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anghraine · 1 year

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I was tagged by @ladytharen in a cool fic meme! The idea is to post the first lines of your ten most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, that's fine, just go with what you have (if you want to do it; no pressure if you don't!).

Tagging: @ncfan-1, @hoidn, @kareenvorbarra, @elwing, @heckofabecca, @irresistible-revolution, @kazaera, @lantur, @melyzard, @steinbecks

Love, Pride & Delicacy | Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth/f!Darcy, WIP

When Mr Wickham first arrived in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth was as ready as anyone to admire him, and perhaps readier to be admired in return.

The original draft of this fic was on hold for nearly ten years until it struck me that I could begin much earlier in the story, at the first point where Catherine Darcy was likely to come up—Wickham's tale of how Miss Darcy had horribly mistreated him. This has meant more Wickham content than I ever anticipated, but it also propelled the fic forwards.

2. Untitled | Guild Wars 2, AU of pro patria, Gwen Velazquez (Ascalonian human female PC w/ street origin and a missing sister) and Deborah Velazquez gen, WIP

Gwen always knew the Seraph would hunt her down one day.

I told myself I wasn't going to write fic for this, and then, well. I am what I am.

3. Untitled redux | Guild Wars 2, same universe as #2, Gwen Velazquez/Althea Fairchild, WIP

Gwen Velazquez regretted many things about her time among the Bloodcrow bandits. Robbing nobles was not one of them.

I then told myself the main part of the 'verse would be a one-shot, lol, so I didn't end up with a pro patria-sized monster. It's not a one-shot. It's been an interesting balance between trying to lean into GW2 feelings while also staying relatively accessible. We'll see! Someday.

4. the captain and the hero | Guild Wars 2, side-story to pro patria, Althea Fairchild (human female PC w/ noble origin) and Logan Thackeray gen, on hiatus

Even by Logan’s usual standards, the battle at Shaemoor was ugly.

This fic floated around my head for a long time and finally would not be contained, and this seemed the right place to jump in. It probably will never go very far, but I'm still fond of it.

5. and the sun shone | Lord of the Rings (bookverse), Faramir/Éowyn, WIP

The Steward Faramir was, Éowyn swiftly concluded, a strange man.

Fun fact: in my drafts, this was just called "F/É telepathy fic".

6. Untitled | Lord of the Rings (bookverse), f!Faramir/Éowyn, WIP

Even in Gondor, Éowyn was cold. She had always supposed it would be warm, if she ever came here. And after Aragorn’s arrival in Edoras, she had very often imagined herself in Minas Tirith, for all the obstacles in his way. Someday, she had let herself hope, perhaps—and she had come after all, but not at all in the way she anticipated. And she was still cold.

The document for this one is "Fíriel mingling". Guess what it's about! :D

7. pro patria | Guild Wars 2, slight AU of canon following Althea Fairchild (a noble, Ascalonian, human female version of the PC), WIP

I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second.

It's a weirdly-structured fic that mostly was a depository for my GW2 feelings, with a bitter main character who continually vacillates between hauteur, adaptable personas, and hovering on the edge of violence. Lots of fun and it couldn't have begun any other way.

8. the voices of the sea | Lord of the Rings (bookverse), f!Faramir and Boromir, ft. Tar-Míriel

The dream always began the same way.

I was thinking about how a female, non-military Faramir would get news of Boromir via the water, and then had the idea of linking it to the dream of Númenor for extra pain. The true goal of fanfic!

9. The Jedi and the Sith Lord | Star Wars (films only), f!Luke Skywalker and Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader

If Darth Vader did not avoid the sight of his daughter in carbonite, he certainly did not seek it out. Solo’s features had been frozen in lines of shock and pain. Lucy, however, did not look surprised, but resigned, her upturned face hardened into a look of hopeless dread. After his first inspection in Cloud City, he felt no need or desire to examine her unchanging features any more closely.

The previous fic in this series ended with Lucy in carbonite for Reasons. This fic is all about how their relationship develops from there and was definitely the most purely enjoyable to write of the whole series. This opening was one of the oldest part of it, written years before I got the rest out.

The overall story, however, begins more simply:

Padmé screamed.

10. we also are daughters of the great | Lord of the Rings (bookverse), f!Faramir/Éowyn

“Is there no deed to do? Who commands in this City?”

The Warden looked uncertain.

The same universe as #6! I don't usually begin with dialogue, but it can be especially helpful (for me) with AUs, to signal the ways in which it's splitting off or which scene is being played with.

