battles and moments leading up until the final battle at Hogwarts leaving you trading places with Neville shifting him free from Bellatrix’ attack, starting your final battle with her. Helpless they watched on at the hidden dagger crashing into your leg before the final curse you triggered from her in your taunting. Growing burns from the cruciatus curse spread across your skin between your screams while Ginny clenched her fists glaring at the teary eyed Maedhros watching on helpless just as the students, Aurors, flocks of ducks and Professors had behind your bubble charm.

Finally your screams ended in a flash of green as you flew in front of Bellatrix taking the full blow of Riddle’s killing curse sending you both rolling across the dust and rubble coated ground. In a race Riddle got to your side and cradled you in his arms as the blackened ooze draining from your facial scars was releasing out a near silent scream under his wails of agony at your loss. Sharply he turned to Bellatrix, blue eyes burning with rage fueled tears and a sharp snarl at the cowering Bellatrix who was promptly killed after.

Slowly their eyes returned to you, seeing Neville standing shouting at Riddle distracting him from your body slowly slumped over onto your side and you painfully clambered to your knees drawing out your wand. In a slow rasp for air you apparated in front of Neville when Riddle cast his next spell causing his wand to launch his curse right back at him and his wand exploded. Falling unconscious right after the orb you dropped that captured hundreds of Death Eaters and those from the other factions of Wizards attacking your allies.

After, your trial played following the scene of the Ministry tearing you from your hospital bed to your due diligence. Ending with you barely being able to stand through the announcement of your sentence, the uproar causing there to be a pause in judgment with the shout that you would never see your child again. Percy’s step in nearly had them collapsing in tears seeing finally someone stepping up to defend you until Rufus entered with Albus, Sirius and Regulus, once in session again you were sentenced to life serving as a teacher and given the warning of prison should the Death Eaters rise again. Next the flurry of the past couple years flew by with memories from each group ending with the flurried snatching up of what could be gathered in a staggering battle you caught more than a hefty helping of attacks from that ended with crashing in Bag End.

When their breathing had steadied their eyes fell on Ginny as the last of the mist rolled away leaving them trembling at her fading glare dropping into a deeply sunken expression, “We should have protected her. But we all used her as our shields while the former Ministry condemned her all while taking the information she fed them on how to arm and protect our people. And she never once condemned us for it, she just took the brunt of it, and took it and never accepted a thank you or apology. She was in the twins’ place, you do not understand because you are not trying to protect them. If anyone knows what they are going through it’s her. Say what you want about her, but you will never get those boys, and she will never let you hurt them again.”

Maedhros, “I have no intention-.”

Ginny flatly cut him off, “No one ever does, but they do.”

Elrond cleared his throat asking, “Have you eaten? I know in my own tours of our memorial gardens I require a meal afterwards.”

Ginny, “We’re always hungry. Family trait.”

Elrond smirked to himself and Elros said, “In that we can help. Tea should be prepared by our return.”

Elrond added in her turn to join the still trembling brothers around the twins reeling at all they had seen, Maedhros himself remembering his own torturing years under Melkor’s hand. “Tea would grant Haldir ample time to complete his first day on his new rotations.”

Ginny glanced up at him, “New rotations?”

Elrond, “Ah, yes, it was a late night decision by King Thranduil, Haldir must not have been able to inform you yet of his aiding on the training of the new guards for the patrols around Amon Lanc. Along with his brothers they would be aiding the lifting of the standard for the recovered lands.”

Caranthir, “Princess, you have interest in patrols of King Thranduil’s guards?”

Trying not to stammer at the title she replied, “Haldir’s my One.”

Curufin, “You would accept a March Warden as your spouse?”

At that Ginny asked, “Who did you marry?” Curufin looked at her with a shocked gaze, “Haldir is a phenomenal person who I doubt you barely know to judge on his job alone.”

Curufin, “My wife is a sculptor. Trained our son Celebrimbor in his crafting early on in his youth.”

Ginny, “Your son didn’t return?”

Elrond cleared his throat drawing her gaze, “He is in Amon Lanc.”

Ginny looked over his face then back to Curufin, “He does not speak with me for honoring my oath in retrieving our Father’s Silmarils and my part in the slayings following.”

Ginny, “Hmm.” In her look forward he glanced at her again, “Anyone else have kids?”

They glanced at her and Amrod replied, “No, our wives have arrived from Valinor with the new arrivals however.”

Ginny nodded, “So you’re going to try for kids then? What about jobs? Any plans?”

The questions widened their eyes and the twins could only smirk at the brothers stammering and sputtering lost for responses they still couldn’t form through the tea.

Still partially in her slump Ginny slipped out in the middle of what seemed to be a brewing argument and made her way home again. Though in her entrance the sight of you had her drawing in a sharp breath uncertain of how to answer the question of how she’d spent the day so far, first in the graveyard and then with the Feanoreans. “Wanna come throw me around?” The question was simple and was all she needed to hear earning a nod and her hand outstretched to settle in your offered palm, “Come on, let’s go throw me around.”

Through the house you guided her to change into capris and baggy t shirts over tank tops, barefoot for your walk to the smaller ballroom turned sparring gym coated in mats. To the floating tape rolls you walked removing your rings, extending your hands for the rolls to coat your hands. Pressing your fists into your other palms you tested the tape and on your way to grab the padded gloves you slid over your hands stepping into the circle Ginny was walking around inside. Joining in her circling you said, “Jabs first I think.” She nodded and stepping closer she split back into the usual patterns in her advancing steps with a set of high kicks to meet the glove you raised complicating the interweaving motions soon adding Hermione also in need of a good bit of steam release herself.

Curiously in her huffing slip out of a meeting to allow more Dams to be forced into Dis and Diaa’s attention Niro guided the young Princes after the irritated future Princess had sat through another session of lessons on what was to be expected of her new role on top of her job. Though wide smirks eased across their lips seeing her drip into a clearly impressive bout of sparring the other Durins grinned in settling around the benches along the walls. The dropped gloves came in Regulus’ entrance to guide Hermione into another lesson on trading elbows and kicks avoiding his try to take her down to pin her to the ground starting as Haldir slipped inside with Legolas behind your intendeds whose lips parted seeing Ginny toss you over her shoulders.

