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laindir · 2 years

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tl;dr about this blog

30+↑ fandom old, perpetually tired. スーパードライ。 I’m merely a feeble writer who loves dissecting my favourite blorbos apart to figure out their thought processes and mannerisms, and what essentially compels them in any hypothetical scenario I fling them into :)

sidebar credit: Akutami Gege [ 芥見下々]

_____ jujutsu kaisen (no leaks! manga spoilers are tagged), dc, star wars, artemis fowl, psycho-pass, gintama, tolkien legendarium, genshin (sumeru, mostly), cats, ruins/nature and the occasional barrage of fic, meta, edits for lulz and useless text posts. follow* at risk of ridiculous crack and rampant tag abuse.

sometimes, I also bleed character/ship feels into my fics and keysmash tl;dr meta thoughts about Deep Lore. my fics are also cross-posted to AO3.

*disclaimer: I don’t always follow back, but when I do, I don’t... PSYCHE! lol I’m joking. generally speaking though, I follow blogs that interest me, or if we’re already friends/I already know you from some place, or if we’ve spoken often enough that I feel we’ve reached a sort-of-acquaintances-but-not-quite-friends-yet level of mutual virtual camaraderie.

**disclaimer part 2: my fics consists of both SFW and NSFW content, but I always list ratings and tag for all major content warnings (as much as I can) at the beginning of every fic. so, please do heed the warnings/tags, especially for my darker pieces, and curate your reading experience as necessary.

I generally like leaving some things up to reader interpretation/imagination in my writing since authorial intent =/= reader response. comments are not necessary, but always welcomed and appreciated. ***disclaimer part 3: fandom wank/disk-horse isn’t really my style; I’m too stuck in my own head tinkering away at my own brain-rotting thoughts/imagining fic scenarios. my general fandom motto: YMMV, to each their own, ship and let ship, etc. etc. basically, don’t be a douche and cause real harm towards real people. block/unfollow as needed, I don’t really care tbh.

_____ Zines & Fandom Exchanges: ◈ Eternal Dream || Tales of Zestiria Zine 2018 ◈ A Fowl Mood || Artemis Fowl Zine 2019 ◈ Artemis Fowl Yuletide 2019 ◈ The Disastrous Life Zine || Saiki Kusuo no Psi Nan Zine 2020 ◈ JJK 18 Holiday Exchange 2021 ◈ Citrus: AllYuuji Zine || Jujutsu Kaisen: Itadori Yuuji Zine 2022 ◈ Blessings Zine || Jujutsu Kaisen: Fushiguro Megumi Zine 2022 ◈ Blackjack: JJK Big Bang Event 2022 ◈ Sukufushiita Secret Santa Event 2022 ◈ FandomTrumpsHate 2023

#tl;dr blog stuff #tl;dr about me #pinned post

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maglors-anion-gap · 3 years

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17, 24

-@outofangband

[for this ask game]

thanks :)

17. What has been the proudest moment for you so far since you started writing?

Oh, man. I think when people leave me comments like "I came back and read this a second time and it's as good as I remembered." The first time I saw a comment like that, I almost cried hahaha

The other proudest moment might be the first time I did the tolkien secret santa exchange, way back in like 2018. It was the first time I ever participated in a fan event; I had been lurking in fandom for ages at that point but hadn't contributed anything of my own. Participating really pushed me out of my comfort zone and out of my shell, and I made some really fantastic friends over the next four years!

24. which fic of yours do you wish people would ask about more? Why?

Hmm right now, I think that would be Sleeping on Embers, Breathing in Rivers. It's super niche so I don't blame people for not being as keen on it. But I had a great deal of fun writing it. It's basically a semi-canon-compliant, semi-au of the dagor bragollach where Finrod goes hunting for Glaurung. Finrod is interesting to me because Tolkien characterizes him at times as this teacher of Men, you know? And I wanted to turn that on its head and explore what Men can teach Finrod instead. So it's all about his friendship with Barahir, and Finrod accepting/confronting his Doom, etc etc. So I would adore it if some more people read it and were interested in chatting meta, even just very casually. I had the greatest time brainstorming it with kathrinheierli so :)