#anghraine babbles #meme #meme prattle #fic talk #fic talk: love pride and delicacy #fic talk: gwen redux #fic talk: lucy skywalker #i. uh. am not tagging them all #long post #genderbending

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arofili · 3 years

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the line of elros ♚ royalty of gondor ♚ headcanon disclaimer

Arcíryas was the younger brother of Narmacil II. While his brother was a physically vigorous man who rode often with the armies, Arcíryas was a sharp-minded politician who aided his father Telumehtar Umbardacil in the governance of Gondor. He disapproved of his brother’s elopement with Alassindo the Warrior, who he saw as an unfit queen-in-the-making and not the war captain he was in truth, and advocated to his father that Narmacil be denounced as heir. After the birth of Narmacil and Alassindo’s son Calimehtar, ensuring the continuation of his line, Telumehtar dismissed his younger son’s arguments, engendering a lasting resentment in Arcíryas and his descendants who felt robbed of the crown. The wife of Arcíryas was Moicanítë, a soft-spoken court scribe who bent to her husband’s will—in his eyes, a better candidate for the spouse of a king than Alassindo. Nevertheless, Moicanítë had difficulty producing a “proper” heir for her husband, giving him four daughters before at last she bore him a son, Calimmacil. Though he and his cousin Calimehtar were childhood friends, Calimmacil was twisted by his father’s anger and as an adult became a fierce political opponent of the house of the King. When Narmacil died in battle after a reign of only six years, Arcíryas and Calimmacil attempted to wrest the crown from Calimehtar. But the court’s favor lay still with their fallen king, and just as his father had, they dismissed Arcíryas’ claim in favor of the rightful heir. Calimmacil was a fierce warrior, competing with Calimehtar in all things, and he was determined to win glory in Calimehtar’s campaign against the Wainriders. Leaving behind his wife Lótëaloxë and his young son Siriondil (named for his kingly ancestor), Calimmacil marched to war and threw himself recklessly into battle. He was killed in the last battle, dying just as victory was secured. Calimehtar honored him despite their rivalry, and offered to take Siriondil into his care, but Lótëaloxë declined his aid. At this time Arcíryas, deeply grieving the loss of his son, retreated from court and ceased to pester the king. Siriondil was raised without a direct influence from his father or grandfather, and thus was less harsh in his opposition to the kings. Still, he was his father’s son, and his mother passed on Calimmacil’s goals to him, and he inherited this familial rivalry. Siriondil attempted to win the hand of Lúnaduinë, daughter of Calimehtar, thus perhaps putting his heirs in line to the throne, but Lúnaduinë declined his suit in favor of her lover Quildoloro. Instead Siriondil married Vánquassë, daughter of the Lord of Pelargir. It seemed unlikely that Siriondil would succeed in his ancestral goal of “reclaiming” the crown of Gondor, as Lúnaduinë’s brother King Ondoher had two sons and Lúnaduinë herself had one son, leaving his son Eärnil (also named for a previous king) fourth in line for the throne. Yet when Ondoher and all his other heirs perished in battle against the Wainriders, it was Eärnil, now a great general who had defeated the Haradrim and avenged the king’s death, who had the strongest claim to kingship. Eärnil expected to be declared king easily, but he was met with a challenge in the form of Arvedui of Arthedain. Arvedui was the husband of Ondoher’s daughter Fíriel, who under the old laws of Númenor would have inherited as Ruling Queen. Arguing that Fíriel was the rightful ruler of Gondor, and that as the Heir of Isildur he was also the Heir of High King Elendil, Arvedui argued that he should become king of Gondor. His children would be heirs of Arnor and Gondor, reuniting the Two Kingdoms and fulfilling the prophecy of the seer Malbeth. But to the men of Gondor, Arthedain was a small kingdom and only a remnant of Arnor, never as glorious as their own realm. Furthermore, Ondoher’s steward, Pelendur, was a friend of Eärnil and spoke for him among the Council of Gondor, who denied Arvedui’s claim in favor of the victorious Gondorian general, who ascended to the throne as Eärnil II and fulfilled his ancestor’s dream of kingship. Eärnil was generous to Arvedui and offered to aid Arnor when he was able, and indeed, when the Witch-king of Angmar made to attack Arthedain, he sent his son Eärnur to their defense. But Eärnur arrived too late, for Arthedain had fallen and Arvedui had been lost at sea. Nonetheless, he joined with the forces of Círdan to destroy Angmar. The Witch-king challenged Eärnur to single combat, but when Eärnur answered, his steed swerved and fled in terror, disgracing him much to the Witch-king’s delight. Angmar’s victory was short-lived, for soon warriors from Rivendell arrived, led by the elf-lord Glorfindel. With these reinforcements, Angmar was routed, and the Witch-king fled before Glorfindel’s might. Eärnur attempted to pursue him, but Glorfindel halted him, warning him that the Witch-king’s doom was far off, and foreseeing he would not fall by the hand of man. During his time in the north, Eärnur met Morimmacil, a fierce warrior who had survived the ruin of Arthedain, and the two became lovers. Foreboding that the Witch-king would rise again, Morimmacil followed Eärnur back to Gondor, spurred by love and duty both. He was soon proven correct, for the Witch-king besieged Minas Ithil after recovering his strength in Mordor. Eärnil failed to save the city, which fell to the Witch-king and renamed Minas Morgul, the Tower of Sorcery. In response, Eärnil changed the name of Minas Anor to Minas Tirith, the Tower of the Guard. Upon Eärnil’s death, Eärnur inherited the crown of Gondor. The Witch-king challenged him again to single combat, and remembering his disgrace in the North, Eärnur was eager to answer. It took the combined persuasion of his mother Telpinë, his lover Morimmacil, and his steward Mardil to convince him not to go. Instead he focused on winning tournaments in Gondor and defending Minas Tirith against the Witch-king’s assaults. In one such skirmish, Morimmacil was slain. Furious and deeply grieved, Eärnur could not be stopped when the Witch-king taunted him with his lover’s severed head and challenged him once more. Eärnur left his crown upon the lap of his father in the Houses of the Dead, where it would remain until Steward Faramir would pass it to King Elessar nearly a thousand years later. Eärnur rode past the gates of Minas Morgul with a small escort of loyal knights, never to be seen again. As his fate was for a time uncertain and no heirs had been named, no new king was selected. The leadership of Gondor thus passed to the Stewards, beginning with Mardil Voronwë, who began his rule with the promise to lead “until the King returns.”

