#silvan customs

[cosmic-walkers]

funny thing about my re-written gondolin au is that each cousin wants what the other has. idril wants to be her own knight in shining armor, she wants to fight, she wants her father to not see her as a helpless girl who must be guarded, or for her life to resort around being a wife and a mother. idril also has gender envy tm and sometimes wants to be perceived as something other than a woman. and maeglin wants to settle down, he wants to marry the tall blond prince. he wants to be seen as desirable. and even if he can fight and defend himself extremely well,  he wants to be saved and not be seen as a threat to people. Since for a while they cannot talk to anyone about it and their desires, they talk to one another. 

#did i say this at a point? #but trans masc idril is real - it's just before she knew #and also #in the specific vanyar- noldor customs her family follows #they are very cisheternormative #in a strange way maeg introduces some forms of OPEN queerness to gondolin #tho he is kept to himeslf #also idril very much does love tuor and earendil #but then again like she still deals with gender and sexuality #i have a whole story / au of her falling in love with a silvan elf woman before gondolin #but she ends up pushing away those feelings #and the resurface in gondolin #and lemme explain i don't think that like the noldor or vanyar of high elves are like staunch christians #i DO think however that some families and kingdoms chose to follow stricter rules #like i think that maybe finwe himself was rather heteronormative #but like miriel's customs and traditions were not #because i don't actually think she is noldor herself in a sense #but that said the line of feanor was a lot less orthodox than most noldor #and moriquendi elves and silvan elves and shit #have queerness really implemented in their specific cultures #sindar not so much #not until they start mixing with silvan and moriquendi #also turgon himself is not homophobic or whatever #it's just customs that were passed on thru his wife which was vanyar #and he tried to stay true to her culture when he made gondolin #he is actually very accepting in ways he can be

[echo-bleu]

Noldor Hair Headcanons (4/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

There isn’t anyone left who knows how to do Maglor’s Mourning Braids, but they are described in a lament for Fingon that’s still doing the rounds, so Elrond and Elros make their best try. That style is henceforth known as Elrond’s Mourning Braids (because Elros gets forgotten by the elves a lot after he dies, let’s not lie to ourselves).

A decade of nothing but Mourning Braids really hammers in that Elrond and Elros weren’t just hostages.

It doesn’t do a lot for their reputation, but they don’t particularly care.

Bit by bit, Elros adopts mannish customs after making his Choice, and even goes so far as to cut his hair above the shoulder. Elrond is pre-grieving his brother too much to be properly shocked about this.

(It’s still long enough to braid. It’s fine. It’s not like his brother is leaving him on purpose. Or rejecting him. Elrond knows that.)

Everyone thinks Elrond should wear his hair in the Sindarin custom but he refuses to give up his Noldor braids. Elros braids his brother’s hair until he leaves for Númenor.

Elrond and Gil-galad do each other’s hair through the Second Age. Because they’re the last of their family and the only ones to keep to the old traditions. Not at all because they’re close. Of course not. Wouldn’t be proper. (They spend two hours at it every morning alone in Gil-galad’s chambers.)

Elrond revives his Mourning Braids on his 500th birthday.

Celebrimbor learns about dwarven hair culture. It’s Very Different but kind of similar, in that fancy hairstyles are a status thing. (Or really, long hair/beard is a status thing and then you have to do something with it because otherwise it catches everywhere.)

Narvi isn’t in fact the first dwarf to touch elven hair, but that’s only because Finrod had a very extended concept of family.

Annatar magically braids his own hair, when he even bothers (his hair doesn’t even singe in the forge if it falls into the fire). This hurts Celebrimbor’s sensitivities, but he adapts to Annatar’s ways, and adapts again, and adapts, until he really can’t.

Sauron cuts off Celebrimbor’s beautiful dark braids full of dwarven beads and ties them to the spears of his personal guard. Elrond never quite manages to get that image out of his head.

At war again, Gil-Galad invents locs. Well, re-invents them really, because Silvan elves have worn them forever, but he’s the first Noldor to do it. (He has Fingon’s hair texture. Does that mean he’s Fingon’s son? Who knows. He’s not telling.)

It’s only after Gil-galad’s death that Elrond teaches himself how to braid his own hair.

He hates it.

But he won’t wear his hair loose.

(The first style he masters is Maglor’s Mourning Braids.) (It really shouldn’t be because it’s Intricate but Elrond is nothing if not stubborn.)

Imladris has a full salon, like the Noldor palaces of old.

It doesn’t get that much use, to be honest.

Erestor learns to braid really tiny braids into Glorfindel’s hair, so that he never wears his hair fully loose but it still looks like it’s loose. Everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. Glorfindel thinks it’s the best thing. Elrond watches them with a knowing smile.

Celebrían wears her hair half-loose in the Sindar style until she marries Elrond. It takes him several years to find the strength to ask her to do his hair, but she lets him do hers and he sneaks in more and more braids until they settle on a mixed-style. When he finally allows her to do his hair, Celebrían makes her mother grumpily teach her proper Noldor braids.

Elladan and Elrohir only wear practical Sindarin braids for the day to day, but they delight in doing each other’s hair in complicated styles for feasts and ceremonies. Elrond cries the first time they accidentally replicate Maglor’s favourite hairstyle.

Arwen is a little gremlin who squirms out of her parents’ lap when they try to braid her hair. She’s also inherited even more of Melian’s hair than Elrond, so even when they manage to do a braid, it’s gone in a few hours.

It takes years after Celebrían sails, because they’re all grieving, but eventually Elrohir offers to do his father’s hair, and Elrond lets him. They don’t do it every day, but it’s a large step in their recovery process.

By the way, Thranduil’s thing for flower/leaf crowns isn’t a Sindar or Silvan practice, it’s just that he wanted to be Fancy but Not In a Noldor Way, thank you very much. He’s also very vain. His servants do his hair.

Little Estel is very cute, has very silky hair for a man, even of his line, and makes a great doll for the twins to play with. He likes his hair touched A Lot.

Arwen learns about that early on. She’s a very good silver smith. Aragorn now owns a lot of hair jewellery. He can’t make a braid to save his life, but that’s fine, because Arwen can’t wear them anyway.

In the North, he wears his hair like Elros, cut above his shoulders. Once he becomes King, he lets it grow to his waist. He’s the first Man since Tuor to casually wear his hair in elaborate Noldor braids. He accidentally sets a fashion.

Arwen also does Éowyn’s and Faramir’s hair regularly. The first time is for their wedding. Éowyn isn’t a fan of the unpractical Fëanorian styles, but the Nolofinwëan battle braids look incredibly good on her.

Wandering on the coast for two ages, Maglor no longer does anything with his hair. It doesn’t enjoy the salt at all.

When Elrond finally finds him, he almost has to cut it all off. Instead, he spends weeks carefully untangling and moisturising Maglor’s hair until he can finally braid it in the old style for him. Maglor cries.

Elrond cries too. He cries even more when Maglor sits them down on the floor and braids his hair like he used to.

They sail together with the other Ring bearers, and there’s a lot more crying when they find Celebrían, Gil-galad and Maedhros waiting for them together.

Celebrían is wearing her hair in one of the Fëanorian styles that can be done one-handed.

Galadriel isn’t entirely happy about that, but she sees Finrod and forgets about it.

There’s some more crying.

Fingon is also there (the amount of gold in his hair is a bit blinding, not that Elrond will ever tell him) and also wearing a one-handed braided style.

There are some fights over who gets to do Elrond’s hair in the next few weeks.

Celebrían wins most of them, because she’s inherited Galadriel’s viciousness, but she lets everyone have a turn.

Elrond would like to know why he doesn’t have a say in it.

(He does. They would never touch him if he didn’t want to. They’re just very happy to see him.)

He does go to visit Elwing and Eärendil in their tower, and he goes with his hair down, because he’s a peace-maker at heart.

But in Tirion, he always sports the most complex hairstyles, just barely coming short of overshadowing the High King’s (mostly because his hair is still too silky for it to hold well), because his family all want to outdo each other.

He earns the reputation of being the most beloved of all the Noldor.

It’s not wrong.

Some visuals & more in my art tag

#noldor hair headcanons #if i am to braid my mystic crown #echo's fanfiction #silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #tolkien fanfiction #elrond #gil-galad #lotr #the lord of the rings #aragorn #arwen #celebrimbor #maglor

[octuscle]

thank you my friend for showing me all the things I can be. But one transformation just felt more right than the others. Please can you turn me back to a British chav working in ChavTF. This time I want it to be permanent and I want to become as chavy as possible. Just a dumb horny chav, who loves trainers, tracksuits, smoking, drinking and blowjobs

Alcohol gives you really stupid ideas, doesn't it? Even if the alcohol is an expensive 2020 Silvaner from a great vineyard on the Main in Franconia… Dude, you're a masterpiece! And you want to change that?

You're playing with your cell phone… There's the ChavTF online store. Hot tracksuit on special offer. The devil knows when you'd put it on… But you order it. They recommend a pair of socks, a pair of sneakers, a bracelet and a necklace. You think the necklace is stupid… But the rest looks cool. Everything goes into the shopping cart. Pay. And order. Everything should be here the day after tomorrow.

When you get home on Friday evening, the parcel is on your doorstep. Some friendly neighbor has accepted the package. The box has been used before. A bong was obviously packed in it before. It also smells like weed, but also like the plastic of cheap synthetic fibers. The tracksuit is no longer in its original packaging. It also smells a bit like sweat. And it looks like there are dried precum stains in the pants. You get a boner. And your precum forms another stain in your pants. The socks and sneakers look great with the tracksuit.

There are lots of notes in the box next to the bill. A voucher for a hairdresser. And a flyer looking for new employees for the online shop. Hehehe, the job certainly wouldn't make enough money for your Mayfair apartment. But somehow you feel like redeeming the voucher for the hairdresser. Shorter hair goes better with the tracksuit. Okay, the cab ride to the Eastend is probably almost as expensive as if you'd gone to your hairdresser. But that doesn't matter to you now.