Onto your shins you were guided and folded back flat with her hands on your shoulders only to have the Dwarves oohing at the position she had left you in, open to her being pinned herself. With a smirk you asked, “What are you forgetting?”

Ginny looked you over, “You’re pinned. How-,”

A sudden lift from you made even the Elves smirk watching her feet leaving the ground allowing you to flip her over. Holding her head to aid her roll, pinning her down with your legs pinning her legs down behind her back with yours around her middle and a hand gripping her wrists making her giggle helplessly saying, “No one uses this move. No one but you can do this.”

To which Kili said in even Hermione and Regulus’ chuckle break, “Actually that’s a staple move in our traditional wrestling forms.”

While you let her up Ginny said, “No offence but with your legs and wide ribs I doubt you could pull it off.” That had you pulling back at Fili and Kili leaping up along with Thorin and Frerin both stripping their upper halves and out of their boots amusing you all to no end at their full display luring you three back in to learn some more moves and share some of yours.

“Let’s get this down,” the statement was mumbled and died in giggles at your waking from your dream on Thorin and Dwalin wrestling over a pack of cookies with Fili and Kili eventually eating them watching the pair wrestle before they darted away when the empty pack was discovered by the elders.

An early breakfast came and went with you bringing Em to Barty’s so she could meet her siblings, to be picked up in a couple hours by Ginny after her stop to help Hermione with something at the Ministry. Her night had gone way better after blowing off steam and next to you when you had held Fin to keep him calm through the bad storm that rolled through your lands she fell asleep as you had. Your intendeds had to return to check on their new patrols and eat with the boys while Molly has outdone herself with dinner on one of her sprees to distract from a hot flash.

More and more you focused on your classes with scattered notes received through the day from Em on how happy she was with her new siblings until they all started to cry at least. Lunch however had you sending off a note to Glorfindel with Em’s request to have dinner there the group gladly accepted and readied for.

“Alright, I got sippy cups and silly straws, which are you up for?” You said entering their dining room in Thranduil’s apartment turning the boys’ head as Em was set down at your feet to greet them.

“I want a cup, Mummy.” Em said then tottered over to the boys.

Looking them over you said , “Cups it is.” Catching their confused stares.

Around you Legolas and Glorfindel came closer with the former asking, “You brought cups?”

Giggling softly you said, “They have lids. Easier for children to use. Unless they’d prefer not to use them.” Pouring the juice on the table into the green cup you added the lid onto that Em accepted to drink from the boys agreed to try them and accepted their own drinks they grinned through using. Next came high chairs they all enjoyed being settled into at the tall person table instead of their kids table when they didn’t have a lap to sit on. The meal went swimmingly while you all giggled along to the conversation the children were having between comments and brief questions for the adults when thought of.

Again however once the plates were cleared the twins were reluctant to play nearly stirring a pout from Em until your tap on Legolas’ arm stating he was it. Crouching down you said, “How about Hide N Seek?” A simple instruction and request from you had Thranduil and Glorfindel out of their outer robes and circlets to play as well. The rules were simple and in usual fashion you had mentally guided the Lords to grant the children a bit of leeway on their far from sneaky spots luring terribly hushed giggles making them grin knowing why you had said to do so. Playing dumb made the game more fun for the children and more amusing for Lords Elrond and Celeborn in their visit to speak about Lindir and the new guards’ progress.

Though all in a group the twins led by Estel in his stumped search for you had Em saying “Mummy’s the best at hiding.”

A far from subtle rustle of a leafy branch in the tree you were hiding in had you giggling when they all finally found you unnoticed above their heads for the past few minutes. A hop down and giggling race to help them find Glorfindel next came and by the time you discovered Thranduil heads began to droop and yawns rippled through the tired quartet you all carried them up to the Royal Wing for the boys’ nursery.

In an empty closet for them you traced the doorway making a link to your door exiting from a spare coat closet in the hall across from your bedroom to carry Em through. The link now easing the worries of the men to have an easier way to check on you and bring the boys to you again if need be. All tucked in they slept under Taule’s watch and Legolas chuckled heading off to work on his bow for you wishing you a fun night. Stealing a glance at the smile on his father’s face as you were off on a suggested night ride with the pair between lingering stolen kisses and adoring comments on their time with you today. This time with Glorfindel you rode in their try to keep it even and until their list of sights they wished to share were awed at by you they clung to you then gladly took you back to the Palace for some tea.

Pt 27

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shesakillerkween

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac

Ridikulus- @long-cosmos-overhead, @partoftheminfamily, @alishlieb

#Thranduil x Reader OC #Glorfindel x Reader OC #HP Crossover #Ginny x Haldir

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saelwen · 4 years

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Dracarys

Chapter Five

Lachril Targaryen x Caranthir

Game of Thrones/ Middle-Earth Crossover

Masterlist

Summary: The sequel to The Last Dragon. Follow along with the adventures of Lachril and Idhrendir as they discover new cultures and races of Middle-Earth, fighting against rebellions and new enemies. (Sorry I’m bad at summaries)

Warnings: None i think

Words: 1k

"How could ada be so naïve! We should act now as their rebellion is still weak!" Lachril's voice rings it around her chambers. Her twin brother sighs and rolls his violet eyes, sitting on a chair beside the large fireplace.

"Calm down, Lachril... Ada knows what's he doing." Idhrendir said with a calm voice. He knew that his sister was impulsive and that sometimes she would do things before she thinks first, so he was trying to get her calm down before she mounts Daenerion and do a horrible mistake. " Ada's council and the Valar will help us with this rebellion... They will make humans understand that we aren't a threat."

Lachril huffs in annoyance and walks to the balcony, looking to the bright sky. She knew that her brother was right but something in her guts told her this wasn't to work...that a storm was coming.

"He is fading you know that right?... Nana had left a big hole in him and that hole is only getting bigger." Idhrendir said quietly, his low sorrowful voice made Lachril close her eyes in sadness. "That's why he doesn't want any more wars...only peace."

"I know... I've heard him and Ecthelion talk about it..." Lachril's voice was full of grief, knowing that someday her father would die...leaving them behind, alone in that world. "...They want him to sail to Valinor so he could heal...but I think that only would bring him more misery since Ada and Nana had passed a good time of their life there."