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tar-elestirne · 9 years

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given that the Fíriel fic is partly driven by Stewardist grumping, Aragorn is coming off pretty favourably

The first time Fíriel saw Aragorn again, she felt a flicker of trepidation. She remembered with perfect clarity how weakened she’d been in the Houses of Healing, so exhausted and unsteady that she might have fallen if not for Imrahil hastening to her side. In her splintered vision Aragorn shone like a star. Like Eärendil. And frail as she must have seemed in that moment, he said: You are a woman of staunch will, lady, to contain the poison of the Nazgûl. Men live who else would have died, whose lives I swear shall now be preserved. For I too am a healer, and I say to you: it may be that you were born for this hour, Fíriel daughter of Denethor.

and (definitely related to the headcanon on the meme post)

“They have little love for—us?” she said. “The peoples of the west?”

“Gondor,” said Aragorn, voice firm.

“You count yourself a man of Gondor?”

His grey eyes were steady. “I am a man of many places, lady. I was born in Eriador and reared in Imladris. I have explored Middle-earth, west and north, south and east. I fought in Rohan for a time, and Gondor a longer time. My home, as near as I could call it, has been the North. But the North-kingdom fell long ago. Fornost, Annúminas, the great cities of my forefathers lie in ruins. My people shrink with every generation. We look south as well as west, not only to the memory of Númenor downfallen but to the heart of living Númenor.”

#fíriel of minas tirith #yeah still plugging away at this

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anghraine · 1 year

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5 writers/5 things

I was tagged by @incognitajones <3

The meme is: talk about five things you might find in a story of mine and tag five writers to answer the same question.

I appreciate the "might" given the sheer quantity of things I've written. ;)

1- Positioning lead-in: I have no idea what the formal name for this is, it's just how I think of it. I typically start stories with some statement that leads into the character's head space before anything happens—it might be about their character or feelings about a specific person/issue, it might be a reference to a past event or a description of how things stand in or up to the moment. But I rarely drop directly into the plot or scene.

For instance:

The Steward Faramir was, Éowyn swiftly concluded, a strange man.

Jyn never forgot the moment when her mother’s body slumped to the ground.

In the first few years after his escape from Yakone, Noatak drifted: from place to place, from name to name.

2- Full names: I have a strong preference for using full given names unless it's very clear the character themself favors a nickname. If anything, using the full name is Significant—as with Elizabeth Bennet, for instance, who has nicknames among family and friends, but invariably uses Elizabeth in her own thoughts and narration. And that's what Darcy uses at the very end of the book, as well (<3). So in my P&P fic, I always refer to her as Elizabeth rather than Lizzy (or Eliza, lol).

3- Genderbending: This isn't the majority of my fics, but according to AO3, a mere ... 40 (out of 219). These are overwhelmingly "canon male fave -> Always A Girl", though in my head, the character is fundamentally agender and just mildly susceptible to socialization in whatever direction it's applied (i.e. my experience). So she'll be like "as a woman..." but also there's generally a certain amount of frustration.