You fit into the hairdressing salon about as well as the king fits into the subway. None of the customers are over 25 years old. No one feels as muscular in their tracksuit as you do. And everyone is either smoking a cigarette or a joint. And most of them have a can of beer. The hairdresser sees you and shouts "You're next. Would you like uh beer, mate?" You just say yes. And then the barber runs the long hair clippers through your hair. "Mate, should I shave off da beard? it makes you look like an old main?" You actually feel much younger. The beer is why and tastes like piss. But it feels good. Your forehead is wrinkle-free and smooth again. You look more like a young bouncer than an investment banker. "Nah, mate, da beard stays on. But do you have uh fag for me?" Damn, what's happened to your language.

You tip the barber a pound. You can hardly get enough of your reflection in the mirror. You need sex now. Quickly. It's still light and the cruising area in Victoria Park isn't far away. You don't have to stand by the tree for long before you disappear into the bushes with an old geezer. Phew, not really your level. But it feels right to get down on your knees and suck the unshaven, cheesy cock of this unkempt guy. And it also feels right when you pocket the ten pound note after the blowjob.

You take the subway home. Fuck, you're so horny, you could get fucked by every other guy here. But you need a pint of beer at least as badly. And it's not unlikely that you'll find something to fuck in the pub.

Fuck, you could clean up your mess and air it out. And you don't have anything clean to wear either. Shit, you had something planned for today… While you're pissing and smoking in your dirty little bathroom, you remember. You wanted to apply for the job. Warehouse worker at that cool clothes store in the East End. You spray some Axe under your armpits, put on your new tracksuit and take the bus to the East End.

You're already a little excited. After all, it's the first job you've done since you dropped out of your plumbing apprenticeship. And it's eight pounds an hour. A hell of a lot of money. But the guy in the store is cool. He thinks that all you need to be able to do for the job is organize weed for the other employees, give him the occasional blow job and tape up packages. Hehehe, hopefully you'll learn how to do the parcels, the rest you'll manage. And you can prove it right away. Starting with a blowjob.

Best job ever. In fact, you're more of a warehouse hustler than a warehouse worker. But there are good tips. And the dope you got is damn good. And hopefully no one will notice that you took the necklace with you. Your mother yells for you to come into the house, dinner is ready. You shout back that you only have a few more things to do. Hehehe, you can't stand dinner with your mother and her new stud without being stoned.

Pics found @my-gear-smoking-favourites, @lyon69007-blog and @scallysmoker2

#male tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #age reduction #chav tf

[sotwk]

Hobbits and the Greenwood Elves

Happy Hobbit Day! In honor of Bilbo and Frodo’s birthdays, please enjoy these headcanons regarding the history and friendship between the Hobbits of the Shire (Bilbo’s people) and the Silvan Elves of Greenwood (Thranduil’s people). 

Requested by my dear @laneynoir a while back--thank you for your patience!

Disclaimer: Please note that a good portion of the info below are SotWK AU headcanons only, inspired by official Tolkien canon.

Hobbits and the Greenwood Elves

Early Hobbits in Rhovanion

The Silvan Elves of Greenwood (Thranduil’s people) encountered the early “breeds” of Hobbit centuries before they came to the attention of the peoples who dwelt west of the mountains. 

All three Hobbit breeds (Fallohides, Harfoots, Stoors) resided in the lands surrounding the Woodland Realm as early as the start of Thranduil’s reign, but for many years they kept to themselves and avoided contact with other races. 

The Fallohides, from whom the Brandybucks, Tooks, and Bolgers descended, initially dwelt in the southern eves of Greenwood and first made friends with the Northmen in their area. Hearing tales from the Men regarding the benevolence of the Elvenking and his family, the Fallowhides accepted the outreach of Thranduil and his people, and eventually formed friendships with them. 

The Stoors, who lived a little further away in the Vales of Anduin, quickly followed suit. They even established low-level trade with the Silvan Elves, exchanging their catches from the Anduin for products from the Greenwood. 

The Harfoots were shyer of the Elves and lived closer to the foot of the Misty Mountains, and therefore did not have as close relations with the Silvans as the other two clans.

Two Greenwood Princes were more familiar with the Fallohides and Stoors than the rest of their family: Princes Turhir and Gelir, since the western lands under their guardianship were closest to the dwellings of the hobbits. 

Prince Gelir had a special fondness for Hobbits, delighting most especially in their simple yet lively customs and culture. He continued to value friendship with them long after he departed from the Elvenking’s realm. 

Dol Guldur Drives the Hobbits Away

As time passed into the Third Age, the Shadow that grew upon Dol Guldur was felt by the Hobbits as well as the Elves, and soon began to pose serious threats to their lives.

Thranduil and his sons did everything they could to protect both the Hobbits and the Northmen from the worst of Dol Guldur’s creatures. But the Hobbits in particular were incapable of withstanding the Necromancer’s strange and dark evils, and their attempts to evade the Shadow’s reach by moving northward failed. 

While the Harfoots were quick to retreat across the mountain to Eriador, the Fallohides and Stoors lingered in the east for a century longer, less willing to abandon the home they loved near the Elves. 

However, as the dangers continued to grow, Thranduil and his warriors could no longer guarantee the safety of the Hobbits on top of protecting their own people. 

Despite their friendship, the Hobbits refused the Elves' invitation to reside amongst them in the forest. They planned instead to migrate further north toward the Grey Mountains. 

Elvenqueen Maereth counseled the Fallohides and Stoors to head westward instead and “rejoin” the Harfoots in Eriador, with a vague foresight of the foundation of the Shire and its importance to the future of Middle-earth.

Only after the Fallohides and Stoors had safely crossed into Eriador did Thranduil pull back the last of his defenders north of the Emyn Duir, essentially abandoning the southwestern region of the Greenwood. 

Connection with Smeagol 

Around TA 1350, the Stoors residing in the Angle fled from the growing threat of Angmar upon Eriador, and some of them returned to Rhovanion to reside in the Vales of Anduin once more. From this community of Stoors, Smeagol descended. 

Although Thranduil received word of the reemergence of Hobbits in the Vales, he could not spare any resources to oversee their protection. 

However, Prince Gelir continued to send out his own patrols into the Anduin to check on the Stoors once every year, during the summer season. 

In TA 2463, when the One Ring was found by Deagol and taken by Smeagol, the Mirkwood Elves were too preoccupied with the resurgence of Dol Guldur to notice the evil that had transpired. 

Five hundred years later, when Gandalf brought the captive Gollum to Mirkwood for guarding, the Silvan Elves recognized the wretched creature as a Stoor, a race they remembered with fondness as friends. This stirred their pity towards Gollum and led them to treat him more gently. 

The Long and Fell Winters 

The care of Thranduil and his family for Hobbits continued from a distance well into the Third Age, even as death began to claim the lives of the princes.

In TA 2759, the Long Winter occurred in Eriador and a terrible famine followed in the Shire. Gelir, the only Thranduilion left who continued to travel across the west, learned of the plight of the Hobbits and beseeched his parents to send aid. 

In response, the King and Queen sent Gelir, Itarildë (their daughter-in-law), and Anariel (their granddaughter) to ride out with provisions, provide healing, and abate the effects of the famine. This was done so discreetly (they did not reveal their identities as Elves, much less royalty), the deed went unrecorded in Shire history. 

This outreach was replicated once more during the Fell Winter of TA 2911 to 2912, when Thranduil permitted Itarildë and Anariel to join Gandalf in helping the Shire Hobbits. 

Bilbo was already alive and 22 years old on this occasion. He had the memory of encountering the two extraordinarily beautiful women in the Shire, whom he suspected, but could not confirm, were Elves. 

Bilbo and Thranduil’s Friendship 

Bilbo never truly “met” an elf before first meeting Elrond in Rivendell. However, his ancestors’ ancient friendship with the Greenwood Elves still resided in his heart. Even during his misadventures with Thorin’s Company in Mirkwood, Bilbo never really felt fearful of the Elvenking or his people, even though he could not explain to himself why. 

Bilbo’s instinct to trust Thranduil and stand by him during the Battle of the Five Armies echoed the sentiments of his ancestors, who once also loved the Elvenking and trusted him to protect them. 

Bilbo and Thranduil’s initial interactions with each other felt like the reunion of “old friends”, which led to their feelings of kinship and the long bond that remained between them for years after. 

Even with everything that he was dealing with in his own kingdom, Thranduil managed to discreetly visit Bilbo at least once in the Shire, during which the Elvenking was introduced to the recently born Frodo Baggins (too young to have any memory of this encounter). 

Regarding Legolas and the Hobbits of the Fellowship 

It is a common joke in the fandom that Legolas is scarcely mentioned as directly interacting with Frodo or the other hobbits, and almost never in the films. The SotWK AU does not accept this distant behavior from the Prince of Mirkwood, but does offer an explanation for Legolas’s mental state during the Quest of the Ring. 

I plan on eventually writing a separate post discussing Legolas’s mental health (which logically took a hit after everything his family and kingdom had suffered), but being around Hobbits, and in such close quarters, was a bittersweet experience for him. 

Because his brother Gelir had a special closeness and bond with Hobbits, just seeing Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry reminded Legolas of him. Gelir, though still alive as far as they knew, was estranged from the family at the time of the Quest of the Ring, and he and Legolas had parted on ill terms.

Observing the Hobbits in their shenanigans also caused Legolas to remember all his brothers, and the joyful times they shared when their family was complete. 

Distancing himself a little from the Hobbits (but not treating them coldly or badly in any way), was simply Legolas’s method of coping with his complicated emotions.

In the SotWK AU, Legolas most certainly demonstrated a great deal of care and affection for the four Hobbits in his own ways.

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Elves HC Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

#sotwk headcanon #the hobbit #thranduil #lotr #tolkien #legolas #thranduil headcanon #legolas headcanon #bilbo baggins #frodo baggins #bilbo #frodo #greenwood the great #sotwk oc #thranduilion #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #woodland realm #lord of the rings #happy hobbit day #hobbit day

[ebaeschnbliah]

‘For that was the custom of the Elves of Lórien ...