There is a long silence in the room, the sound of the lovely song of the birds and people walking outside filled their sharp ears. Both of them knew that Lachril words were true, Glorfindel could never find peace since their mother wasn't in Mandos's Halls. Nobody knew where her soul had gone even the Valar themselves didn't know...maybe it had returned to her world, return to her mother's warm arms.

Suddenly there was a light knock on the door and hush voices came from outside which grabbed both of the silver-haired elves' attention. "Come in!" Lachril said with a firm voice. The door opens and two redheads peek through which made a smile appear on Idhrendir and Lachril's faces.

"Hello, Amrod and Amras! What are you doing here?" Lachril said with a smirk on her lips, seeing their guilty faces.

"...Ahh, We were just passing by-" Amrod begins talking but was cut off with the door being wide open and a bunch of elves falls in. The Targaryen twins stayed still with wide eyes, looking to the Fëanor sons groaning on the bedroom ground. Maedhros was the first standing up, staring at Idhrendir and Lachril with a guilty face.

"I'm very sorry, Your Graces! I and Maglor found our brothers standing at your door and tried to get him away...but I failed," he said while glaring to his five brothers, who were looking down to their feet in shame.

"It's okay, Nelya! There no need to worry but...Why all of you were at my doors?" Lachril asked while walking towards them along with her twin brother. Caranthir took a step forward, his sharp face was red as a tomato. He bows his head to Lachril and looks to her violet eyes.

"I wished to see if you were okay from our last events at your nana's grave...but Celegorm and Curufin follow me, wanting to make fun of me before you... which lead Ambarussa to follow me too..." Caranthir's voice trembling with embarrassing and rage, glaring to Celegorm, who was smirking to his younger brother.

"Well...As you are all here, we could go for a hunt! It may do well for my sister's rage." Idhrendir said while smirking to his twin sister.

They all nod, Celegorm fist pump the air, happy to go for a good hunt. The Fëanor sons and the Targaryen twins walk to the stables and mount their horses, grabbing their bows and arrows.

As they were walking out of the stables, Idhrendir saw his father and Ecthelion walking towards them with a slim figure behind them. "Hello, Ada and Lord Ecthelion," Idhrendir said while bowing his head.

"Hello, ion nin! Where are you heading to?" Glorfindel asked while looking to the group of elves, noticing how Lachril was ignoring him, pouting on her horse.

"We are going on a hunt! Do you wish to join us, Ada?" Idhrendir asked softly, patting gently the neck of his black stallion.

"I think we may! Oh! I also wish to introduce you to Lady Nithroel Wysaran!... She is an old friend of mine and Ecthelion." with Glorfindel's words, Nithroel steps up from behind him, smiling softly to the Targaryen twins.

"Hello, Your Graces. It's wonderful to meet you two!" she said gently, bowing her head to the Prince and Princess.

They both nod in politely, Lachril eyes studying the black-haired elleth in curiosity. In the corner of her eye, Lachril notices the Fëanor sons going tense, staring at Nithroel in disbelief.

"...Nithroel..." Maedhros whispers quietly which grabbed Nithroel attention.

"It's good to see you in one piece again, Nelya." she said with her blue eyes full of mischief.

There is a silence between the two of them, Maedhros staring at the Noldor girl with sorrowful and joyful eyes. Lachril could feel their tension in the air which made Maedhros's brother and Glorfindel and Ecthelion looking down in nervousness.

"Ahh...Well! Let's get going then! Idhrendir and Lachril, you two led the Fëanor sons to the hunting area! We will catch you when we are ready." Glorfindel said to his children, trying to cut the tension between Maedhros and Nithroel.

Nodding, the Targaryen twins led the Noldor elves to the dense woods. Lachril made a note in her mind to ask her father of what happen between Nelya and the Noldor elleth in past...and also ask him more about her mother's world since he always avoids the subject whenever she asks him.

Hey Guys!!! Here is a new chapter! It seems that someone of Maedhros past have come back!!😮😉 I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

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halethkickass · 4 years

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Too Long a Winter (reposted with permission from Clotho)

I found this wonderful fic on http://clotho123.tripod.com/mainlist1/winter.htm and the author kindly gave me permission to share it here on Tumblr. The story is phenomenally well-written and the characterization is excellent. I especially appreciate the dynamic between Maedhros and Maglor, which is far less sentimental and much more in line with how I tend to head-canon them than that of most fics I have read. The story is told from the perspective of a human warrior dwelling in Himring, which lends an interesting viewpoint to the elves we are used to seeing through the eyes of a somewhat removed historian.

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Himring is not a good place for old men. Often I think of riding south again, to the Estolad where there are fewer cold winds to piece my aching bones and no long stone stairs to climb. Yet to leave would mean never again to see the morning sun on silver stone, or turn a corner at night to see a solitary lamp shine on the carved street before me, or watch the magic the Strangers work as they coax flowers to grow on rock itself.

It does help me having lodgings in the summit halls. Himring is steep: in the town that lies beneath the peak a paved courtyard will prove to be the roof of the house below, nor is it rare to walk down long stairs and find yourself upon a deep balcony. All space is used for dwellings, although all dwellings will be filled only at the height of siege. Himring was built as a place of refuge as well as a stronghold; it has been full enough these last years. It is fortunate my duties can be discharged with goodwill on the summit where the High Hall rises in the silver rock. My mind goes often to the past now, recalling more clearly than for many years, the wonder I felt to see how so much if the city had been cut from the rock as it stood, the very contours of the stone summit kept alive. Yet Himring is no hidden city, it stands proud as an eagle upon a crag, keeping watch on the lands below.

The Midwinter festival would have been well attended even in the better times before the peace was broken; now the High Hall will be full indeed. It is one thing they have learned from us, the great feast of fire at the year’s darkest point, and they celebrate it much as we do, even if some of the older ones like to recall the days when there were no seasons. We have no tales even of that time, so such stories mark more deeply how much they differ.

The green boughs are another of traditions they have borrowed although I recall from my gathering days that they practice it differently, each bough chosen with care, seldom more than two from one tree or bush and from some none at all. “Trees,” one said to me once, “ can spare a limb if chosen right, indeed are often the better for it, but why would anyone wish to leave a tree limbless?” The gathered braches look strangely fitting in the High Hall, for the rock-cut columns are carved as tree trunks, not all alike but trees of all kinds: oak and birch, beech, ash and pine. With the evergreen boughs in place it will be a strange kind of forest in which we sit to feast.