These fics typically deal with gender in a somewhat didactic kind of way. Lucy Skywalker has to prove herself to get accepted as a pilot, Catherine Darcy has to marry to secure her inheritance, Fíriel of Minas Tirith got along well with a Denethor who never expected her to be a warrior, while Taraka of the Northern Water Tribe is terrorized by Yakone and, with better intentions, Noatak, in ways that are deeply inflected by gender. I regret nothing.

4- OCs: OCs have a bad reputation and people are often leery about including them in major roles, but idk, I've never been concerned about that. And I don't just mean characters we know nothing about but who presumably exist; I've always been willing to invent original characters out of whole cloth and just slot them in, like Cecily Fitzwilliam in various P&P stories, Devona Fairchild in pro patria, Efrah and Zekheret among others in ad astra, etc.

5- Not quite meta: I often push back against ideas/fanon I disagree with in fics and forward headcanons and interpretations that I prefer. This isn't particularly exceptional, but I do tend to be very deliberate about it. When I'm at odds with fanon, I'll go to pains to mention that (say) my Georgiana Darcy has dark hair or try to indicate that my Cassian is grey-ace or things like that.

Honorable mention: WIPs!

No-pressure tagging: @ladytharen, @kareenvorbarra, @irresistible-revolution, @brynnmclean, @melyzard

#anghraine babbles #meme #meme prattle #writing #fic talk

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anghraine · 3 years

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Ever since I realized I had a bunch of Fíriel (f!Faramir) fics in that 20 fics meme, I’ve been thinking about the verse more, and ... some factoids for those of you who care:

the verse is Aragorn/Fíriel/Éowyn bc I do what I want (and couldn’t resist the siren lure of f/f Faramir/Éowyn despite the verse starting as a vehicle for Aragorn/Faramir political marriage feelings)

all three of them are grey-ace disaster bisexuals and it takes several years to work everything out

Arwen exists in the verse, but accompanied Celebrían to Valinor way back when, and is contented and beloved there

Aragorn still seeks the crown of Gondor, but wholly for Gondor itself

When Fíriel was born, Denethor believed he would have preferred another son to fight for Gondor, but he actually gets on far better with a scholarly daughter than a second-best warrior son

Elrond still comes to Minas Tirith after the destruction of the Ring, but purely out of affection for Aragorn

Elladan and Elrohir choose mortality

Fíriel has very few combat skills and zero regret about that fact, but is a supremely good horsewoman

Fíriel is a healer, though not of the Aragorn kind; she has Númenórean powers, but different ones, except for being able to somewhat stave off the Black Breath for awhile

Denethor rides to battle because no other man but Imrahil (needed for the sortie) is really able to hold people together against the Nazgûl. He falls on the Pelennor and dies shortly before Aragorn’s arrival. :(

Fíriel is never in battle and is in good health when Aragorn arrives, so she has no mystical healing experience and is initially ambivalent about him

There’s no pyre, of course, so Gandalf isn’t taken away and is able to save Théoden (though it’s still Merry and Éowyn who take out the Witch-king)

initially, Éowyn returns home in glory with Théoden and Éomer, and carries on an intense correspondence with Fíriel

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anghraine · 2 years

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I was tagged by @lantur in the last line meme!

Rules: write the latest line from a WIP and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post!

The last thing I worked on was the cast list for my fake Dúnedain-centric adaptation of LOTR, so I’m not sure if it counts as a WIP per se. The last line I wrote was:

While she can be arrogant, she is intelligent, strong-willed, and fiercely loyal to her family and to Gondor, and is valued as such by Denethor.

The last WIP fic-as-fic I worked on was the Fíriel (f!Faramir w/o anyone else genderbent) fic:

“The first, Mardil Voronwë, began his rule about nine hundred and sixty years ago.”

Not tagging that many people, but if you have WIPs: @kareenvorbarra, @elwing, @heckofabecca, @squirrelwrangler, @irresistible-revolution, @kazaera, @ncfan-1

#literally the last thing i worked on was the lucy outline for the sequel to tjatsl but the last line would be a total spoiler #meme #meme prattle #fic talk #fíriel of minas tirith #gondor: the series #legendarium blogging

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anghraine · 3 years

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For those following the Fíriel (f!Faramir) fic, I wrote a little (~2 pgs) more of Éowyn in the Houses of Healing/Fíriel. Here’s a bit of it:

Even in Minas Tirith, Éowyn was cold.

She had always supposed it would be warm, if she ever came here. And after Aragorn’s arrival in Edoras, she had very often imagined herself in Gondor, for all the obstacles in his way. Someday, she had let herself hope, perhaps—and she had come after all, but not at all in the way she anticipated. And she was still cold.