... to dwell in the trees, and maybe it is so still. Therefore they were called the Galadhrim, the Tree-people. Deep in their forest the trees are very great. The people of the woods did not delve in the ground like Dwarves, nor build strong places of stone before the Shadow came.'

`And even in these latter days dwelling in the trees might be thought safer than sitting on the ground,' said Gimli. He looked across the stream to the road that led back to Dimrill Dale, and then up into the roof of dark boughs above.

`Your words bring good counsel, Gimli,' said Aragorn. `We cannot build a house, but tonight we will do as the Galadhrim and seek refuge in the tree-tops, if we can. We have sat here beside the road already longer than was wise.'

The Company now turned aside from the path, and went into the shadow of the deeper woods, westward along the mountain-stream away from Silverlode. Not far from the falls of Nimrodel they found a cluster of trees, some of which overhung the stream. Their great grey trunks were of mighty girth, but their height could not be guessed.

`I will climb up,' said Legolas. `I am at home among trees, by root or bough, though these trees are of a kind strange to me, save as a name in song. Mellyrn they are called, and are those that bear the yellow blossom, but I have never climbed in one. I will see now what is their shape and way of growth.'

`Whatever it may be,' said Pippin, `they will be marvellous trees indeed if they can offer any rest at night, except to birds. I cannot sleep on a perch! '

'Then dig a hole in the ground,' said Legolas, `if that is more after the fashion of your kind. But you must dig swift and deep, if you wish to hide from Orcs.' He sprang lightly up from the ground and caught a branch that grew from the trunk high above his head. But even as he swung there for a moment, a voice spoke suddenly from the tree-shadows above him.

`Daro!' it said in commanding tone, and Legolas dropped back to earth in surprise and fear. He shrank against the bole of the tree.

'Stand still! ' he whispered to the others. `Do not move or speak! '

There was a sound of soft laughter over their heads, and then another clear voice spoke in an elven-tongue. Frodo could understand little of what was said, for the speech that the Silvan folk east of the mountains used among themselves was unlike that of the West. Legolas looked up and answered in the same language.*

`Who are they, and what do they say? ' asked Merry.

`They're Elves,' said Sam. `Can't you hear their voices? '

`Yes, they are Elves,' said Legolas; `and they say that you breathe so loud that they could shoot you in the dark.' Sam hastily put his hand over his mouth. 'But they say also that you need have no fear. They have been aware of us for a long while. They heard my voice across the Nimrodel, and knew that I was one of their Northern kindred, and therefore they did not hinder our crossing; and afterwards they heard my song. Now they bid me climb up with Frodo; for they seem to have had some tidings of him and of our journey. The others they ask to wait a little and to keep watch at the foot of the tree, until they have decided what is to be done.'

Out of the shadows a ladder was let down: it was made of rope, silver-grey and glimmering in the dark, and though it looked slender it proved strong enough to bear many men. Legolas ran lightly up, and Frodo followed slowly; behind came Sam trying not to breathe loudly. The branches of the mallorn-tree grew out nearly straight from the trunk, and then swept upward; but near the top the main stem divided into a crown of many boughs, and among these they found that there had been built a wooden platform, or flet as such things were called in those days: the Elves called it a talan. It was reached by a round hole in the centre through which the ladder passed.

When Frodo came at last up on to the flet he found Legolas seated with three other Elves. They were clad in shadowy-grey, and could not be seen among the tree-stems, unless they moved suddenly. They stood up, and one of them uncovered a small lamp that gave out a slender silver beam. He held it up, looking at Frodo's face, and Sam's. Then he shut off the light again, and spoke words of welcome in his elven-tongue. Frodo spoke haltingly in return.

`Welcome!' the Elf then said again in the Common Language, speaking slowly. 'We seldom use any tongue but our own; for we dwell now in the heart of the forest, and do not willingly have dealings with any other folk. Even our own kindred in the North are sundered from us. But there are some of us still who go abroad for the gathering of news and the watching of our enemies, and they speak the languages of other lands. I am one. Haldir is my name.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, Lothlórien

#the lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #lothlorien #jrr tolkien #aragorn #legolas #gimli #frodo #sam #merry #pippin #boromir #haldir #galadhrim #movie pics #peter jackson

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #24: LotR, but make it half-Maia!Legolas

I honestly thought I was done with Legolas headcanons, but then this one hit me over the head: what if Legolas’ mother was a Maia?

Bear with me:

We are given little-to-no information about Legolas’ background in canon. The only thing we know for sure is that his father, Thranduil, was originally from Doriath and has been ruling Mirkwood since his own father, Oropher, died of his own poor tactical thinking in the War of the Last Alliance.

But what if we know nothing about Legolas' background because no one in Middle Earth has any idea either?

Just imagine it:

After the War of Wrath, Oropher led his people into the Greenwood and established himself as king over the local population. However this came about, "The few Sindar who had come with him were soon merged with the Silvan Elves, adopting their customs and language and taking names of Silvan form and style. Oropher and his household wished to return to a simple existence natural to the Elves before they had been disturbed by the Valar" [x].

I'm not quite sure what Silvan elves got up to before Greenwood became Mirkwood, but I imagine it involved a lot of frolicking and hunting in the woods, and generally living up to the stereotype forest-dwelling immortal spirits at one with nature. And Thranduil, being the prince of this realm, would be naturally be the best of them all.

I imagine this catches the eye of one of the more minor Maiar sometime in the Second Age - a hunter in Oromë's retinue, most likely, but someone in Vána's retinue could possibly work too.

Thranduil strikes up a relationship with this Maia whenever she passes through, because unlike Melian a hunter of Oromë wouldn't be content to stay in one bounded woods when there are things to hunt across Arda and Aman. It is the epitome of a long-distance relationship.

Key to all of this is that Thranduil never tells anyone her identity. Oh, he very obviously is in a relationship and will disappear for weeks at a time throughout the Second Age to be with his wife, but no one ever meets her - or, as they assume she's just some Silvan elf with no interest in being princess or queen, admits to being her.

Thranduil goes off with his father to fight in the War of the Last Alliance. Unlike his father, he lives and returns to the Greenwood as king of his people.

Shortly after he returns, his Maiar wife presents him with baby!Legolas to raise and rejoins Oromë's hunt. Depending on his actual age when given to Thranduil, Legolas may even have some youthful memories of hunts he spent on the back of his mother's horse and/or of hunts in Aman.

Their relationship continues much as before, and though she makes the effort to be more present for Legolas' benefit it's dealer's choice whether she's successful at it. Maybe as a Maia of the hunt she's not good with children and is able to salvage her relationship with her son when he gets old enough to spend all his days hunting too; maybe she's a really good mother despite her frequent absences and the family dynamics just work for everyone. Who knows?

Legolas' mother is only a minor Maia, and so he's not quite as extra as Lúthien. He's noted for being the best hunter of his age - but most assume that's down to genetics, because of his father's legendary skill, and because of a lifetime of practice, because Mirkwood is Mirkwood.

And, honestly, a Mirkwood filled with spiders to hunt is probably all a half-Maia elf could ever want, particularly when their Maia parent is a huntress of Oromë.

The events of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings go as in canon, with the exception of Galadriel saying that she cannot give Legolas a better bow than his mother made for him, and so granting him a different gift. This prompts several questions about Legolas' mother, particularly when Aragorn admits that not even Elrond knows her identity.

The hobbits responsible for The Red Book of Westmarch never learn the truth.

But, as I'm an inveterate Legolas/Gimli stan, Legolas admits the truth to Gimli sometime after that relationship forms - maybe Legolas' mother shows up at some point while they're in Ithilien to check up on her son after the war ends and the truth comes out; maybe it comes out when Legolas is trying to reassure Gimli theirs wouldn't be the most unusual marriage in the family - but no one else ever learns the truth.

It's Legolas' Maia heritage that allows Gimli to sail with him to Aman - either his mother requests it as a boon from the Valar for her son, or something about his ancestry allows him to grant others access.

Bonuses include: 1) Everything that might point to Legolas' Maia heritage is written off as elfish weirdness by non-elves, Silvan weirdness by non-Silvan elves, and Sinda weirdness by Silvan elves; 2) Despite all this, Legolas talks about his mother a lot and so by the breaking of the Fellowship everyone has this idea that his mother is the Greatest Hunter Ever To Live; and 3) the question of just who Thranduil is married to being a big source of betting and speculation for elves, and all the elves the Fellowship encounters try to use them to get the inside track.

And that's it. As always, feel free to adopt this plot bunny, just link back to me if you do anything with it.

Other Legolas Headcanons: First Age | Second Age | Third Age | Half-Maia | Half-Elven

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #lotr #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #tolkien #legolas x gimli #legolas #thranduil #legolas headcanon #lotr headcanons #tolkien headcanons

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Silvans Journal

Exactly what it says on the tin. I hc that one of the silvan customs is for every elf to write down what happens in their lives as a way to remember, and as a momento for those they leave behind should they die.

Now, these journal entries aren’t usually full fledged day by day walkthroughs. More like:

“September 19, 1568 SA

Naneth took me out hunting today! We caught a big buck, and she showed me how to skin it!”

For more intense and larger events the entries are longer, obviously.

When going on trips (or marching to war) they bring a small pocket sized booklet to write their notes down in, which they transcribe into their larger journal when they get back.

Ironically this means that the silvans have the most accurate record of history.

Culture wise this means that giving a silvan an empty journal is a big thing only done by family/the spouse and really really close friends. It is seen as a declaration of love by the giver (either romantic or platonic). Elves can buy their own though, no problem.

Furthermore, an elf’s first journal is actually written by their parents, documenting the begetting untill birth and is filled with everything the parents want to tell their child, should somethings happen to them when the child is young.

Silvans keep their full journals neatly in their personal book cases to be perused by them at their leisure. But outsiders flipping through a silvan’s personal journals without permission is a major faux pass.

The older a silvan is/the more they live through, the larger their journal collection.

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

Frodo, noticing that every now and then Legolas writes something down in a little booklet: what are you doing?

Legolas: writing down interesting things that have happened

Frodo: why?