As I turned to leave the half-prepared hall I heard my name spoken sharply. A little too sharply in truth, my sight is thankfully still good enough, but not so my hearing and I guessed I must have failed to hear at least one call. That is not fortunate with this speaker.

“Lord Makalaurë,” I greeted him. He insists on being addressed by the High form of his name, although everyone calls him Maglor outside his hearing.

“Headman Hallach.” I still hold the title of Headman for the Edain of Himring although Berach my nephew leads them in war. He was out of the citadel of course; with fighting so constant he is rarely here. “We have had word my brothers in the south will not be joining us for the feasting,” Lord Maglor continued, “so that will lessen the amount of accommodation that you will need to find.”

“We could have housed them,” I said, “but it is better to know beforehand.” Our word ‘inhuman’ is an old one, from the times before we came to these lands, it carries a meaning of something that is uncanny, disturbing. It is held impolite to use it of Elves but it is seldom far from my mind when speaking to this one. Like most of his kind he is handsome with black hair and winged brows that highlight the mobility of his features; still he is unsettling, even to one like myself who has lived amongst the Strangers for most of my life. I cannot put it better than to say it is as though he is constantly listening to a tune that only he can hear, and thinks the less of others for being deaf to it. In fairness, these days I unsettle him too, for he is one of those who are disturbed to the point of disgust by mortal aging although he would feel it beneath him to lessen his courtesy.

“Do you know when my brother is expected back?” he asked.

“No more than you, although I am sure he will be in time for the feasting.”

“Of course,” he said. “But I would wish to see him earlier. Erestor does not know when he will return either. It is inconsiderate.” It was an unfair complaint, as he must have known. A survey of territories, half visit, half scouting expedition, could not be completed to set times and his brother never dawdled not even with snow falling every day upon the hills. We would always vary those chosen to ride with the lord of Himring, for no-one was expect to make two such exhausting rides in succession. Knowing it unlikely that Lord Maglor’s temper would improve during the feasting time I found myself regretting we would not be joined by the twin lords who would have provided some leavening. The absence of Lord Caranthir was less regrettable as no-one would count on his presence to prevent family arguments.

We parted politely. With so much else lost it is petty to regret that the great reverse has led to Lord Maglor being permanently at Himring, but it does nothing to make the mood easier.

~~~

The Feast was much needed. Enough time has passed since the great reverse that the remembrance is no longer a dark cloud on the spirits, at least for mortals; but still the presence of war seems nearer, the mood at Himring darker, than in the days when I first came here from the south. Perhaps that is only an old man talking, but certainly both peoples thronged to the gathering, eager to forget the wars awhile.

The Strangers are masters of light, although I have never known one who feared the dark, and the light in the High Hall was rich and golden. Mead and wines from the south flowed freely, although some of my kindred preferred their ale, and there was no shortage of meat and pastry. Their feasts, however, are not for the belly alone; there was much song and music, dancing, laughter and re-telling of tales. A hall full Elves singing in harmony is not to be forgotten, it almost makes me understand that odd tale that the world was created by a song. By long custom the songs and tales at the Midwinter feast are of good cheer, it is a time to look forward and to hope.

It was the third evening when Lord Maglor took the harp. No, in fact he had taken it on the first two evenings also, but only for a brief light song, the third evening was the time that mattered. I had heard him sing many times, and what they say of him is not too great praise, indeed it falls short as all words must. A singer to draw the stars from the skies and turn back the moon in its course, a singer to make stones dance and streams stand still, despair laugh for joy and gladness weep like rain. Not that he unleashed his full power every time he sang, that third night was the first time that Midwinter.

He sang in the High Tongue, as he always does which makes his power to move Men the more remarkable. Few of us have mastered more of that tongue than a few words and commonly used phrases, such as war cries, and in that I am no different. Yet what he sang was a lament as plainly as the night is dark. The grief wailed in the strings and wept in words beyond my understanding, and through my tears I saw the whole hall was weeping, Men and Elves alike, weeping silently, some with faces hidden by a cloak fold, or buried in their hands or arms. Erestor, the castellan, seemed completely overwhelmed, nor was he the only one among the elf kind. Recalling the scene now it seems to me that the ones we call Flame-eyed, who have dwelt in the West, made up the greatest part of those who had abandoned themselves completely to grief, yet in light of how deeply moved my own senses were I cannot swear my memory is true.

After the song ended, as the nameless mourning at last released its spell, my eyes cleared enough to see the only one who seemed unmoved. Maedhros sat upright and tearless in his accustomed place at the high table, only his face was locked in an intense stillness which showed to one who had dwelt in Himring many years how hard he had bitten down to hide all feeling. He sat with his right elbow resting on the table, forearm upraised so the light fell on the marvellously worked copper sheath that covered it almost entirely. With the copper circlet on his russet hair he looked every bit the King of the West March his followers call him.

“Remarkable as always,” he said in the cool even tone that spoke of steel control. “Could do with a little taughtening in the central section still, you are capable of better rhythms.”

Maglor’s expression hardened and as they met each other’s eyes it seemed the winter outside entered the room. In that moment they looked very much alike, and no fool would have mistaken either of them for young.

“You take a pride in it, brother, do you not,” Maglor said at last in a tone smooth as gold. “You think you are the better that old loyalties, true duties, have been ripped from you and burned to cinders.”

Maedhros’s voice was cold as snow upon the high peaks, “If to spellcraft tears at time of festival is loyalty, Maglor, then I will not disagree.” Spellcraft was close to being insult, the word was not used of things natural. “Well, tears it must be for this night. Bron, give us a song of your people.”

The young harper thus commanded was one of the followers of Bor only lately taken service with Lord Maglor. It seemed to me hard to give him such a command and I wondered if he would be able to obey, but it seemed he took it with pride, as a young brave might accept the most dangerous post in battle. I doubt if any in the hall paid much heed to his song though.

The next day I cornered Castellan Erestor. Although he is one of the Flame-eyed who have dwelt in the West he seems less far removed from our kind than many Elves.

“What,” I said “was that about? What was that song?”

“The song?” said Erestor. He seemed to consider for a long time. I waited. Elves cannot be rushed. “The song was a lament for their father. For Fëanor.”

“For Fëanor?” I had heard tales, but only fragments. Fëanor was dead before the first Men came to Beleriand from the east. Maedhros speaks of him very rarely, and then in the calm tone he might use for a passing acquaintance, dead long ago. “A lament was a poor choice for a feast, but is that all?”

“No,” said Erestor. “The lament praised his skill, and his courage against the creatures of Morgoth, but it praised also his steadfastness in upholding what was due to him, his intolerance of weakness or those that followed with half a heart.”

“I begin to see, I think. That could seem reproach to his brother, for letting the kingship pass from their house.” I knew that much of their history.

“It was a more than reproach, and not for the first time. Lord Maglor has seldom agreed with his brother’s choices.”

“Yet he remains at Himring.”

“Whilst Lothlann is in enemy hands he will remain, I think.” A mortal would probably have sighed at this point. “You do not need to be told it makes matters difficult, Hallach. At least when all the brothers are present Maglor and Celegorm spend half their time quarrelling with one another.”

After we had parted I spent some time thinking over this, and all the other things known of the king and his next brother. I had come to Himring, following the tradition of my house, with a head full of tales. Not all were reliable, or true at all, and of those which were true I knew only a small part. But I had heard truly that Maglor the Singer was of all the East lords the most likely to be found riding or fighting with his brother Maedhros Left-hand. I had thought that meant they must be close friends; it is more like the old saying ‘keep your enemy close in sight.’

True, that is not entirely fair, but the years have shown me Elves are not as unlike us as the first meetings make all Men think, so it should not have surprised me that where brothers are closest in age the divisions are bitterest. So it is with myself and my nearest brother, although we are brothers still and would not hesitate to unite against any outside challenge. How far this ran true with the Elf lords is hard to say, certainly the divisions between them made my own with my brother seem nothing at all. I knew at least that Lord Maglor did not spend time with his brother Maedhros for the pleasure of shared company.