#ask game #outofangband #finrod #arafinweans

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whereisyourpippinnow · 3 years

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Ski Jumping Secret Santa 🎅🎄🎁

Hello Ski Jumping Family and welcome to the Ski Jumping Secret Santa, 2020 edition, hohoho! 🎅

It’s third edition of Ski Jumping Secret Santa. When I organized it first time in 2018 I wasn’t expect that so many of you will participate. Well, it was fun, wasn’t it? 😁

I wasn’t sure about organizing it this year. But since a little bird whispered in my ear that some of you remember about the Ski Jumping Secreat Santa, and even are wondering if it will happen this year... Here it is. The Third Edition. The link you can find in the tags!

December 8th: Sign-ups are closed: Sign-ups is open till 8th of December (23:59 CET).

I will send you your giftee and all details the next day. You will have two weeks to create your gift. While this days you can send nice messages anonymously to your giftee. And you can ask anonymously what your giftee want to receive specifically.

December 24th: Gifts reveal

At this day at 19:00 CET you will post your gift. Don’t forget to tag your giftee and #skijumpingsecretsanta 😁 And, please, send your Giftee a message with a link to your gift, because tag system and /@ sometimes doesn’t work.

Important:

Reblog this post and tag it as #skijumpingsecretsanta - If you won’t do it, I won’t sign you in. I will check it.

Keep your ask box/message box open (and optionally allow anonymous messages) so me and your Secret Santa will be able to message you! If your message box is closed - I won’t sign you in. (The “Giftee Desciption Message” is quite long and can’t be send via ask box).

Feel free to send anonymous messages to your giftee before posting your gift! Little compliments, question, something to keep them in good mood before the 24th of December.

If you want to contact your Secret Santa, just let me know 😁

Respect the commitment you’ve made to the exchange. There’s nothing more disappointing than a Giftee receiving no gift, and no idea as to why. If you can’t complete your gift, message me ASAP! And if you know You won’t be able to publish your gift at 24.12. 19:00 CET - let your Giftee know. Send them message that you’ll be late, it means a lot!

If you think you’re not tallented enough and will make ugly/not worthy gift - you’re wrong! You don’t have to be next Vincent van Gogh/Ron Howard/ Tomasz Bagiński/JRR Tolkien/Steve McCurry to create beautiful fanart/fanvideo/GIFset/Fanfiction/phtograph. 😁

#ski jumping #ski jumping secret santa #secret santa #skijumpingsecretsanta #https://docs.google.com/forms/d/12lDgsg08Y5mFdtTAVzHatC0yFBPuXpM_OliCRUIkx_U/

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heilith · 5 years

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With a Kiss

My contribution to the Tolkien Secret Santa 2018. Based off a prompt I found at I don’t remember what imagines blog “Imagine being a healer and saving Haldir after the battle of Helm’s deep only for him to fall in love with you” I can’t for the love of my life remember which site it was. Songspirations, as requested : Far across the land by Eurielle & Ryan Louder and Meet Me On The Battlefield by SVRCINA.

I’m tagging @beaflower77 ,because I consider this fic a sort of a prequel for “Autumn hands”, and I remember you liked it.

I’ll reblog this on Monday again, tagging my giftee.

With a Kiss

This one was dying. One didn’t need to be a healer to see that. His breath was shallow, and the blood was seeping out of the open wounds incessantly. His whole body was glowing with the last effort to heal itself, to cling onto life, like it happened to each of your kind, you’d seen on the threshold of Mandos.

You would have left him long ago. Performing your duty was one thing, wasting your strengths with no effect – quite another. It was obvious he wouldn’t thrive on your help, and there were lots of other sufferers, requiring your attention. But he wouldn’t let your go. His frosty blue eyes wouldn’t shut for a moment, following you obstinately, with the absolute lack of expression, nor even that of the pain he was certainly coming through.

“What’s your name?” his voice was an ugly rasp.

You ran a careless hand along his forehead. So very hot and dry. The moisture would come later, when you would be able to count his remaining moments in Arda on the fingers of one hand.

“Allasiel,” you told him softly. Another lie to a dying fellow. They had often asked for your name - those who would remain conscious before the agony would get a grip on them. You never let them know it. There was something ominous in letting them die with your true name on their lips and carry it beyond the grave.