Legolas: to remind myself what I’m living for.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas’s journal

June 18, 2230 TA, Imlardis

Arwen and I nailed the twins with all the rotten vegetables left over in the kitchen. Their faces were priceless.

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

Thranduil Journal

February 4, 18 TA, Greenwood

My son and his patrol took down group of orcs today, meanwhile I’m stuck drowning under paperwork and having to play nice with Galadriel. Fuck my life, why did Ada up and die on me!?

#lord of the rings #thranduil #lotr #legolas #mirkwood #the hobbit #greenwood the great #lotr elves #silvans #the journal entries are a mix between serious and batshit insane

[outofangband]

Spring Headcanons for the Elves of First Age Beleriand

Autumn headcanons

Winter headcanons

Obviously I couldn’t go through each group or culture so please feel free to send one and I’ll tell my ideas for them! I’m going to do humans next. Feel free to request for outside of Beleriand too!

For elves the season of stirring (Echuir in Sindarin) begins the equivalent of February First and ends March 27th. Yestarë or Iestor is the first day of the year, approximately March 28th on the Gregorian calendar. Echuir (Sindarin) or stirring corresponds to February first to 27th March on the Gregorian calendar and ethuil or spring began on March 29th and ended May 21st.

Stirring and Spring are seasons of awakening. The frost melts, the rain replaces the snow, and the grounds become green once more. The elves become reacquainted with the earth.

(Note: I do think some elves hibernate but that’s a different post)

Note: I used a more canon climate for Beleriand and other lands here but I'm always happy to make environmental or other world building posts for locations based on other places including specific real ones like I did for the Havens of Sirion! I did talk about non temperate climates a little here and I did more on the winter posts

The Northern Sindar (in Mithrim and elsewhere in Hithlum as well as parts of Nevrast) mark the beginning of spring by the return of leaves to trees and through watching the migration of certain communities of birds back to their homes. Bird houses are built by some, constructed of natural materials like bark and woven grasses. Children often collect feathers left behind. The Northern Sindar also gather may apples, wild strawberries and rhubarb which are favorite spring edible flora. These are often used for cool drinks, the strawberries used to sweeten.

Seasonal changes in Doriath are mostly mild though there are regions that experience more extreme differences throughout the year. While snow rarely falls due to the Girdle, the winter months are still colder. Spring in Doriath brings a forest floor carpeted in new flora; crocuses, snowdrops, bluebells, wild tulips, primrose and more early spring flowers. Lighter materials are often worn in celebration of milder weather. Traditional outfits for spring use fabric created from nettle fibers, a custom shared with the Sindar outside Doriath as well as certain Avarin groups.

In Himring, stirring and then spring represent a slow release of the extreme cold and snowy conditions of the local winters. Visibility becomes clearer as the lands themselves are uncovered. Scouting groups, though in operation all year round, are sent out more often and for longer periods as travel and communication become easier. Trade also increases and rations become more generous. The gardens in Himring (post here) are started as soon as the ground is soft enough to allow for it.

Outside of this climate, the beginning of spring might indicate a rainy season as it does in some regions East of the Ered Luin. Some of the Silvan who live there gather water and collect rain for when the overflowing rivers become too dangerous to use reliably. Shelters are fortified with a variety of materials before the beginning of rainy season and in some locations settlements move temporarily to higher ground

Amphibians returning to activity occurs throughout Beleriand in early spring. Elven children (and human children of course!) often enjoy staying up to here the first choruses of frogs, searching for eggs and watching tadpoles. Many adults too find joy in this new continuing of life. In Nargothrond for example, there is a tradition to follow short migrations of salamanders as they reach the ponds they will lay eggs in.

(I worry this one isn’t as good as my previous ones, I hope it’s ok! Please feel free to give requests)

#the silmarillion #beleriand #himring #Doriath #Hithlum #musing and meta #Maedhros #the children of húrin #for Doriath

[aeonianarchives]

Feast

Fotfictober Prompts: 16 - Feast

Summery: Feast of starlight chaos

Pairing: Feren x Reader

Characters: (OC) Thalion, Thranduil, Legolas, Galion, Feren, Reader

Warnings: Mentioned! Drinking, Drunk Feren

Mereth Nuin Giliath also know as the Feast under the Stars or the Feast of Starlight, it was always a great event in the Greenwood, from its pre drinks to the feast itself and then the after party, it was always so extravagant and every year Thranduil managed to improve it some how, but each week before had was a festival crunch, the kitchens making sure they had enough food the winery making sure it had enough wine, the guards pulling double shifts and then there was you unlike the rest of the seamstress you had to work with Thranduil and Legolas making them the most extravagant and mystical clothes to wow the guest and to make sure they had something better than all the guests to wear.

"Y/n" you didn't look up at the king from the sewing of his long trail robe, he took a seat in front of you.

"I ran into some problems with fabics for your robes" you said Thranduil pushed your wrists down and held them, you looked at him, you had know the king since he was a young prince, you were always a few years younger than him, but you where a Silvan elf, your crush over the king soon left you once he married his wife and your attention turned to his commander, maybe you had just been in love with the idea of him and not him.

"You need sleep Mellon-nin you did not work well on little sleep, you can solve this in the morning" Thranduil said gently standing you up, you sighed and close your eyes.

"You are right as always on these matter mellon-nin" you said

"I cannot have my seamstress working herself to death, who would i find to trust enough to make my clothes to all my frustrating needs" Thranduil said you sighed

"But I will not be able to finish on time" you said

"I will just wear last times and then next time I will have this one" Thranduil said you agreed but little did the king know you snuck your work with you and finished it in your own rooms.

You delivered it to a guard and told him to give it to Thranduil before he made his grand entrance and made your way to the feast you had missed the pre drinks due to finishing Thranduil's outfit.

"Good to see you decided to show up Mellon, your doing that face again" Galion said

"What face" You said

"The face where you think their is a 50/50 percent chance the king will kill you" Galion said

"I finished the robes after he told me not to and got a guard to give them to him" You said

"Ah I see, good luck then" Galion said walking away

"Galion what do you mean of good luck, did he tell you what he would do to me" You asked going after your friend.

"I was not saying Good luck about Thranduil" Galion said you turned to were he was looking to see Feren approaching you, you sighed, you did everything to avoid him so why oh why did he have to find you now.

It was now Thranduil chose to save you, all eyes were on the doors he had just come out of, and the king walking down the stairs "Welcome to Mereth Nuin Giliath, Let the festivity begin" Thranduil said you used the gaze Thranduil held to escape Feren's you got to the king he caught your wrist.

"I though I told you to rest instead of finish it" Thranduil said

"My Mind would not leave me to rest without finishing it" you returned

"Join my table for tonight" Thranduil said you nodded and took the seat Thranduil wanted you to have, soon the food was on the tables and glasses were refilled.

"Aran Nin I must ask were you get your robes made they seem to get grander every occasion, I must invest in hireing them for myself aswell" a Noble said

"That do not take other customers they have enough work to do with Aran Thranduil's and Prince Legolas' robes they would not have time" You said the noble looked at you

"Or so i heard" you said looking back at your food

"Y/n is correct" Thranduil said gathering the hint you did not want to work for this noble no one liked him but he kept Thranduil in power so thats why he stayed

"I see such a shame" The man responded Thalion sighed

"I assume that means my request may also not be met" The man said Thalion was very much the opposite the the noble you had just turned down, his family had served in Oropher's Guard as long as anyone could remember he was the pretty boy of the nobles and the youngest given he became head of his house the same time Thranduil became king.

"That could be arranged" you said Thranduil glared at you, you just turned one noble down and took Thalion as a client right in front of him.

"Who does this seamstress think she is turning down my requests for his, who is it, I would like to put her down a couple of steps just because she serves the king doesn't make her so entitled to refuse service" The noble said

"The exact person who just accepted Thalion as her client" Thranduil said

"Y/n, It is a pleasure" Thalion said the other however started insulting you, before Thranduil could shut him up or Thalion for that matter Feren stood abruptly a pink dusting was over his cheeks due to how the drink was affecting him Thranduil turned his head to him and raised a brow at his drunk commander as did Thalion

"You will not insult lady y/n" Feren said

"And what will you do about it Silvan" The noble said

"I can do quite a lot like have you removed from this feast or have you forgot I am the commander of the kings guard" Feren said

"Why do you even protect the mongrel" the noble was right, Silvan and Noldor blood both ran in you and given how Sindar Elves hate the Noldor it was only natural to be insulted

"My lord, I believe the drink may have your tongue it maybe better for you to return to your room" Thalion said joining the two stood up

"You are excused from my table and you will not return to it until I say so" Thranduil said to the lord you cursed Feren for standing up for you it had only made you fall harder for the elf you covered your head in your hands on the table.

"This wine should be illegal" You muttered

"To the race of men it is" Thranduil said you groaned most of the table had left to join in the dancing all apart from you, the king, Thalion and Feren.

"Care for a dance my lady" Thalion said

"No thanks your not my type" You grumbled the lord got caught off guard, that you would say no to him, everyone swooned over him, dancing was one way to confess, it is an intimate moment having a partner that close.

Feren had disappeared off and soon came back, you were still moping about the wine, and Thalion and Thranduil were talking ideally, Legolas had pushed Feren back.

"Y/n" you turned your head up at the commanding voice of Feren with a groan, it was very clear Feren was drunk

"I don't wanna here it, say it when your sober if you mean it" You said

"I maybe drunk but my feelings are perfectly clear for you" Feren said leaning on the table in front of you, you put your finger to his forehead and pushed him back.