~~~

Two days later they walked in while I was listing the new recruits from my southern kindred in one of the summit chambers, one with walls painted so you seem to look out on scenes of moonlight. It was still being made when I first came here, and I recall my surprise to see the Lord of Himring himself working on one of the painted scenes, completing the figure of an owl with the lightest of brush strokes. He laughed at my expression and told me, “The need to create is never far from any Noldo. I cannot claim my skill is remarkable, but it suffices.”

Between the work and my hardness of hearing I was not aware of their approach until they had already entered. As a young man I would have been abashed and slipped away, but being no longer young stayed at the table. Since they were arguing in the High Tongue it was impossible to tell what they were saying in any case.

Lord Maglor does not shout. Family meetings have been known to make the castle walls shake, but most of the yelling is done by Celegorm and Caranthir, although Maedhros can raise his voice loud enough when he wishes. Maglor makes his arguments with level quiet. It does not do him any good: he never wins. Although there is nothing at all amusing about the lord of Lothlann in his moods of cold attack, he does make me think at times at times of a pair of young dogs I once owned. The smaller of the two would attack the other over and over, without any warning; he never won the battles but he kept it up in the constant hope that one day he would win after all.

Whilst my mind had been running on that as my mind often runs on these days, the quarrel seemed to be reaching some kind of high point. I have seen Maglor in battle and his face as he skewered the orcs of the enemy had not seemed any less pleasant. I could not understand the words he was using, but took their meaning as clearly as the meaning of his lament in the great hall. Maedhros’s answer was short and very ugly. Again I could not understand the words, nor I am sure did Maglor, but that was unneeded.

Elves do not have curse words. The need for them is something they seem to have discovered only in these lands. Most of those who feel that need use words they have learned from us. I have heard Lord Curufin use the dwarf tongue at times, although with that speech it is possible that what sounds like a curse may be merely ‘Good Morning.’ I have never heard Maedhros use mannish curse words, nor have I ever known him lose control. He had not used the Black Speech lightly.

I looked at Maglor and felt sure he had been shaken although he tried to cover it. Maedhros took advantage to follow through with two or three short, cold sentences in the High Tongue. Maglor’s reply was sharp, but he sounded wrong-footed, and after a brief, savage final exchange he flung out of the room.

Maedhros did not attempt to ignore my presence, instead he took a flagon and poured half a cup of wine for me and some into a second cup for himself.

“I would not have chosen for you to hear that, Hallach, but I do not suppose it surprised you.”

“I cannot say I understood what passed, my lord,”

“You may not have known the words, but you understood enough.”

Even Elves, even the Flame-eyed, have been known to speak of something unsettling about the presence of Maedhros of the East March. It is not the same quality possessed by his brother; perhaps it is not so much any quality that differs from others of his kind as that he possesses their qualities more intensely, or that there is in him less of a barrier between the world and the thing Elves call the spirit. There is a force about most of the Flame-eyed like a high wind or a river in spate, but with Maedhros it is like facing into the wind directly instead of being in the lee of a wall, or seeing a flame that is naked rather than one held in a horn lantern.

I have served him most of my life and followed him into battle even when none thought that we could win. And the old, I have learned, do not feel awe easily “He has never forgiven you for yielding the kingdom,” I said.

“That is part of it, although we were not on the most easy of terms before.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Maglor would not even like to be king. He is like our father in that way, the duties of kingship would take time from the works where his heart truly lies, and he would resent that. No, the injury is to his pride and there is small healing there.”

He drained the cup. “There was a time,” he said, “when fighting with my brothers was invigorating. Like a day’s hard riding or a successful skirmish. Now it grows wearisome, the more so because I fear for them. They may lose us the war yet.”

We are used to thinking of the Strangers as changeless, and as my limbs ache more and more and my hearing fails I cannot but envy them, ever young as they are, forever straight of back and free in movement. It does not do to dwell on the envy, some of my kin have been eaten up with bitterness as they grow older and that does no good to anyone. I have looked at them and have seen only the constants, now for the first time I wondered if there have been changes. Lord Maglor was never on friendly terms with his brother; I could not say if there have been changes beyond what would be expected from his being so continually at Himring. Maedhros the king, has he changed? Am I right to think there are more times of cold control, such as he showed his brother in the hall?