Allasiel, Tuarwen, Herenya, Miriel. You always kept one up your sleeve, to have it slip out naturally.

The mouth of the wounded moved – he was repeating the lie soundlessly. The shining that surrounded him was starting to fade. You touched his forehead again, whispering the healing incantations out of the sheer habit. It seemed more merciful to stop holding him bound by them, but you were never the one to give up, no matter how hopeless the outlook was.

“Kiss me.”

It was not at once that you made out what he was saying. You leaned to him just because you’d heard him asking for something, without a second thought, hoping he would repeat the request for you. And he did…

“Kiss me,” throated he, “Please.”

You shrank back, but he turned out to be quicker. With a splash of strength, unbelievable for the one on the verge of demise, he pulled himself up on the stretcher and caught you in a tight embrace. The kiss was ghastly. Dry, parched lips pressed against yours, and your heart stood still with fright and revulsion. He smelled of blood and tasted like death itself. You struggled till his arms went limp and slipped down your body slowly.

A trembling hand against your mouth, you staggered back, yet he was already in a stark faint, probably the last one in his life.

You wanted to run and let him die alone. You would have done so, if it hadn’t been for the reason that had always been stronger than emotions with you. If he had enough life in him to bend a healthy person to his will, perhaps, it wasn’t so hopeless as yet.

Overcoming the untimely nausea, you took a seat on the stretcher by his side and forced yourself to sink into a deep trance. The other you will know what to do.

There would be time to lament your awful first kiss later.

+ + +

“I once lived in a human village,” you were stirring a bitter brew in a cracked clay bowl, looking away from your patient, who had a proper bed and a proper separate chamber now, “Healing their children…sometimes grown-ups. They fed me and gave me clothes. One year their cows and goats began to die one by one, and there was a bad harvest at the end of that summer. They blamed it on the stranger, of course. They locked me up in my hut and promised to stone me, if another cow got ill. There was that small boy who let me out at night. I hope nobody saw him. Here, drink it up.”

Haldir. You knew his name now. It was Haldir. It was a miracle you got to hear that name from himself.

It’s been two weeks since he had opened his eyes again, and you had taken a relieved breath, knowing you’d led him out of the immediate danger. He was extremely weak, though, and bedridden. And silent. Little by little you began talking yourself, changing his bandages or preparing another helping of the herbal cure for him. You didn’t know what made you so verbose. It could be his reluctance to speak, which you considered unhealthy and felt like fighting against.

It could be your own wish to talk. A travelling healer, you had joined the party, heading to Helm’s Deep, on your own accord, and were determined to leave it as soon as your help was no longer needed, but you still felt the need in at least some interaction. Giving your all in exchange for someone else’s well-being was a burden. Carrying it required a reward, or at least a recognition.

Or else…It could be that you still couldn’t forget that kiss, and you were awkward, and wished to talk it away, to scatter words over it like fallen leaves and bury it in the back of your mind finally.

And so you spoke. Of your family, that of Mirkwood healers, all of them, distinguished and trusted by the King himself. Of the lives your mother had saved, of the charms your father had weaved. Of one day when it all came crushing down. When the art of none of your family could save the Queen from perishing, and the King, in his grief and anger, banished you all from your home. Of how you were the only one who chose to stay in Middle-Earth and saw your heart sail away with your kin to where you hoped to see them one day.

There was no response. Haldir listened to you attentively, drank your brews with cold obedience and was wordless. You didn’t know if you should be relieved or frustrated by it.

You took the bowl out of his hands and put it on the stand at the bed. It was the moment when you would usually leave him to check on your other patients, mostly human.

“They are leaving today,” said Haldir all of a sudden.

It wasn’t hard to guess whom he was speaking about. The Elves who could endure the road, were returning to the Golden Wood. There was none they left behind, except the one who had seen the worst. You promised them to take care of him, but couldn’t predict how long it would take.

“When am I fit again?” he sounded indifferently, like it wasn’t about his own ability to hold on his feet properly.

“I don’t know,” you confessed, “Not in a week. Not in two.Your wounds…”

He turned away from you, face as impassive. You felt a sharp sting of pity stir in your chest. There had to be some words to console him, but you hadn’t been taught consolation. Only healing.