"To close" you said

"Gi Melin meleth nin I do not care if I am drunk, people say you say the things are are to scared to when sober and this is definitely the time for that, whenever I am sober I can never bring myself to tell you i seize up and then I can't find you again" Feren said you grabbed his chin

"Stop moving so much and face me" You said

"Your really annoying drunk you know, i prefer sober Feren" you said leaning over the table to him and connecting your lips

Elvish Translations:

Aran nin - My king

Gi Melin Meleth nin - I love you my love

#feren #feren x reader #tolkien #lord of the rings #middle earth #jrr tolkien #the hobbit #elves #lotr #thranduil #galion #legolas #reader #reader insert #middle earth x reader #tolkien x reader #fotfictober #fotfics october event #fotfics #october prompts #mirkwood #feast of starlight #feast

[sophiethewitch1]

Chpt. 6 - Mirror Selves

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Some suggestive content, Silvan’s personality, and also the giant grotesque monster

Silvan blinks wearily up at the blinding bulb, his half healed arms going to shield him from the artificial light. Because it’s still healing, and how he’d gotten so close to true death, it’s patchy. Shards of the lantern’s beams’ break through the holes in said arm, and he hisses loudly when he can’t save himself from the overstimulation.

A switch clicks, and the light turns off.

He sighs in relief, letting said arm fall back to its side.

Lords, he feels like shit. His throat is completely dry, and his whole body stings with the pain of regrowth.

And under all that, a singing, screaming voice calls out to him through the dark. His thrall, his mate, his new everything.

His Mark.

Despite feeling like he’ll crumble in seconds, he goes to sit up, the call of his Mark unable to be stopped by something as measly as near death. A hand grabs into his shoulder pushing him back down, and he snarls, claws slicing into the hand.

Potent blood, ancient blood fills the air. His instincts can’t be stopped, and instantly, his fangs and tongue are drinking deep of the blood. But he can only swallow so much, his stomach revolting at the taste. It wasn’t his Mark, and for the first time since he was reborn, Silvan finds he can’t stand the taste of powerful blood.

Because it wasn’t his Mark, and his core nature would rather he starve than feed from anyone else.

He turns, and vomits on the floor beside him. Red sprays along white tiled floors, and he groans like he’s dying again. It’s a macabre view, but not more macabre than the rest of his hole-filled body. He realises he’s in the infirmary back Aighan, a place he’d seen thousands of times. The room is empty except for him and the person he just attacked.

He’d always thought the white theme here was stupid. They were vampires for fucks sake, they’re diets did not work well with white sheets.

He hears a laugh behind him, the sound so grating he decides he’ll kill whoever is there. He turns, ready to let claw tear apart his adversary once again, but freezes.

Ah, fuck. Of all the people it could have been, it was the only one he couldn’t beat in a fight? Just his luck, huh?

General Delacour stands, as poised and gigantic as always, next to Silvan’s bed. He’s in full ceremonial uniform, his peaked dark red cap and matching red uniform denoting his high standing. The cap is custom, as two curling yellow horns, the same colour as his eyes, wouldn’t work with a normal hat. His dark hair is long, pulled into a low-hanging ponytail at the base of his neck. One ceramic white hand has its black glove removed, said hand brutalised by Silvan’s mad feeding.

The General holds the missing glove in his other hand, and Silvan notices it’s just as brutalised as his hand, fabric frayed and missing in chunks. He makes a sound of disgust, both at having the General’s blood and also the cotton taste in his mouth.

"Why is it, Soldier, that everytime I leave you in charge for a couple weeks, I come back to your scorching corpse?" the General’s smooth, yet obviously amused voice, asks. Silvan can’t even respond, his vocal cords still regenerating.

He manages to lift his arm again, and flips his higher up off. It’s quiet in the room, so the sound of his middle finger falling off his hand and splatting against the floor is near deafening.

The General glances down, a smirk growing on his lips. He opens his mouth to comment on his newly missing finger, but decides to ignore it instead. He looks back up to Silvan, that amusement still shining in his golden eyes.

“How are you feeling, Romano?” he asks him, and Silvan wonders if ignoring that was a cruelty or a kindness.

When it came to Delacour, it was almost certainly the latter.

Silvan swallows a couple times, focusing his healing on his throat. When he was unconscious, the regeneration would have been focused on survival. Healing necessary organs, and spreading out to legs and then arms. It would care only that he could fight, putting no energy into useless things like talking. It’s hard to do, his instincts and his energy reserves battling against his choice, but after a few more moments of serene smiling from General Delacour and Silvan’s desperate fighting, it heals enough for him to speak.

“I’m good, General,” He coughs, voice still dry and scratchy. Delacour’s smile stretches, showing off glints of white fang.

“Good, good. Wouldn’t want my dearest friend suffering anymore,” he jokes, and Silvan growls under his breath. Delacour chuckles, enjoying Silvan’s misery. It was true they were old friends, but that didn’t mean Silvan didn’t sometimes hate the sadistic fucker.

“Now, let’s move onto more pressing matters. What…” he points a finger at Silvan’s neck.

“...Is that?”

Silvan stares in quiet awe at the ring around his neck, glowing a pale yellow. It’s a thin strip of runes, ones that swirl and tangle around each other, ever moving. Magic, something he hadn’t seen in a long time, seeing as it was banned inside the Walls.

Magic, the power of humanity, the only way they’d ever been able to fight back against the vampires.

Magic, that he knew, he just knew came from you.

The mirror in his hand shakes, and his reflection is distorted. He knows he should be terrified, that a thrall with a human isn’t supposed to work like this. That vampires who wanted a mark on themself would have to turn their human, if their Mark was a human.

But here he was, with a mark - if untraditional - plastered on his neck.

His fingers graze along the mark, a moan escaping his throat. He knew marks were supposed to be sensitive, but this was…

He feels like he’s on fire, but he’d rather die than stop.

“If you’re going to jack off, would you please tell me first? I’d rather leave the room, Soldier,” Delacour’s voice is like a bucket of ice over Silvan’s head, and he fumbles the mirror, dropping it into his lap. He curses, wishing his stupid body would go ahead and heal properly.

His eyes glance to the IV drip of blood into his wrist, his upper lip rising in a very primal, very immature snarl. It felt like after he’d met that kid, that he’d met you he’d had a mere thread of control over his body and instincts.

It was maddening. More than that, it was maddening how you weren’t here with him right now.

He barely get the mirror back in his hands before he drops it again. The scream he lets out is both pitiful and animalistic, and Delacour sighs, shaking his head. Silvan didn’t want his sympathy, but unfortunately he was subjected to it anyway.

“You know, the old myth about our reflections is true? For silver backed mirrors at least, these days they’re all made of aluminium,” he says, and Silvan groans.

“I don’t want one of your lectures, old man,” he snarks, pushing his knees up slightly so the mirror can rest against his legs instead. It falls against the blanket, once again pathetically.

Delacour stays silent for a moment, before speaking again.

“That thrall of yours is special, Silvan,” Delacour says, drumming his finger against the table at the foot of the hospital bed. He did that whenever he was thinking, whenever he’d found a conundrum worth his interest.

Silvan did not want Delacour interested in his Mark.

“Of course they are, asshole. And you better not be getting any freaky ideas,” he snarks, carefully picking up the mirror again.

Delacour chuckles.

“Testy, aren’t you?” he jokes, the mole under his eye twisting with his grin.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be? My soulmate - who is likely thousands of miles away - tried to kill me on the first meeting! And I…” Silvan drops the mirror again, his frustration at the situation spiking. He was locked inside this damn infirmary, unable to do anything but scratch at the walls in desperation for you.

And what he did to you… There was a reason there was a law about first vein feedings being supervised. It wasn’t rare for a vampire to kill their Mark in the frenzy the bond gave them if they were stronger than their Mark. He’d been worried that he’d kill his Mark when he’d assumed they’d be a vampire too, but a human?

If that bastard with the black eyes hadn’t threatened his brood-mate he would have probably killed you, muttering sweet promises and love. Obviously he hated the guy for literally blowing him up, but there was a gratefulness in there too.

Killing you. The thought brought bile to his throat instantly. Before he’d gotten the chance to meet you? Before he’d turned you into a vampire as well? Before he’d given you and your child everything you could ever need or want?

Silvan had forgotten what fear felt like. Every time he’d thrown himself into battle, close to his true death, he hadn’t been afraid. He’d been bored if anything, searching for fights that could quench his painful indifference.

Now? He knew what fear was like. He knew it felt like a cinder block on his chest, like it was squeezing the air out of his lungs, like it was the inky darkness that swallowed him after his death.

The mirror’s plastic handle shatters in his grasp, cutting into his skin. The distraction is a relief from the pressing anxiety, and he blinks dazedly.

Careful what you wish for, he thinks. He was definitely not bored now.

Delacour hums, stopping the rhythmic tapping of his fingers.

“Your body is rejecting the blood transfusion. This Mark of yours might succeed in killing you, Soldier,” Delacour says, watching the computer readings which Silvan refused to glance at. He’d spent over a hundred years now ignoring computers, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“I’d deserve it,” he grumbles, letting his head rest back against his pillow and his eyes flicker shut.

“Stop moping. You’ll survive even if I have to get a witch in here to revive you,” Delacour retorts. Sitting down in a chair next to his bed. He pulls out a laptop, and Silvan prays he’s not doing what he just said. Vampires hated witches and their magic on principle, seeing as every time they met them they’d either die or get out with some ridiculously cruel curse.

Your magic, the one that wrapped so deliciously around his throat, obviously didn’t count.

“You’re a cruel man, Delacour.”

He grins, giving him a cheeky wink.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Sometimes weird things happen to you. Like, really weird. Like, that was probably against the laws of nature, weird.

You'd see it. You'd acknowledge it. And then you'd move on, because what the fuck else were you going to do about it.

Right now was one of those moments, watching the inky black sludge traipse across the countryside. It was starting to snow early this year, and the white flurry steams against the heat of the abomination. It’s taller than a building, and wider than a small village.

And, like always, the mindless cannibalistic mass was fleeing in the exact opposite direction of you. The Swarm feared you, and for all your knowledge, you still didn’t know why.

You simply knew it was.

It heads for the coast line, where the snow and the cold is weakest. You frown at that, imagining the future hunt. If you and the other hunters weren’t able to drive it back in land, the battle would be far harder.

Many more would die, swallowed by the creature that reeks of blood and rot.