“Perhaps we should retake Lothlann before Thargelion,” I said. The plans for recapture of the lost lands are still in an early stage and known only to a few, it had not been settled which lands to retake first.

Maedhros laughed, with genuine amusement. “No, strategy had better not be determined by which of my brothers is most annoying at present, tempting though it is. Which is taken first must depend on the Naugrim; we will need their aid to retake Thargelion. If I cannot convince them to give it until we can show them victories then we must retake Lothlann first, but it would be easier to take Lothlann if we already have Thargelion.” His voice took on a wry tone as he added, “Whichever we take first Maglor and Caranthir will quarrel violently.”

Whichever we took would be a hard campaign, with Dorthonion in enemy hands. He spoke as if there was no doubt of victory, but it is the task of a leader to show confidence.

“It must be soon, with or without the Naugrim” he went on “We cannot afford to leave Morgoth with the upper hand for long. I will go to Belegost.” Although he still spoke calmly I recalled that we cannot expect Angband to rest quiet now the Siege is broken. Himring is strong, but Angband is stronger and the alliance among the elf-kind is vulnerable. For the first time I was glad of my mortal age, and the thought that I would most likely not see what lay ahead. He would see it.

“I will fetch the latest maps, and Castellan Erestor if he can be found,” I said, “we can work on possible plans for a while.” Inwardly I resigned myself to loss of sleep, no elf ever remembers how much more of it we need.

The maps are kept in a chamber painted as a glade in springtime. I lingered for a while after I had found the ones wanted, and hoped that when spring came indeed it would bring promise of the victories that all within these walls would need.

Endnote: Just to say there is canon evidence (admittedly slight) for Maedhros being styled king, and also for the retaking of Lothlann and Thargelion

Source: http://clotho123.tripod.com/mainlist1/winter.htm

#maedhros #maglor #himring #silmarillion

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fuckingfinwions · 4 years

Text

Part 2 of my Feanorian OT8 bullet point fic

One day, a giant eagle lands on Fingolfin’s side of the lake.

Maedhros is rescued!

The message as to what is happening is delivered to his brothers several hours later. The messenger doesn’t linger, and doesn’t invite them.

The six brothers immediately start planning who should go.

They all want to. They want to be closer to whole than they’ve been in years, none of them really want to go and leave the others behind.

But they know that Fingolfin’s people will take their arrival, especially as a group, as a threat.

And there’s the matter of their forbidden relationship. Maedhros is vulnerable, it’s the worst possible time for accusations to spring up.

But they’re all so relieved, keeping their expressions of joy to carefully memorized rules (how long is too long for a hug between brothers? how close is too close? is laying your head on your brother’s chest to hear his heartbeat and reassure yourself he’s alive normal? Kisses on the lips are too intimate, forehead is safely familial, ears and hands are what?) will be painfully difficult.

In addition to their own feelings, the Feanorians expect Maedhros to be touch-starved. He will likely seek out their embrace, and they don’t want to reject him after whatever he’s gone through just to please nosy onlookers.

Maglor says that two should go, one to comfort Maedhros and one to keep watch so they don’t get attacked by someone mad about the Ice. Or walked in on cuddling.

He reluctantly admits he shouldn’t go first, as the politics are unstable enough he needs to stay here and manage their people.

That leaves Celegorm, Curufin, Amrod, Amras, and Caranthir who could go.

Eventually they settle on Amrod and Amras. They’re twins, and no one will be surprised if they refuse to be parted. It's far less of an insult to Nolofinwe than an obvious guard.

Amrod and Amras all also the youngest, and people sometimes see them as overgrown children. They can get away with a lot more touch than the others.

So Amrod and Amras ride out that afternoon, aware but ignoring that Nolofinwe never actually invited them.

No one is heartless to turn away family who haven’t seen their brother in years at the gate. The twins are forced to surrender all their weapons, even their eating knives, but it’s worth it.

Fingon insists on accompanying them to see Maedhros.

Maedhros is unconscious. He is dressed in a tunic that’s both too baggy and too short in the sleeves. His arms are covered with bandages. There’s another across his forehead, and what they can see of his face is bruises ranging from dark red to ugly green.

And there’s the missing hand, which had not been mentioned in the letter. And which has a tourniquet around the arm, so it’s fresh.

Amras asks WTF. This leads to a whisper-shouted argument with Fingon. (No one wants to disturb Maedhros)

Amrod takes advantage of the distraction to approach Maedhros. He sits down on his brother’s left side and holds his remaining hand.

He can’t think of what else to do to reassure Maedhros that he’s not alone, they’re here. Well he could climb in bed and lie down next to him, but Fingon’s there and Maedhros is really obviously injured everywhere - where to painlessly touch isn’t clear.

Amrod starts humming a lullaby, the same one Nerdanel sang them all as children.

Eventually Fingon notices the sound and breaks off his argument with Amras.

“What are you doing to him? The healers already Sang all they dared, if we rush his healing we might still lose him!”

Amrod says “I’m not an idiot,” rolls his eyes, and keeps humming. He starts rubbing Maedhros’s hand in time with it.

Amras explains for him, “It’s not a song of power. It’s just a lullaby, so Maedhros knows he’s safe.”

“I’ve never heard it,” Fingon says suspiciously.

“I’m not surprised, but it’s common with the Aulendir.” Amras is selfishly pleased that there’s something that Maedhros’s best friend doesn’t know about him (besides the obvious).

Fingon glares at them for a while. Amrod is humming. Amras is standing next to him, joining in and occasionally brushing hair that is far too short out of Maedhros’s eyes.

Fingon says, “Are you two just going to sit there until he wakes up?”

“At least.”

“You didn’t care enough to go get him.”

“We cared for our other brothers just as much, and didn’t want them to grieve two of us and Father all at once.”

“The healers say it may be days, or even weeks, until he wakes.”

“Amrod and I can take it in shifts.”

“There’s no spare rooms in the camp, and no space for you to set up a tent.”

“We can sleep on the floor.”

“You’ll get in the healers’ way.”

“On the roof then, we built it sturdily enough.” Sturdy enough for stargazing turning to caressing and more, as it had on their trips across Aman. They hadn’t gotten the chance to use it for that, but they had hoped and planned, and it was shielded from view from the other buildings.