Suppressing a shudder, she glanced at the woman standing beside her. Fíriel still came to see her each day, sometimes saying little beyond a few sentences, sometimes filling Éowyn’s silences with a flow of words that required no reply. Either way, Éowyn found herself welcoming the other woman’s steady companionship, all the more because she saw no purpose to it. As far as she could tell, Fíriel had taken an immediate liking to her, and offered friendship for no greater reason than that.

Éowyn could not help liking her as well—admiring her mixture of intelligence, resolve, and stern dignity, while soothed a little by her gentle manner. The future remained dark, but did not seem quite as much so when Fíriel came.

#anghraine babbles #fic talk #fíriel of minas tirith #legendarium blogging #genderbending #éowyn #/#//#///#////#/////#faramir #fíriel daughter of denethor #otp: and the sun shone

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anghraine · 3 years

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I was thinking about it, and ... Fírielverse Faramir/Aragorn and Aranorverse Faramir/Aragorn have pretty different dynamics for reasons external to themselves, but also, m/f vs f/f just strike different chords with me although I like both.

Fíriel/Aragorn combines respect, some measure of attraction, and a marriage of political convenience that ultimately becomes a complex but loving poly relationship with Éowyn.

Meanwhile, I know other people prefer to see things more optimistically or headcanon JRRT’s issues away and that’s fine, but is typically Not My Way. Middle-earth has always struck me as generally very heteronormative and Dúnadan societies no less so. So that’s a major factor in the Aranorverse’s Faramir/Aragorn.

Míriel’s silent love for Aranor is not remotely convenient for her, nor is Aranor’s ultimate realization that she loves Míriel, though they’re able to figure things out and forge their HEA. They eventually enter a romantic relationship, homophobia be damned, and Míriel publicly occupies overlapping positions as, at once, Aranor’s trusted counsellor and regent (as heiress of the House of Húrin), the undisputed royal favourite in the court, the queen’s most beloved companion, etc.

But even setting aside the strong generic differences between marriage of convenience plots and forbidden love plots, Aranor/Míriel just feels really different to me. Maybe it’s because Aranor is different from Aragorn in some ways (instead of being O_O at discovering he’s heir of Isildur, she’s had to fight for it and everything else). Or maybe it’s because, even when she does the same things out of the same motivations as canon Aragorn, they feel a bit different.

(Or maybe because I’m lesbian and just feel differently about f/f.)

Anyway ... no point to this, really, it’s just one of the things that makes repeated genderbending (esp of male-dominated canons) interesting to me.

#catherine/henry vs philadelphia/elizabeth also feel different to me—though not as much so #as aragorn/fíriel vs aranor/míriel #maybe bc the original canon isn't male-dominated? idk #anghraine babbles #emphasis on babbles!#legendarium blogging #genderbending #míriel of gondor #fíriel daughter of denethor #aranor daughter of arathorn #fic talk #fíriel of minas tirith #aranor #otp: love was kindled #faramir #aragorn

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anghraine · 3 years

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@laufire tagged me in a fic meme!

The Game: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some authors!

1. Even in Gondor, Éowyn was cold.

Tolkien, WIP: an AU take on the Éowyn/Faramir hair mingling scene with f!Faramir/Fíriel. I’ll probably fold it into daughters of the great at some point, but haven’t yet.

2. Elrond did not call the Council.

Tolkien, WIP: a (new) AU where Faramir is the one sent to Rivendell. I’m not writing it in a long fic sense, but I do have some snippets.

3. Gwen did not often dwell on life before the Searing.

Guild Wars, WIP: a canon-compliant one-shot focused on Gwen Thackeray’s last day before the Searing, ft. the GW: Prophecies PC (here, Irene Fairchild).

4. At least, Lady Georgiana thought, Darcy had the mettle to write to her of his engagement himself.

Austen, WIP: a canon-compliant fic dealing with the responses of Darcy’s canon and headcanon relatives to his engagement/marriage. This first bit is posted here.

5. The Steward was fortunate in his children.

Tolkien, WIP: an AU take on Denethor and Faramir’s relationship, with f!Faramir. Another piece of the Fírielverse.

6. Faramir was born under the Shadow, son of a weary father and wearier mother.

Tolkien, WIP: a canon-compliant take on Faramir’s childhood and his first dream of Númenor.

7. My dear Edith,

I hope you and your brother are well.

Guild Wars, complete: a canon-compliant epistolary take on the GW: Prophecies’s PC’s last day before the Searing. Here.

8. Eldarion had no queen.

Tolkien, complete: a canon-compliant fic where Eldarion has an arranged but happy marriage to Faramir and Éowyn’s younger daughter + lifespan angst. Here.

9. “Is there no deed to do?”