And so all you allowed yourself was to check the bandages over his chest and stop yourself from pulling the worse for wear blanket over him just as your fingers were about to close over the edge of it. The last thing you wanted was to humiliate him.

“My brother was better than me,” you told him, as if there had been no questions asked and no answers given, “He often laughed at my slowness…”

Haldir didn’t say a word, when you settled in the armchair next to his bed again and went on with the utterly boring story of your life.

+ + +

He was sitting on a half-shattered stone bench, slouching in his fine red cloak and his undimmed armour. It was, probably, the first time you saw him fully clad, but his warrior air didn’t deceive you. There were months of recovering ahead of him, it was seen from the sickly pale tint of his skin and the way he held his arm against the injured side awkwardly.

“Allasiel,” he recognized your presence with a small nod. You nodded in return, approaching him in uncertain steps.

“Haldir, I wouldn’t wish to let you go,” you were obliged to say that, although it felt like you could hardly change his mind.

“I must,” he shook his head, holding your gaze intensely, “You’ve done all you could, and I’m grateful for that. But I’m heading home this evening.”

“Varda bless you.”

It meant you were to leave Helm’s Deep, too, for there was no one else who needed your help here. The thought razed upon you like a fine blade. Strange - you used to be quick on your toes, when it came to new paths before you.

Haldir’s eyes were still on you, so cuttingly blue it made you wonder how many hearts they had broken. Now, however, he looked broken himself. Here, you couldn’t help him. Someone else would have to mend his spirits from this day on. And it saddened you, too.

“I feel I must apologize,”

“What for?”

There was no need in asking that. You could easily predict what he meant.

“The kiss,” said he simply, “I took advantage of you. It was unforgivable. A moment of weakness…I humbly beg your pardon.”

Your cheeks grew hot with the blood that rushed to them. You had hoped he’d been too sick to remember anything about it. It would save you both from so much embarrassment.

“I forgive you. You were not yourself,” you forced out, desperately trying to oust the aftertaste of that kiss out of your memory. It still lingered on your lips, and it was still foul.

And bittersweet.

“But now I am,” uttered Haldir with a strange expression.

You didn’t answer, crumpling the fringe of your shawl between your fingers.

“Where will you go now?” asked he.

“I do not know. I never know. The road will lead me.”

“Allasiel, you…”

“My name is not Allasiel,” you interrupted him, succumbing to the nagging urge inside, only to regret it a moment later, “It’s Y/N.”

You expected some reaction, but there was none. A slight movement of his shoulders, may be, but that was all. Like he hardly cared.

“Y/n…Lotlorien is a blessed land. It’s still safe. You’ll find a home there. Your road is getting dangerous.”

“I’m needed elsewhere.”

“You will be needed there,” reaching out, he took your hands in his in a gesture you somehow knew was uncommon for him, “Come with me.”

You freed your hands and stepped back, scant of breath and unbelieving.

“You saved my life,” he went on, making no more attempts to touch you, “I cannot let you waste yours.”

“I’ve known how to live my life before you,” you retorted.

“So have I. And now I don’t,” said he on a rueful note, “Do you know a remedy for that, my sweet healer?”

There was silence. Hard as you tried, you couldn’t lie to yourself. You’d come to pity him, care for him, and then, gradually, drop by drop, love him, which you thought had been utterly against your nature. You wished not for your love to be reciprocated, you could learn to live with it, but now that he was standing before you so succumbed, your heart was suddenly swelling so unbearably, you needed to do something only to stop it.

You raised your hands and buried them in his hair gently. It was a pleasure to see him flinch and lean towards you for more.

“Kiss me,” you asked him under your breath.

And it wasn’t like that first time at all. Nobody had ever told you what a kiss of a bleeding love should feel like, but you learnt it yourself that very moment. He was still unsure of your response, and the touch of his mouth was chaste and careful, but for you, everything fell into place. His arms were the home you’d lost so long ago and finally found again.

“Will you come with me?” whispered he into your ear, “Say you will.”

“Only to protect you,” you teased him quietly, “Who knows what dangers may befall you on the way.”