“People aren’t going to be happy about a kinslayer watching them from the rooftops.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t go up there either. If people are scared of two unarmed elves, they’re cowards in truth.”

“You burned the ships!”

“I did. Amrod didn’t. Maedhros didn’t, and actually tried to argue Father our of it.”

Fingon stopped short at that. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“You’re just trying to manipulate me so I’ll treat him better.”

“That seems pointless. You already gave him the largest bedroom in the place, with the best view.”

“The healers need access.”

Amrod spoke up. “We’re all on the same side here. We want Maedhros happy and Morgoth defeated.”

“I’m really not convinced you do, given you left him there that long.”

“And you cut of his hand,” Amras said

“He asked me to kill him, when I said I couldn’t free him. A hand seemed worth it.”

Amrod’s hand squeezes Maedhros’s too tightly. His other reaches for Amras, who holds on tight.

“Thank you or bringing him back to us.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“But you did it, even if only for yourself.”

“I did it for Maedhros. He is his own person, and doesn’t belong to those who left him to die.” Fingon had made the argument many times to Maedhros, that as much as he cared for his family he didn’t owe them his life. Maedhros always stopped short of explaining how he cared for his family, and why he was wiling to build his life around them as one does a spouse.

“If he wants to stay here, we won’t stop him. But we’ll wait until he’s healthy enough to decide.”

Fingon sighs. “Fine. You will obey the healers, and not harm anyone in this camp. I will see if I can find some spare blankets.”

“We won’t harm anyone who doesn’t try to attack us.”

“There will be a trial if so much as a sprained wrist comes of your stay here. You won’t be treated specially because you’re princes.”

“We never expected it.”

Fingon leaves.

Amrod and Amras stay where they are, and accept the slightly tron blankets he returns with.

That night, Amras carefully climbs into the bed. Amrod holds Maedhros up as he moved some of the mound of pillows keeping the injured brother upright aside and scooted into their place. They settle back down with only one pillow between Maedhros and Amras’s chest, his legs spread out to either side.

“I’ll take first watch,” Amrod said.

Amras sleeps. He’ll have sore muscles, but he’s happier than he's been in years.

Amrod wakes him at first light, and they carefully rearrange the pillows before the healers arrived. The twin lay on the roof for just long enough to dirty their own bedding, not wanting to leave Maedhros alone.

The healers send them both from the room as bandages are changed and wounds are drained. The healers do give a summary of what they did, when Amras and Amrod ask.

Maedhros will survive, and will wake if he feels either in urgent danger or finally safe enough.

Amrod seeps on the floor during the day, cuddling Maedhros’s hanging arm like a teddy bear.

It’s a series of catnaps, as Amras wakes him every time someone approaches the door.

They don’t leave Maedhros alone with any visitors while he’s unconscious.

#feanorian ot8 bullet point fic #feanorincest #not archived yet

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lendmyboyfriendahand · 5 years

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Amrodnor

Amrod was on the ships, but when he saw Feanor approaching with a torch, he jumped.

He swam to shore. He figured is his family was going to kill him, he might as well leave - the plan had been to go back to his mother, but that was no longer possible.

He ran into a group of Nandor, and joined their community.

His old names didn't fit – he’s no longer the smallest Finwe, having rejected his house. He keeps half his name, and instead of Doomed or Upwards-Exalted, he becomes Exalted-by-Fire; the burning of the ships was what gave him the strength to turn from an evil path.

It takes him a bit to decide on this, dramatic Finwean he is, and in the meantime the Nandor called him Bright Eyes, for the Treelight reflected in his gaze. He says this is a more appropriate name for a horse than a person, and they compromise on calling him Star Bright

So Amrod hangs out is southwest Beleriand, avoiding Sindar and Orcs and Noldor and Men alike for over four hundred years.

The Bragollach, the Nirnaeth; Beleriand isn't safe.

The Nandor decide to go east across the mountains. Amrod decides to see how the Noldor are doing - despite himself, he hopes his brothers are okay. He finds Nargothrond.

He says he is Rodnor Gil-Galad, called in his youth after his hair.

Orodreth doesn't recognize him - Orodreth is young, born after the division between their families was already stark. Orodreth rarely saw Amrod in Tirion, and everyone saying he looks just like Amras means the brown hair throws him.

Celebrimbor does recognize him.

"What are you doing here?" "I'm trying to avoid our family!" "I thought you were dead!" "Don't you dare tell anyone you met me!" - excerpts from the whispered confrontation in Celebrimbor's workroom

Eventually they agree that yes, Feanorians are terrible and blindly loyal, and they're both glad to be out of it.

They spend time together, a bit, more as escapees from the same cult than out of a desire to reminisce about Tirion.

Celebrimbor accidentally mentions Fingon as if they both know him in public. People ask how Gil-Galad knew him. He fumbles and says they're related. Later he slips and says Celegorm “turned out to be the family disappointment after all.” That makes him pretty obviously Finwean, though he still doesn’t admit who.

Someone tries to draw him out, and spends a whole conversation deliberately referring to Maglor Feanorian, Fingon Fingolfinion, and Finrod Finarfinion.

Rodnor eventually says, “By that manner I suppose I’m Gil-Galad Erenion.” This shuts up the first guy for a moment, but people start speculating how he can be the descendant of multiple kings – did Thingol have any other kids?

Turin arrives; Rodnor has no opinion of him or of men in general, and no official seat on Orodreth’s council. When the dragon kills Orodreth and kidnaps Findulias, Rodnor leads the survivors away to the south. He feels bad about abandoning them, but the number of soldiers they ‘d lose rescuing her is too high, and just because a life is royal (or family) doesn’t mean it’s more valuable. (Feanor burned a prince, his son, as easily as he killed fishermen.)

His opinion on royalty isn’t widely held though. The people of Nargothrond have decided he is Orodreth’s heir and started calling him Lord Erenion. He declares that Cirdan is lord of the Falas, which gets people to at least decide bring some of their issues elsewhere, and tries not to stress about the details.

So Rodnor is in charge of the Noldor in Sirion. Galadriel is in Doriath. They do meet when it falls, but only for a few hours as the Iathrim refugees settle in, and she speaks more with Cirdan than with him. He tells her of the Nandor tribe he was with and their plans for the journey, and off she goes to the East.