You turn away from it, hiking Asa up further in your arms. You’d had to wait days to get to the old hag’s house. It was far too dangerous to get close to the Swarm, the thing’s mere presence could kill. They called it the rotting, because of how a patients body would decay and wither. A human in a few miles of the Swarm would get sick, the plague quickly stepping in and destroying their bodies. The only way they could be saved would be to get as far away from it, dump yourself in any apotropaic magic you had, and pray.

Most didn’t survive.

You brush a hand through Asa’s blond locks. Your teeth dig into your lip, worrying. As Asa was a hybrid, the classic wards for the rotting would harm him as well. Because of that he was more susceptible to the sickness. While you were, as far as you could tell, invincible to it.

You could barely see the dark spot against the horizon but Asa still shivered and moaned in pain. It would be dangerous to try and rid him of the onset of the disease right now, but you couldn’t run away from the creature either. You needed to follow it for a good few more days, waiting just out of reach and hoping your own natural deterrent would hurry it up.

“Baba…” Asa whines in his sleep, and you feel like the cruellest person alive. Because, while you knew what would save him from all this pain, you couldn’t do it. You knew if you simply turn tail and run, he’d feel better near instantly.

But you can’t. Because of the fucking ticking time bomb on your neck.

“It’s slowing down,” a voice pipes up beside you, and you roll your eyes instinctively. Captain obvious was here to save the day again. You turn to Creel, and open your mouth to snark at him.

“I can see that,” your voice is satisfactory in it’s snarkiness “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be talking to your little recruits?”

Creel frowns, eyebrows furrowing in that annoying expression you’d seen a thousand times.

“They’re camping nearby. I came to check on you and Asa,” he replies, nodding his head to the boy. You frown, hating his overbearing personality just as much as you always do.

“...Are they getting ready to slay this Swarm?” you ask, nodding your head towards the disappearing mass. You press a hand to Asa’s forehead, finding his fever dimming, and sigh in relief. Well, almost relieved.

No matter how far you hiked and walked, you still fucking hated it. Some days you wish you had accepted Creel’s offer of one of the car’s he’d stolen from the vamps. Some days you cursed how weak-willed you were.

Today was one of those days.

“No, they’re too young for that. They’re learning how to deal with the strain of the rotting and observing it’s hunting patterns,” he explains to you, and you blow out a long stream of air. While you really did hate Creel and his gang, you didn’t want them to die.

No, you needed them if you wanted to survive. Due to how you’d saved many of them, and Creel’s near reverent worship of you, they all considered you worthy of command. They were useful, listening to your orders without question, unless Creel decided otherwise.

And there was that god-awful nickname too. Safe to say, you were important in the hunter circles.

So, yeah. You wanted them to live. You wonder if it still counts as a good thing if it’s for selfish reasons. Probably not.

You glance back at Creel, and once again, wonder why he so obviously lets you use him. You know that you’re not the only one to have saved his life. In a place like this, people had to rely on each other. Fuck, you couldn’t count the number of times some dumb rookie saved your ass, to your humiliation.

However, he offered this… stubbornness… to no one else.

Obviously you were suspicious. And because of that, you were loath to accept the strongest leader of rebels' help. You were loath to accept the help of the boy you fished out of that lake, all those years ago.

“Good,” you finally say, hating the awkward silence. You really wished he’d stop staring at you constantly. That was one of the wishes you knew would never come true. After a minute of continued staring, he speaks up again.

“Can we talk about your housing situation now?”

You are unable to stop the groan you let out, and the grimace that follows at his small smile.

“I’m not moving into any of your damn compounds, you obnoxious child.”

His smile falls, and in return yours twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I’m over twenty years old, (Y/n),” he says, and you whistle in reply, ignoring his words. One of his greatest hangups was how you thought of him like a child, and because of that, you’d never ever stop. It’s the little things that make life livable, y’know?

He grumbles, before continuing on “Well, you can’t stay at your home anymore. I used the emergency explosives you’d rigged.”

Your jaw drops open, catching flies. You think your brain flatlines for a second, unable to comprehend all the shit you’d just lost.

…What did this idiot just say?

“You blew up my house?” you ask, and Creel nods.

“And saved your life, let’s not forget. You don’t owe me, obviously,” he replies, and instantly you feel a migraine come on. How was it that this guy was so smart yet so fucking stupid? Who would be thankful for that?!

“I’m not happy, Creel,” you tell him, and he blinks, tilting his head and analysing your face. After a moment he nods, like it’s starting to get through his thick skull.

“Yes, you don’t look it.”

You squeeze your eyes, wishing you had a hand free to massage your forehead.

“Do you want something as an apology? I know most of your magic items can’t be replaced, but we have-”

“No, Creel. I’m really good,” you cut him off, dropping your head against Asa’s. He gurgles something, and you curse in your mind, wondering if you might’ve woken him up with the headbutt. You definitely didn’t hurt the tiny demon, but you’d rather he sleep through his sickness-

“Baba? Are you upset?” his tiny voice pops up, and your headache seems infinitely worse. You pull back to look the boy in his blue eyes, noticing the bloodshot red in his eyes. He’s definitely getting better, but you’d be pushing him through the rot again in another hour or two.

Your heart sinks at the thought, and his nose twitches. You know, of all Asa’s little quirks, him being able to actually smell your strong emotions is one of your least favourites. You choose to ignore that question, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“They are. I’m sorry for that, Asa,” Creel speaks up, and once again, you roll your eyes. Like your mood was his fault. Okay, nevermind, it was. You just thought him apologising for it was damn annoying.

Asa blinks, wiping away sleep that had gathered in his eyes and turns his head to Creel. Instantly his face lights up in a bright grin, and Creel doesn’t smile, but his eyes seem to soften. You grit your teeth, wishing that wasn’t your soft spot. For a moment he even looks attractive to you, cooing over your ward.

The way to your heart was through Asa, and Creel definitely knew that. Bastard.

“Creel! Hi! When did you get here?” he asks, his voice excited. You bonk his head with yours again, baring in mind to be gentle, even if it probably doesn’t matter. He looks back at you, and you can’t help the grin that forms on your face, seeing him smiling.

He’d been pretty down these past few days, what with the mark keeping him constantly on edge and the rotting making him feel awful. Seeing his happy face was a blessing, and one you always cherished.

Safety always came first, but you longed for a happy, simple life with Asa too. One where you didn’t have to make him suffer for said safety.

“Oi, little traitor. Where’s that excitement when you see me, eh?” you joke, and he sticks his tongue out at you, to which you give a fake gasp in return.

“Creel’s cooler than Baba!” he says, and this time you don’t fake your gasp. Ouch, okay, that might have hurt a bit.

“I disagree completely. There’s nothing cooler than your Baba, Asa,” Creel, as always, steps up to your defence. You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath.

“At least we can agree on something.”

Asa giggles at your words, while Creel merely raises an eyebrow, his human hearing not picking up on your complaints. Asa goes to say something else, but his stomach grumbles before he can speak. He shuts his mouth with a frown, glancing down at the offending organ.

You grin.

“Somebody hungry again? Seriously, you eat more than that entire camp of rookies,” you say, raising one hand and tucking Asa against your hip.

“And? I’m a growing boy!” he says, parroting what you always say. You nod with pride, ruffling his hair once again.

“Do you need any help getting something for you two to eat?” Creel asks, tilting his head back to said camp of rookies. You grimace, shaking your head. Despite having never accepted this man’s help, he still asked you. You wondered if he’d ever come to stop.

Once again, a false wish.

“I’ve got it. We’ve already got a fire going, and there aren’t any rogues thanks to your rookies clearing out earlier,” you say, and Creel frowns, again. He huffs out a breath, the cloud of air reminding you of the deer you saw die from all those days again.

It feels like a lifetime has passed in a few days. Frankly, you were surprised you didn’t have any grey hairs yet.

“Well, you know where I am if you need me…” his voice trails off, still hoping you’ll give in and change your mind.

You don’t, smiling and turning on your heel. The growl under his breath that you faintly hear from behind you makes your smile stretch even further.

“Bye Creel! See you soon!” Asa calls over your shoulder.

Yeah, you hope not.

You stride off into the woods, hoping to find some easy game and a good place to rest for a few hours. You stop in your stride, turning your head to stare at the black spot in the distance, stark against the snow on the ground. You shiver, hoping you won’t have to see that thing soon either.

-

NEXT CHAPTER

#The Bow And The Arrow #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere story #oc x reader #yandere oc x reader #gender neutral reader

[ofthevanyar]

“It’s laws and customs of the Eldar, not laws and customs of the Edain”

@askandreth LMAO

“I don’t disagree. I believe the Sindar and the Silvan use the same argument.” At least, that was what a recent conversation with Celeborn seemed to indicate.

@askandreth

#sike I’m gonna respond to both #askandreth

[runawaymun]

Wip game

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by @jaz-the-bard & @emyn-arnens so oh god I guess you guys are going to see the absolute carnage that is my WIP folder.

Beneath a Boundless Sky

Getting Back with Gil (filed under To Partake)

To Partake

Stranger Things x LOTR crossover

Silvan hair customs + Bronwyn x Arondir

Celrond Arranged Marriage AU

Gimme Sugar Baby

Grief for Sad Boi Thrandy :(

The Care & Feeding of Peredhil

Do Elves Eat Rocks? Nah.

Tagging: @arofili @eldritchteletubbie @moriondors @the-commonplace-book @raointean @valasania-the-pale @niennawept @thatfeanorian @modernmythic @blueberryrock

#some of these have been in my WIP forever and have been here since the last time I did one of these memes aldskhgjk

[ellrond]

What do you think about elves only falling in love (being able to) once over their whole entire lives? I thought that was canon but now I’m like 🧍‍♀️ maybe not 😭

LaCE discourse ahead, proceed with caution!!!

Laws and Customs of the Eldar, an essay in Morgoth's Ring (the 12th book of The History of Middle Earth) gives us the most information about marriage between the Eldar (which does NOT include the Silvan*) and that information is lacking at best. All it tells us about elves falling in love is that they marry only once in their lives and that for the most part, marriage is entered out of love rather than duty. "It was the act of bodily union [sex] that achieved marriage" is what Tolkien tells us.