#haldir #haldir x reader #tolkiensecretsanta2018 #drabbles

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officialtolkiensecretsanta · 6 years

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The north wind doth blow, and soon we shall have… Tolkien Secret Santa 2018!

Welcome to the Tolkien Secret Santa, a digital gift exchange held during the festive end-of-year season. Everyone who participates gets to receive a small digital present from an anonymous Secret Santa and make a small Secret Santa present of their own, which could take any number of forms: a fic, a playlist, an artwork, a poem, or an edit. The only limits are the gifter’s imagination!

Here’s how you can participate:

Reblog this post!

Follow this blog! This way you’ll get updates, inspiration/ideas for gifts, and relevant information about the event.

Receive your giftee’s details by December 1st.

Post your small gift - anonymously! - starting December 14th.

Tag your Secret Santa on December 24th!

Make sure to keep an eye on the blog for updates, fun prompts for interaction during the challenge, reblogged content after the 24th, and more.

Our full guide, including FAQ, important dates, and the event code of conduct, can be accessed here. Please read it carefully to ensure that everyone has a smooth and enjoyable exchange.

Here’s to a wonderful Tolkien Secret Santa 2018!

#tolkiensecretsanta2018 #joining instructions

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cuilpantielthesleepyscribe · 5 years

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Tolkien Secret Santa here, I found the right ask box this time! Sorry about that first mixup lol. I also love how cute Boromir is with his hobbit friends, one of my favorite movie scenes is the one where they're all sword training together XD How do you feel about AUs or like fix-its (like Boromir lives)? Or do you prefer more canon compliant stuff?

Ah, np! I love AUs and fix-its, canon can rot when it comes to Boromir 😂

#Tolkien secret santa 2018 #thanks!

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persante · 5 years

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Finduilas of Dol Amroth for @transfinduilas, Tolkien Secret Santa 2018 Thanks for your patience, it was a treat to draw this character!

#tolkiensecretsanta2018 #transfinduilas #Finduilas #nonbinary Finduilas #*fingerguns*#I hope you like it #& apologize for the lateness

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wonderwafles · 5 years

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Foam Flower

A fic done for the 2018 Tolkien Secret Santa (@officialtolkiensecretsanta)! Featuring Elrond, Eärendil, and the titular ship. Among others.

Vingilótë was its name, and Elrond was the first to see it.

Eärendil was quick and sure-footed across the beaches of the Havens, and though Elrond was not nearly so, he followed. Eärendil turned and grinned at him when he fell behind, though it was not of derision, and he would slow to let his son catch up with him.

Elrond remembered also the boat they found moored at the mouths of the Sirion because he had seen his father leave on it many times, Elwing his mother joining him occasionally but never he nor Elros.

“When you’re older,” Eärendil said when Elrond asked him, and smiled and kissed him on the forehead. “But soon. I promise.” And Elrond did not pretend to understand the sadness in his voice.

Today Elrond wanted to ask his father a thousand times what it was he was showing him, but Eärendil’s eyes were fixed on the horizon, drifting ever westward, and Elrond stayed silent, only held his father’s hand and grinned when he looked at him.

Círdan met them at the shores of the island. “Who is this?” he asked Eärendil, the hint of a sparkle in his eyes, the faint lilt of a smile on his face. Even then Elrond could tell he had seen much he should never have had to see.

“One of the two greatest things I have ever had a part in making,” Eärendil, who understood the propensity of children to be embarrassed by their parents and used it to nefarious purpose, said. Elrond blushed but held his hand up to the Elf.

“Círdan, sometimes called the Shipwright,” the Elf said, taking the boy’s hand. “I have to tell you that there have been many since myself, but I’m afraid I’d already taken the name.”

“Elrond,” Elrond said, feeling his lack of title. “It’s an honor.”

“The honor is mine,” Círdan replied, and Elrond felt as though he meant it. “Now then. Your father tells me you are to see what we are working on.”

Elrond nodded vigorously, such that Eärendil laughed and Círdan smiled. “Then follow me,” he said.

Círdan brought the two of them around the coast. From a distance, Elrond could see the havens of the Falathrim where Círdan was lord.