After the council is over and every newcomer has a bed, Rodnor goes to Celebrimbor. They mourn privately those who neither of them dare speak of publically. Rodnor is back in his own rooms long before morning. He spends the next few weeks solemn, but everyone is gloomy after news of another kinslaying.

Gondolin falls. There are suddenly a lot more Noldor in Sirion. Pretty soon they're calling him King. He considers telling them it's not true, that the succession hasn't come to him yet.

On the other hand, having a leader be whoever happens to be the son of the previous leader is kind of silly. The Sindar tribe he was with acknowledged Elwe, but not Dior. Your leader was whoever you trusted to do right by the community. When Denethor died, his son took interim authority, and then they all met and discussed it and decided that actually Enellas knew how to manage people better, and so Denethor’s son stepped down.

If Rodnor squints, this is the same. At the very least, if the Nargothrondrim hated him one of them would have proposed crowning the ten-year-old Eärendil instead. So King Gil-Galad takes up the throne.

He was on Balar when the attack came. He told himself later he couldn't have stopped it, couldn't have helped. He could guess by how much more enchantingly beautiful the Silmaril around Elwing's neck seemed, that his brothers would attack soon, but not the month or day. And she was a queen, he could not order her to hand over the jewel. So all he did was warn her, not tell her his birth name, or leap across the council table and pull it off her throat. He could not have known there was no time to wait for Eärendil’s return. He had not set a watch on the island towards the city, but he had no reason to.

He did not want to kill his brothers, but he was a king and he could not let that make his decisions.

He can't stop himself from crying when he sees Amras's body. The Feanorians had tried to make a pyre, but must have left with it still burning and the wet sea wind had extinguished it, and the wood had barely caught.

"Relight the pyres."

"Your Majesty?"

"For the dead Feanorians, relight them."

"But they're murderers! They showed no such respect to us." Indeed, the city is still littered with the corpses of Noldor, Men, and Sindar alike.

"And we are better than they are. We will bury our dead, with a week of singing and lamenting, and tales of their deeds told by friends and kin. We will mark our people’s graves, and the Men will leave grave goods on theirs. And we will not leave the enemy dead to rot where they lie or be eaten by beasts, though they showed us not that respect." He sighed. "We have not fallen as they have, and we must hold onto that."

"Yes, your majesty"

"Have someone take a census of those who are left. And lists of the dead – ours and theirs." He needs to know how strong the rogue army was. If it is now leaderless, he would... he isn't sure. He wouldn’t have to declare a feast for victory over the Kinslayers, they'd lost enough of their own. But some kind of amnesty, with reparations, if any Feanorian soldiers wanted to rejoin... He thinks of the abstract plans now, while he is unsure, because he knows he'll barely be able to keep together if Maedhros and Maglor are dead and he is alone. (Three died last time.)

His eldest brothers are not among the dead invaders.

Lady Elwing and her sons are not found, either dead or living. Gil-Galad knows that his brothers would have no interest in taking her prisoner, for if she was under their power they could rip their glorious, wonderful jewel from her neck and cast her aside like so much wrapping. So he assumes that instead Elwing got away somehow, taking her sons with her. Whether the Feanorians have the jewel or she does is unimportant, he reminds himself, at least unless she returns. He decides then that Balar will never house the Silmaril – he'll bury it beneath the mountains with his own two hands if that's what it takes. His people deserve one place, just one, that isn't destroyed around them. Please Valar, grant them this, for Cirdan's sake if for none of the Noldor.

Ships come one day out of the West. King Finarfin leads them, and Eärendil is with them. Eärendil says that his wife Elwing escaped, but not the boys. (Eärendil is politely told he must either take off the necklace, stay on his ship, or go to the mainland.)

Gil-Galad realizes where they must be. It's hardly fair, but he knows at least they're being treated as well as can be. Maedhros and Maglor did alright by the five of them, and have never been cruel to children.

No one else seems so optimistic, though they are willing to believe that the boys are alive, even after seven years, simply to avoid believing the alternative. Gil-Galad and Finarfin cooperate to get a letter and a messenger (a newly arrived Noldo) that will be demanding but – hopefully – not provoke violence.

It takes two years more, with messengers from both parties expressing grave concern for the boys’ safety on a journey and reluctant to meet the other too close, but Elros and Elrond are returned. They meet Eärendil again, but he is on the front lines and so they spend most of their time in the camp. Gil-Galad has them sit in on strategy meetings to keep them occupied.

The war is over, Morgoth is defeated, and the Noldor are allowed to return.

Gil-Galad finds he doesn’t want to.

Returning had been as much about getting out of Feanor’s shadow as finding safety, and he realizes he has done the first and the second is near at hand. If he goes back to Tirion, he will be again Pityafinwe, one of Feanor’s youngest sons, half of the twins with a missing twin. The child so redundant his own mother had known so, and asked Feanor to leave her one of the youngest without care for which. Pityafinwe had led no armies, fought no battles, earned no praise. Pityafinwe killed Teleri and was murdered by his father, and did nothing else.

Sure, he could try to be both, admit he was Pityafinwe to start with, but no one will understand. The will see him as the usurper of the crown that should have gone to – Eärendil perhaps? and then Elros? or Galadriel? Maybe they’ll weigh his victories in battle against his theft of the crown, and say they make up for it, but maybe they’ll say anyone could have done them, or he should have done them as a general in the real King’s army. So he’d be Pityafinwe, who pretended to be a king for a bit but understands now that it’s not his place, and that his place is to be the sixth-born son of the (dead, disgraced) Crown Prince.

Besides, they’re making the ‘leaders’ apologize for leaving, and Gil-Galad spent enough years wandering Beleriand safe behind Noldorin fortresses he can’t really be sorry they came.

Gil-Galad does write a letter though, to the Lady Nerdanel, his mother. He tells people that it’s commendations for her grandson’s valor, and assurance that Celebrimbor will be regarded on his own merits in the Age to come. The letter does contain those, but it also contains “You were half right about my mother-name; I was fated to die but leapt out of Fate’s way.” It’s rather blasphemous, but Gil-Galad isn’t going to be setting foot near the Valar again.

ao3

#silmarillion #amrod #Gil Galad #The Silmarillion #silm #My fic #gil galad son of plot hole #amrodnor

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