However, it's always important, even in fiction, to consider the source information comes from - it's talking about the laws and customs, rather than the inherent nature of the Eldar. Given Tolkien's Catholic background, it can solidly be interpreted that the Eldar believed sex was an act between two married people, and so if two unmarried people had sex, that meant they were married. Remember, laws and customs can be broken.

I bring sex into it because much of the passage about Eldar marriage alludes to it. Of course, that then raises the issue of marriage without sex not truly being marriage, but that's not the case at all. Then there's also the question of what do the Eldar define as sex? The conservative answer is pretty well known, but we here at ellrond.tumblr.gov know better than that.

This small passage's reliability is somewhat undermined by the existence of Finwe's second marriage. He entered into his marriage with Indis (mother of Fingolfin and Finarfin) out of love and desire to have more children. He deeply loved both of his wives (he stayed by Miriel's side while she walked the line between life and death, and then had thousands of happy years with Indis) which indicates that yes, the Eldar can be in love more than once. The counter-argument could be that Finwe was a special case because it was known that Miriel would never take physical form again, and the hostility that Feanor had for Indis and her children ultimately led to the darkening of Valinor, the Doom of Feanor, the kinslayings, the rebellions, and the War of Wrath (to name but a few events). Perhaps it was seeing the fallout of an elf remarrying that led to the Eldar saying that they could not marry more than once?

In Tolkien's world, love usually leads to marriage as far as we know because he was the product of his time and environment. Even in the early-mid 20th century, he was socially conservative and his portrayal of love and sex, and marriage reflects this. However, there is enough wiggle room within his texts for readers to interpret them liberally. Personally, I believe that the Eldar could fall in love more than once, that they could have sex without being married, that they could be married without having sex, and whatever else. To me, it seems reductive and almost lazy to say otherwise, it is refusing to acknowledge some complexities that the Eldar would be capable of, as seen in other aspects of their long lives.

TLDR: if you want elves to fall in love more than once, there's strong enough arguments to support that idea to be found within canon, go wild!!!!

If you'd like to read LaCE yourself, you can find it here! There's lots of cool info on marriage, on elf kids, death, those affected by the Doom, healers vs warriors etc!

*Silvan elves (like Tauriel, Arondir, and Haldir) aren't bound by these laws and customs.

#anon #ask #laws and customs of the eldar #discourse #sex cw /////// #tolkien said and they lived happily ever after and we said OH IS THAT SO

[doodle-pops]

Beauty of Fire

Imagine you are one of silvan elves, living in Ossiriand. You were gifted with skill of pyromancy. You have lost your parents during the Long Journey. You were just a little lefling at that time. As you grew up, you had troubles controlling your ability, whenever you struggled with your emotions. Many of other inhabitants of the wooden realm feared you. Even if it was for a good reason - your tantrums were terrifying - it still often saddened you. You never really meant to hurt as nyone, elf and animals and trees alike.

King Denethor though saw great potential in you, when he learnt about your existence. He made sure you would get a proper training. Fast forwards, you succesfully finished your training and gained complete control over your ability. Soon enough, all could see the results of your effort.

Thanks to your help, silvan elves rarely needed to cut trees to keep fires going. You were even able to stop wildfires, even if it put a lot of strain or you. Or better, you could rather easily turn the wildfire against the orcs.

Until the king fell in the battle. The very first person who did not fear you, who became a father-figure to you. You were devastated so much, it had an impact on your ability. You soon realized you couldn't summon flames at your will anymore. You felt no longer useful and you left Ossiriand, where everything reminded you of your loss.

You wandered nothwest and when you vcame close to Himring, the cold winds had you tur and carry on to the west. Most of the time, you were alone, some times you joined Sindarin hunters.

One day you heard distant singing. This provoked your curiosity, so you carefully followed the sound, Untill you came upon a group od elves with eyes brighter than you have ever seen. Some of them were warriors, others were clearly hunters. One of them was sitting by the fire, playing his lute, while most of others listened to him. Just like you did.

It was like a vivid dream. You saw an unknown land, bathing in bright golden and silver light, coming from...from...huge bright trees. You didn't notice when the song ended, when you suddenly felt strong hands grabbing you.

You yelped with startle and trashed, overwhealmed by panic.

"My, what a strange catch you are bringing, Tyelko!" you heard from ginger twins. TWINS. "I believe our siren lured her here. What say you, little lizzard?" your captor grinned at you. He had hair of silver and was rather handsome. But also cocky. "Let go!" you protested, bright red. "Come on, Tyelko, this is not how we treat our guests," the singer joined the talk.

This was how you met the Fëanorians. Of course you were interrogated - sort of - over meal and miruvor. When it was clear you were no spy of the Enemy, you found them being rather kind and generous hosts. When they learnt about where you were from, they kept asking about your homeland, your people, language and customs. You asked about theirs. Just as their curiosity seemed insatiable so was yours. You joined them, thinking it was only temporary. You grew to like them and found a few things you had in common - you all have lost someone close recently.

After spending weeks with them, you found yourself more than useful. You became their guide and friend. Thanks to their help you were able to smile again.

One day, Macalaurë, or Maglor to you, sang a song he wrote for you. You were a blushing mess, when he ended. Thing was, that they stared at you as if they had seen a ghost or something.

"What's wrong?" "Y-you are...on fire. How come it doesn't burn you?!" Maglor stammered, eyes wide. ... FIRE?! You inspected yourself. Indeed, small flickering flames danced all over your arms and the rest of your body.

"You rekindled my fire," you exhaled with aw. Your eyes quickly teared up. "Thank you so much!" you hugged Maglor spontaneously. "Thanks to you, I am whole again..." you beamed your brightest smile at him. Maglor froze at first, but quickly noticed, that your flames are just warm. They did not burn.

Of course they wanted to know more about your ability. You told them and you showed them what all you could do. You became an invaluable asset. Once again you could help people. Be it in the forges, on the battlefield, or in the kitchens, or just entertaining children and adults alike with your fire dances, helping them forget their woes for a while. Nárinkë they named you - little flame.

One of them though won your heart, just as much you won his - the heart of the mighty singer, who could never get enough of watching you dance to his music, surrounded by fiery petals of your flames.

By scroll anon <(*//u//*)>

This gave me the last airbender vibes, especially Zuko, when he lost his ability to produce fire. ☺️

#📜 anon #maglor #maglor imagine #y/n imagines #silmarillion imagine #doodlepops responds

[sotwk]

can you tell us more about the celebrations and dances in the Woodland Realm 🥺 (plus extra related headcanons regarding the 5 princes 😁 like what are their favorite celebrations? favorite dances/dance moves? dance styles?)

What an awesome question, dear Anon! In regards to the celebrations in the Woodland Realm: there are SO MANY of them, in my worldbuilding headcanon, at least! Feasting is such a major part of the Silvan/Woodland Elves' culture that I must take the time to write separate posts describing each one. Mereth Nuin Giliath is the one movie creation, but I have several of my own to add.

For now, while I work on those, I hope you don't mind if I offer you some general headcanons about dancing in the Greenwood culture, and describe in particular (as you requested) the customs and preferences of the Thranduilion Princes.

Dance Culture of the Greenwood Elves

Silvan Elves love to dance. Along with singing, dancing is an art form highly valued in their culture long before the Sindar arrived to assimilate with them.

Silvan styles of dancing are primarily informal and done in large groups during community gatherings. They are joyful, vigorous, and incorporate skills in jumping, spinning, and various acrobatic feats. Such dances are done in lines or circles and require no partners. All participants perform generally the same movements, which are learned organically and usually passed down as traditions to the succeeding generations.

Many folk dances involve the use of "props" or objects that vary according to the function of the dance and the season or festival.

For example, spring dances have scarves or floral crowns, summer dances are done with more acrobatics and less clothing, fall dances integrate baskets and food, and winter dances use lanterns.

Every celebration or feast in the Woodland Realm includes dancing--no exceptions. Needless to say, every elf in Greenwood knows how to dance. It is considered a basic and necessary life skill.

Partner or "social" dances were first introduced by the Sindar Elves towards the middle of the Second Age, but they did not gain much popularity until the arrival of Prince Thranduil's betrothed, Lady Maereth.

At the betrothal celebration of Thranduil and Maereth, they danced with each other in front of the gathered guests (a form of the waltz), and this was the first demonstration of dance as a romantic activity, extending its function in Greenwood society as a part of the courting ritual.

Balls devoted entirely to social (i.e. partner) dancing became popular in the early Third Age. At these events, attendees can dance with their established partners, but balls also provide unmarried Elves chances to closely socialize with each other, with or without romantic intent.

Greenwood balls are considered formal, invitation-only events. They are typically held indoors and usually hosted by the Royal Family. Many times, they include guests from other realms.

The biggest annual ball is held at the palace in the wintertime, as the culmination of the season's main festival.

Attendees are not expected or required to come to any ball with an escort or partner.

The King and Queen dance with each other once to start the celebration, and then spend the rest of the evening dancing with other attendees. The same is practiced by their children; a married prince (i.e. Mirion, after he married Itarilde) has the first dance with his spouse and then is expected to give the rest of his dances to other partners.

Within the first millennium of the Third Age, other styles of dance were introduced by the royal family to Greenwood society as a result of their travels and dealings with other kingdoms and races.

Dancing with the Princes of Greenwood

Thranduil's sons may be of Sindar and Noldor blood, but due to their upbringing and the culture they embraced, they consider themselves Silvan.

Like all Silvan children, the princes learned to dance as soon as they could walk. Not only do they all have a natural talent for it (inborn athleticism and musicality certainly helps), but it is something they all genuinely enjoy doing.

Feasting with the people of Greenwood is something the royal family does regularly. There is no class separation at feasts, so the king, queen, and princes have no special seats or places; they dine and dance with their subjects for the entire celebration.

At most gatherings, dancing is still done in groups. But for balls or certain dances that require a partner, the princes may invite anybody to dance with them.

It is also perfectly acceptable for maidens to approach the princes and ask them to dance. (There is no expectation among the Greenwood Elves that the males have to ask the females.)