“The Falas were our home,” Círdan said, catching Elrond’s eye. He followed it to the last holdings of the Falathrim. “Ever westward did we look. We still do now.”

Elrond nodded again. “Have you ever been West?” he asked Círdan. He had met a few Elves who had lived in the West, but they always spoke of it with sorrow, so he didn’t press.

“Ha! No. I never went,” Círdan replied. “My place was here.”

There was a gravitas in Círdan’s voice. Elrond wondered how old he was. Elves didn’t age, not like his grandfather had. He didn’t remember much about Tuor, only his smile, creased with the beginnings of age. But there was much about Círdan that reminded Elrond of his grandfather.

From behind him he felt Eärendil reach around his waist and lift him into the air. Elrond laughed aloud as he was set down on Eärendil’s shoulders.

“I am your ship, my lord,” Eärendil intoned, which made Elrond shriek with laughter. He couldn’t remember ever laughing as hard as he did then.

In time, they came upon the cove where Eärendil and Círdan worked. Eärendil set Elrond down, and the young boy ran up to the entrance to the cove.

“Is it in here?” he asked, his voice hushed. Eärendil rested his hand on Elrond’s shoulder.

“It is,” Círdan replied. “Shall we?”

Eärendil led Elrond along the beach, Círdan walking ahead of him. Elrond watched his gait and tried, for no particular reason, to step only in his footprints in the sand.

When they reached the ship, Elrond was almost disappointed. The ship’s white skeleton was the only thing standing, and strewn about it was the evidence of his father’s labor, pieces of wood resting in the sand, with other materials tucked further away from the lapping of the sea.

“The prow fell off,” Círdan said, stooping to pick up the piece.

“We’ll fix it,” Eärendil said, smiling, and that was another thing Elrond remembered about his father – the way he could convince anyone that any problem was temporary.

It didn’t seem to work on Círdan, who held the piece in his hands and frowned at it. Elrond looked up at his father.

“Is this it?” he asked, hushed. “This is the ship you’ll sail West with.”

Eärendil did not often speak of his voyage, but Elrond and his brother both knew well enough what he was planning. Eärendil nodded slowly. “This is it,” he replied, keeping his hand resting on Elrond’s shoulder. “She is fair, is she not?”

Elrond looked at the skeleton on the beach. “Well,” he began. He didn’t want to hurt his father’s feelings.

Círdan laughed, the first time Elrond had heard the old Elf laugh, and one of a rare few that he ever would. “It’s hard to see as yet,” Círdan said, and ran a hand along the unfinished flank. “But she is fair to my eyes.”

Eärendil did not speak, merely watched. Elrond wondered what he was thinking.

“She must have a name,” Eärendil said eventually. He looked down at Elrond and let go of his shoulder. “What do you say, my captain? Will you help us?”

Elrond grinned. “She will be the fastest ship ever built!” he said. “So that she will bring you back to Emig and us quickly. So, um… wave-cutter!”

Círdan was amused by this name. Eärendil looked caught off-guard by this, but recovered to smile again. “Wave-cutter is a fine name.”

“I’m not done!” Elrond said, his mind pivoting with un-Elven swiftness to a new topic in the same way that Eärendil had always exhausted Idril with. “It’s a beautiful ship, too. Like a flower.”

Eärendil knew better than to presume Elrond was done this time, and waited for him.

“Flower of the sea,” Elrond said. “Vingilótë. You should call her Vingilótë.”

Elrond had three more ideas after that, but he kept going back to Vingilótë, and Eärendil agreed that this too was a fine name.

Círdan looked up at the ship. “Vingilótë,” he said. “Now there is a name that carries fate with it.”

Elrond giggled.

Eärendil knelt down to kiss his head. “We should be getting you back,” he said. “Your mother will miss you.”

“Will you take Elros to see Vingilótë, too?” Elrond demanded.

“Of course,” Eärendil said, laughing.

Elrond was satisfied with that. Círdan walked them back, past the havens of the Falathrim and to the little boat, and bid them farewell as Eärendil took them back.

“Atto,” Elrond said, “do you think Vingilótë will be strong enough to take you West?”

He didn’t know much about his father’s errand, only that it was necessary, and that when Eärendil returned (for he surely would) it would be to a world without the darkness that cast its shadow on his parents’ faces. He knew his father’s ship must be the best it could be.