Tolkien, WIP: the opening to we also are daughters of the great, a Fírielverse fic with Éowyn and Fíriel first getting to know each other. I wrote and posted the first part a longggg time ago; the newest section begins with:

Fíriel was easy to talk to, Merry found.

10. “But Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.”

Austen, WIP: the opening to tolerably well acquainted, a fic that was originally tracking the development of Elizabeth’s feelings for Darcy at Pemberley, and then kept going. The current chapter’s draft begins:

By the time that Elizabeth reached the signature, she could nearly have crumpled the letter in her hand.

11. I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second.

Guild Wars, WIP: a slight AU of GW2 from the POV of the human noble origin PC w/ missing sister storyline, where making the PC/her sister proud Ascalonians has a significant impact on them and their choices. I’ve been poking at the fic, pro patria, for years, but the current section begins:

I’d opened my mouth to ask something else, but Frazarblade suddenly interrupted me, slightly raising her voice.

12. If Darth Vader did not avoid the sight of his daughter in carbonite, he certainly did not seek it out.

Star Wars, WIP: the third part in an AU-of-the-OT f!Luke series. This part, The Jedi and the Sith Lord, follows Lucy and Vader after she’s captured by the latter in Cloud City (for AU reasons I won’t get into here). Like the last few, I started this a long time ago, so the beginning of the new section is:

Anakin didn’t hesitate.

13. In the first few years after his escape from Yakone, Noatak drifted: from place to place, from name to name.

Avatar, WIP: from One More Tomorrow, an Amon-centric f!Tarrlok fic (...I do understand that this is a) very predictable for me to write and b) of very limited interest to other people). It’s actually part of a longer series, though not nearly as lengthy or the f!Luke one or as involved as the f!Faramir one. The new section begins:

Amon had already stopped walking.

14. Boromir and Fíriel could both command man and beast alike.

Tolkien, complete: a short Fírielverse fic about Fíriel grieving Boromir/meeting Pippin. Here.

15. In her heart, perhaps, Fíriel knew what must happen.

Tolkien, WIP: a Fírielverse fic about Fíriel after the destruction of the Ring and Denethor’s death in battle, deciding what to do about Aragorn’s claim in the midst of grief for her father and uncertainty about her future. Here.

16. When Leia told them the truth, Jyn and Cassian said nothing.

Star Wars, complete: a Leia/Jyn/Cassian fic set after Leia finds out that Vader is her natural father. Here.

17. They escaped the way they arrived.

Star Wars, complete: AU Jyn/Cassian fic where the main cast of Rogue One makes it out of Scarif alive, and it turns out everyone has assumed Jyn and Cassian were in a relationship. Bonus grey-ace!Cassian and autistic!Jyn. Here.

18. Jyn never forgot the moment when her mother’s body slumped to the ground.

Star Wars, WIP: AU Jyn/Cassian fic where Jyn, Cassian, and Bodhi make it off Scarif together, only to get sucked into the Death Star and forced to pass themselves off as Imperials without getting caught. Another one that I started a pretty long while ago; the most recent part of it begins:

As Jyn made her way back to the hold, she caught the murmur of voices.

19. Augustus Jones was a gentleman.

Austen, WIP: an AU where Wickham gets murdered after the Netherfield Ball and the cast of P&P are suspects. Darcy/Elizabeth, of course.

20. Jyn imagined herself with Princess Leia, sometimes.

Star Wars, WIP: a Leia/Jyn/Cassian Everyone Lives AU where Jyn struggles with being into Leia and Cassian at the same time.

I think that’s about the right fics, anyway! Basically: now and then I jump straight into the story, but most often, I begin with a statement that’s kind of ??? in terms of where the story is going, but then ‘zooms in’ to provide some context/background/revelation of what’s going on before we head into the story proper. I think of it as orienting the reader, basically, and I’m usually a bit ????? unless I can think of a way to do it. I didn’t include my original stuff on this list, but I generally do the same thing there.

My fave of these is probably:

In the first few years after his escape from Yakone, Noatak drifted: from place to place, from name to name.

It does the thing where it starts from this kind of distant perspective in order to narrow in later, but I think it does a much better job than usual of giving an idea of the story’s focus, and I like the phrasing.

tagging, if you want to do it ... umm, I’m not sure who has this quantity of fic, but: @ncfan-1, @ladytharen, @kazaera, @brynnmclean, @irresistible-revolution, @steinbecks

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anghraine · 3 years

Photo

“I am Fíriel, daughter of Denethor,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

The servant quietly withdrew, leaving Merry and Fíriel all but alone, her gaze fixed on him. He repressed the impulse to dust off his borrowed clothes, unable to escape the feeling that her clear grey eyes saw everything there was to see about him. That, perhaps, was what reminded him of Aragorn: both the colour and a keen, intelligent attention.