The social etiquette for the princes at balls is stricter than it is for their guests/regular attendees.

Public celebrations or balls are not opportunities for the princes to "bring a date"; those must be done privately, on their personal time.

It is understood that every ball hosted or attended by the Thranduilions comes with their willingness to dance with anyone who might ask them.

Protocol calls for the princes to dance with as many different partners as possible, and to avoid "doubling up" or attaching themselves to one person for the entire celebration.

Giving noticeably extra time, favor, or attention to one specific person is frowned upon and seen as rude to the other guests.

The Thranduilions embrace this as one of their social duties as princes of the realm. Between the five of them, over the centuries, it could be said that every single maiden in the realm has danced with at least one of the Princes of Greenwood. Many maidens could even claim to have danced with all of them, multiple times.

Bonus: The Thranduilions' Favorites

The most popular and most requested dance partner among Thranduil's sons is Crown Prince Mirion. This is likely due to his reputation for being a most gracious and amiable companion; he is also greatly admired and loved by his people, who consider it an honor just to spend any time with him.

Mirion is the most practiced at ball dances, and with his sociable nature, he enjoys this style and the traditions it involves the best.

Turhir favors partner dances over community dancing, since he finds group dances "chaotic" at times. He likes being able to spend one-on-one time with people, which surprises those who don't know him well and misjudge him as "stern" and "distant".

Arvellas is always eager to learn new dances, especially from other places and cultures. Although an excellent dancer, he much prefers to be taught or to mimic movements instead of coming up with his own.

Gelir is not much for slower dances (and likes the restrictiveness of ball dances the least), but he would be the first to jump into a dance line or circle--the louder the music, the wilder the style, and the more people involved, the better.

Legolas is the one most likely to create new moves and dance variations of his own, and more often than not, it will involve some sort of showy acrobatics.

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Elves HC Tag List: @quickslvxrr @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @tamryniel @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @aduialel @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @asianbutnotjapanese @ratsys @conversacomsmaug @lemonivall @lathalea @heranintomyknife23times @heilith @entishramblings @stormchaser819 @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @freshalmondpandadonut @beekieboo @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @konartiste @g-m-kaye

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

#sotwk answers #sotwk headcanon #mirkwood #thranduil #thranduilion #sotwk oc #thranduil headcanon #legolas #legolas headcanon #greenwood the great #woodland realm #tolkien #the hobbit #lotr

[mybrainsworldsblog]

Nimrodel Learns of Thranduil

Nimrodel had just returned from her evening walk and was preparing her campfire when Frida, her great Wolf friend, approached. Nimrodel was delighted to see Frida. It has been several days since her last visit.

“Frida! How wonderful to see you! Will you join me by the fire this evening? I will not make the flames too high, I do know you do not prefer that…” As Frida approached, Nimrodel could see that Frida’s demeanor was weary. “What is this burden that you carry? Are all things well in the forest this evening?”

“Greetings, Nimrodel, I do come with news.” Frida padded over and sat before Nimrodel ears perked, golden eyes glowing. “There is a very special visitor of King Amroth approaching the forest. He comes with members of the court, guards, and a small army unit, although they do not seem to be preparing for battle.” 

“Do you know who these visitors are to Amroth?”

“Their fathers fought and died together in the terrible Battle of Dagorlad during the War of the Last Alliance while battling Sauron. It is said that the same great sorrow from that time hangs heavy in their hearts, and the light in their eyes grow dark when they look to the south, ever fearful of a return of such evil. They are haunted by such loss and reign accordingly. The Elvenking that approaches is named Thranduil son of Oropher and he rules the lands of Mirkwood.”

“Mirkwood?” Nimrodel wrinkled her nose. Mirkwood sounded like a terrible place.

“Thranduil’s homelands and story are linked to your own, Nimrodel. It is time you must learn of these things so that you may be prepared for the days ahead. Trouble is brewing in the world beyond the forest once more.” Frida motioned for Nimrodel to sit. Once Nimrodel was settled on a nearby patch of moss Frida continued, “Mirkwood was once called Greenwood the Great. There was a time when the forest formed the vast primeval woodland which covered most of Middle-earth during the Years of the Trees. Greenwood and Lothlórien may have even connected across the Anduin. The Eldar Elves passed through these lands on their journey to Valinor and it was first populated by the Nandor who were unwilling to cross the Misty Mountains. The mountains were said to be even more treacherous in those days. The Nandor Elves settled in the wooded valleys of the river Anduin. They grew in numbers and were joined by wandering Avari, becoming known as Silvan or Wood-elves. This is your lineage, Nimrodel.

“In the Second Age, the Sinda prince, Oropher, left Lindon to Greenwood where he was taken by the Silvan Elves as their Lord. Not all have resisted the newcomers as you have. The Silven Elves of Greenwood took the Sindarian language and in turn the new Sindarian lord delighted in many Silven customs, eagar as they were to return to a simpler time. Oropher built his halls at Amon Lanc in the southern forest and was accepted as the leader of the Wood-elves of Greenwood, later the Elves of Mirkwood, forming the Woodland Realm.

“At the beginning of the Third Age, Thranduil replaced Oropher as king of the Woodland Realm. The the Silvan population of Greenwood was devastated during the Battle of Dagorlad and became concentrated in the hills then known as Emyn Duir. Apparitions of the dead still linger at a terrible place called the Dead Marshes. Is is a similar story to Amroth’s rise to power in Lothlórien. Same story, different forest regions.

“At the beginning of the second millennium of the Third Age, an enigmatic being came to Amon Lanc in the south of Greenwood the Great. There, he built the stronghold known as Dol Guldur and was knowns as the Necromancer, who was indeed revealed to be Sauron. Fom his fortress tower a shadow of nightshade began to spread across the woodlands so that the Elves began to refer to Greenwood as Mirkwood- the forest under nightshade. Thranduil led his people north, away from the darkness, and built an underground fortress to protect his people. That is where he lives today.”

“How terrible,” Nimrodel felt a newfound sorrow for Amroth and all the people who live to experience such things. It is not right, she thought to herself. Not right at all. She did not know Thranduil, but she thought he should be able to live where he wishes instead of being forced to migrate to escape evil that would hurt those he cares for. She could understand the urge to want to flee instead of fight back an evil that comes back time and again, bring more destruction each time. Nimrodel began to understand that Sauron’s darkness will continue to spread and that there are people who have been fighting his evil back for longer than she even imagined. 

“Frida…do you think the darkness would have spread here already if it were not for the sacrifice of Elves like Amroth and Thranduil…” Nimrodel’s sat up straight up. Her heart filled with ice as she realized the full scope of the monstrous loss over ages to countless beings that should have been enjoying sunrises and swimming with friends in clean waters. She saw real scorched earth war in her mind for the first time and was nearly rendered unconscious from the pain. “So many have given their lives so that we may enjoy ours- completely unaware.” Nimrodel was filled with shame for hating the Sindar newcomers. While she protested and bask in her carefree life, they lived with unimaginable horror. Death and things that were infinitely worse. Nimrodel had not really considered death before. Not on such a horrendous scale. To think, Nimrodel had thought King Amroth and his kind the terrorists. They were instead defending faultless creatures of the world. Sauron and his forces were the only enemy. Nimrodel placed her face in her hands and cried for a long time.

Frida watched Nimrodel make connections based on this new information. Her heart broke for the loss Nimrodel’s innocence and she was sorry that she was responsible for that, even if she was just the messenger of such terrible news, but Frida had wanted Nimrodel to know who this approaching stranger was in the scheme of things. For some reason, Frida felt this was an urgent matter but could not reason why. Perhaps time would tell.

If it were up to Frida, their days would be spent curled up by waterside discussing the serious business of shapes in clouds. She wined and curled beside Nimrodel to comfort her. Nimrodel buried herself in Frida’s soft grey and white fur and allowed the tears to flow. After a long time, Nimrodel’s sobs began to break and then recede. They sat with each other and with their pain, feeling the entirety of it, hardening themself to the anguish, and honoring those who have suffered for quite some time before they continued. 

“Thank you for telling me this. You are right, I should not hide from important matters of the world any longer. I am seeing that the world is bigger than this forest and I should care when others are hurting. I would want others to come to my aid if it were me or my friends that were hurting.”

Frida loved Nimrodel for this and said so by touching her forehead to Nimrodel’s. 

“How long until the Elvenking arrives?”

“He will be here by tomorrow’s nightfall.”

“So soon?”

“He is not a threat. Not that we think. I just wanted you to be aware that he may cross your path and who he is.”

“Thank you, Frida. You are a good friend.”

Nimrodel experienced the first real nightmares of her life that night. Not even Frida nor any other members of the pack could calm her sleep. Shadows crept like smoke monsters through the trees killing every living thing in their path. Innocent creatures rendered wretched cried out for help to no avail. Giant spiders made themself at home in pockets of forests that once flushed with life. Deep below the earth, a monstrous inferno awoke and folk flee in every direction across the lands. Nimrodel tossed and whimpered drawing concern from the woodland creatures so that they called for the Great White Wolf, Haun to stand watch, which he did, and the nightmares continued.

The next morning, Nimrodel awoke with sunshine on her face but her heart was still filled with darkness. Her hair and skin were both grimy from sweat and thrashing about in her sleep. Frida helped her bathe in the clear waters and instructed the squirrel-folk to pick her favorite nuts and berries. The animals were keen to help and before long fox, badger, and even a young bear all joined forces with the goal of cheering Nimrodel. Frida encouraged her to set her trepidation aside for the time being and prepare for the coming of the Elvenking. There was time for worry and that time has not come yet. Nimrodel was eventually able to do a decent job of this and the forest creatures rejoiced when they saw her bathed, fed, and laughing at their antics once more despite herself.

Evening soon came and Nimrodel noticed that the woodland creatures had grown quiet. She looked around nervously for an explanation. The birds had stopped singing. Nimrodel looked to Frida.

"Nimrodel, The Elvenking approaches."

*The writing is mine. The artwork is not.

*Just starting out here. I welcome your constructive feedback. I hope you have as much fun reading it and I did writing it.

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