Eärendil considered the question. “I think so,” he said. “Círdan is the greatest Shipwright in the whole world, and he knows what he’s doing.” He ruffled Elrond’s hair.

When they got home, Elros nearly tackled his brother with questions.

“It’s secret,” Elrond said to tease him.

“Is not!” Elros insisted. “Atto, was it secret?”

Eärendil leaned into the embrace of his wife. “I’m glad I showed him,” he murmured to her, out of earshot of the two boys.

Elwing looked down at the Nauglamír, worn around her neck as she had seen her father wear it, and smiled. “Me too.”

…

Word had come down – a special dispensation was granted by Manwë himself. Elrond was to sail from Eressëa to the bays of Eldamar.

He had gone before, but never like this.

“I wish I could meet him,” Bilbo grumbled. “Mayhaps I could show him my poem. Do you think he would like it?”

“I think he would love it,” Elrond assured.

“Hmmph. Will you take him a copy? Let me know what he says.”

“Master Baggins,” Elrond intoned. “If I didn’t know you any better, I would say you were nervous.”

Bilbo scoffed at that, but pressed the scroll into Elrond’s hand anyway, and Elrond solemnly promised to fulfill the errand.

The Teleri raised their hands in greeting to him. “Son of Elwing!” they cried, and wished him well. He greeted them in turn, and they pointed him in the direction of his mother’s tower, but he told them that he was not going there today.

The ship was waiting for him, docked as though it were like any other vessel. His mother waved at him from the docks, a gentle joy in her face.

Vingilótë was different now, built with Elven-glass and shining with a light that never could have graced it in the little cove where Eärendil and Círdan had kept her. But he recognized her, saw in her hallowed frame the same skeleton that had been waiting for him on the beach.

He hugged Elwing, and then looked at the ship. “Is he-?” Elrond asked. Despite his better judgment, he felt nerves alight in his stomach.

Elwing laughed. “He’s waiting for you,” she said.

On the deck of Vingilótë, Eärendil was sitting. When he saw Elrond, he rose, and on his face was a poorly disguised mirror of Elrond’s own nerves. The Silmaril was not on his face, and the wholeness of his features could be seen. Elrond was glad.

They stared at each other.

“It’s been a long time, my son-” Eärendil began, but Elrond was already embracing him. Taken aback, Eärendil wrapped his arms around his son.

“I have missed you,” Elrond said, simply, thousands of years within his voice.

“And I,” Eärendil said, which was all that needed to be said.

Elwing embraced them both, and to Elrond it seemed that everything was perfect for the first time in a very long time.

Almost perfect.

“The Valar liked your name,” Eärendil added, beginning to grin.

“Huh?” Elrond said, not understanding.

“Vingilótë. They thought her well named. I made sure to tell them who came up with it.”

Elrond laughed. “That’s good,” was all he could say.

Before Eärendil left again to resume his journey, they talked of many things. Elrond spoke of Lindon, of Gil-Galad and of Círdan, who had remained to faithfully guide all who would leave. (“He’s grown a beard?” Eärendil asked, the shock evident in his voice, while Elwing laughed. “That old man. I can’t wait to see it.”) He spoke of Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, of Samwise the Brave and Elessar.

At last, as night was in its final hours, Elrond pressed the scroll into his father’s hands. “From an old friend of mine,” he said. “You must tell him what you think, he’s anxious to know.”

“I will,” Eärendil promised. He embraced Elrond and Elwing again, and watched as they stepped off of Vingilótë and onto the docks of Alqualondë.

“Until next time,” Eärendil said, smiling gently. Vingilótë set out, ready to lift into the sky and rise again as the morning star.

He walked with Elwing back to her tower, and they embraced again before she began to climb, ready to meet her husband once again.

On the boat back to Tol Eressëa, as Arien’s light spilled in from the east of the world, Elrond watched Gil-Estel, and found a peace in his heart that had not been there when he’d looked on that star during his long years in Middle Earth.

#tolkiensecretsanta2018 #my writing #i'm pretty happy with this #:D #i just... love elrond a lot okay #and the whole peredhel family

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