While I’m genderbending, a thing for the next most popular of my genderbending ’verses (after the Lucyverse): the f!Faramir (and only f!Faramir) one, in which Fíriel is a loremaster and healer.

It only exists in one-shots and WIPs (...and half-written drafts), but they’re here:

1. other things than war, in which Gandalf meets a young Fíriel (complete, at Tumblr and AO3). Beautifully illustrated by @croclock here.

2. a heart strangely moved, in which Pippin tells Fíriel about Boromir (complete, at Tumblr and AO3).

3. we also are daughters of the great, in which Éowyn and Merry meet Fíriel after the Battle of the Pelennor (WIP, at Tumblr and AO3).

4. a hard matter, in which Fíriel is left to judge Aragorn’s claim to the throne without the benefit of experiencing the kingly healing (WIP, at Tumblr and AO3).

The tag for everything related to the ’verse is #fíriel of minas tirith at Tumblr, and the series is The Lady of Gondor at AO3.

#i guess this is a series now #tumblr stretched it but i'm posting it as-is anyway #anghraine's pics #anghraine babbles #fic talk #fíriel of minas tirith #legendarium blogging #fic talk: fíriel #faramir #jewel of the seashore #okay there actually is one that's more popular that i'm not doing #but that's bc it's like 300 words and i don't want to #long post #genderbending

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anghraine · 3 years

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@kazaera tagged me in a writing meme!

Rules: write the latest line from your WIP and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

But the grey of Fíriel’s eyes was different, clear and bright and piercing.

I was plugging away at a f!Faramir/Éowyn scene awhile back, though I only got a few pages into it.

Tagging is challenging, but: @ladytharen, @incognitajones, @lantur, @ncfan-1, @steinbecks, and anybody else who wants to do it!

#kazaera #respuestas #meme #meme prattle #fic talk #fíriel of minas tirith #fic talk: fíriel #legendarium blogging

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anghraine · 3 years

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fic meme!

Grabbed from shadaras on Dreamwidth:

Name:

Anghraine / Elizabeth

Fandoms:

Tolkien, mainly LOTR; Austen, mainly Darcy/Elizabeth; Star Wars, mainly Skywalkers and Jyn/Cassian

Where you post:

Wherever I happen to be active, but also at AO3 under anghraine.

Most popular multi-chapter fic:

Season of Courtship, the Darcy/Elizabeth engagement fic I wrote 15 years ago (but revised ... maybe 7-8 years ago?). It was surpassed for a long time by some other fics, but picked up a ton of kudos/bookmarks this year for some reason, so now it's well ahead of the rest in both bookmarks and kudos.

Favourite story you've written so far:

That's hard to say ... I've written a lot. In some ways, my short P&P sequel The Letters of Elizabeth Darcy, 1796-1798 will always be a fave because it came out so closely to what I wanted it to be. But the dearest to my heart are probably always going to be my Lucy Skywalker series starring f!Luke, and my f!Darcy/m!Elizabeth fic, First Impressions.

Fic you were nervous to post:

Hmm. Perhaps Better Choice, my very flawed Faramir-goes-to-Rivendell fic, which is the first fic I posted anywhere. I thought of we get dark, only to shine because of its many taboos, but Borgias fandom was so nice that I don't think I much worried about it, beyond hoping people would read it. IDK ... I'm a very nervous person, and I definitely am on the edge of my seat after I post a fic, but I don't think I'm nervous about posting fics in this sense.

How you choose your titles

They're usually general statements of what the fic is about ("Redemption," "Anomaly," The Jedi and the Sith Lord), references to a quote from the canon (Season of Courtship, tolerably well acquainted), or excerpts from songs ("But Thou Didst Not Leave His Soul In Hell," "like a storm in the desert").

Do you outline?

Sometimes—I have some things that just start with an idea, others where it's pretty clear in my head, but I ultimately work best when I have the structure and some details all sketched out.

Complete fics:

169, says AO3. Mostly one-shots, of course.

In progress:

Posted WIPs that I have active plans to continue at this time: once I'm writing fic again—Lucy Skywalker, tolerably well acquainted, and Fíriel (f!Faramir) are at the top of my list!

Posted WIPs that I have given up on: I'm terrible at really giving up on things, tbh. I always have scraps that I poke at and things like that. Such Terms of Cordiality is vanishingly unlikely, though.

Exchange fics due soon/unrevealed: none. I had the sense (speaking for myself) not to do exchanges this year.

WIPs that live in my fanfic folder and are incomplete and who knows when they'll be finished: not a whole lot, actually, in the sense of things that haven't been posted. I mostly do post my WIPs. I've got the companion fic to my Darcy-Fitzwilliam headcanons in the folder—we'll see how that goes.

Coming soon/not yet started: hahahaha, nothing. I've got quite enough to be going with.

Do you accept prompts: not exactly, these days. I don't mind them, and if they inspire me, I'm glad to write when I can spare the time, but at this point they don't usually kickstart me and I just feel vaguely guilty when they do but I don’t have the time/energy, so I don't actively invite them.

Upcoming story you are most excited to write:

It's not a story, but there's a scene in the Fíriel-Éowyn-Merry fic that I'm reallyyyyy looking forward to (though it only has Fíriel and Éowyn in it).

Tagging, if you want to do it: @ladytharen, @incognitajones, @irresistible-revolution, @kazaera, @ncfan-1

#anghraine babbles #meme prattle #meme #fic talk #fic talk: courtship #fic talk: letters of elizabeth darcy #fic talk: lucy skywalker #fic talk: first impressions #fic talk: better choice #wgdots #fíriel of minas tirith #lucy skywalker #letters of elizabeth darcy #season of courtship #first impressions #better choice

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anghraine · 4 years

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I unwisely spent a bit of time writing important content for the Merry+f!Faramir+Éowyn fic:

“It grows wild in great abundance, however, and has a pleasant smell.”

“It does indeed,” Merry said emphatically, his pride soothed. “I can see why it would grow better here”—it took some doing to make it prosper in the Shire and around Bree—“but I wonder how it came to be here in the first place.”

“We brought it from our homeland, I believe,” said Fíriel. “Númenor, or Westernesse: the island where my people lived before it sank into the sea. Some of our forebears carried away as many of its trees and herbs and flowers as they could in its last days, and Isildur himself planted a great many of them here in Gondor. Some call galenas ‘westmansweed’ because it was one of them.”

Merry’s eyes rounded. He did not imagine that he knew as much about Westernesse as most, but he had certainly listened closely enough to understand that it had been a remarkable sort of place, and spawned the entire peoples that Aragorn and Boromir came from, and that this was all a very long time ago.

“Really?” he blurted out. “I had no idea it went back that far. Fancy, pipe-weed on Westernesse!”

#anghraine babbles #fic talk #fíriel of minas tirith #meriadoc brandybuck #/#//#///#////#/////#faramir #legendarium blogging

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anghraine · 4 years

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“we also are daughters of the great” - chapter two

I wrote the first chapter as a one-shot promptfic, but ... idk, I got moved to continue it, so here’s some Merry and Fíriel/f!Faramir (among others).

Last chapter:

As she walked away, Éowyn called out,

“Lady Fíriel!”

Fíriel paused, and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

Do not leave me alone here, Éowyn thought.

This chapter:

“You have already done a great deal for my people, Meriadoc—more than we could ever repay. But I would ask something still further.”

He would not have said that he’d do anything for her, the way Pippin had. But Pip seemed right enough that she was a creature of the heights. Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality alongside her gentleness. It made for an agreeable but very odd impression.

chapters: one

For Éowyn, the remaining hours of the day passed gradually. Her thoughts dwelt on her uncle and her brother and Aragorn, and whatever doom awaited them, then skittered nearer, to her own fate, and her useless present. Her arm ached; though she could endure pain, she knew it would have made her an easy target on a battlefield—even if she could have escaped the city, caught up with the army, and fought among them. She must have seemed ridiculous to Lady Fíriel.

Éowyn shifted her weight from one leg to another. The idea sat uncomfortably with her. Although they had only just met, and spoken briefly, she disliked the idea of appearing childish or silly to her. Fíriel had betrayed admiration rather than disdain, but that might arise from pity as well, whatever she said. Éowyn did not wish to seem weak to anyone, and certainly not a gentle, composed lady of Gondor—and the last of Cirion’s line, no less.

At least Fíriel had been true to her word; not long after their conversation, two healers appeared to lead Éowyn to her new, east-facing chambers. So she stood there at the window, gazing at Mordor and worrying, while the minutes crawled slowly by.

For Merry, however, everything seemed very fast indeed.

One minute he had been watching Gandalf defend Théoden even as the terrible Ringwraith king descended, throwing all but Gandalf himself from their horses. Dernhelm rose, still defiant, and Merry’s horrified gaze fixed on him—her—Éowyn? Éowyn, so fair and valiant! Gandalf or no Gandalf, he had known suddenly what he must do. He stabbed his dagger into the wraith’s knee, and Éowyn drove her sword into the wraith until it shattered.

The Lord of the Nazgûl disappeared into nothing—Éowyn collapsed—Théoden was weeping over her, and Merry too, while a chill numbed his right hand and crept up his arm. It was Gandalf who insisted Éowyn was alive, and ordered her and Merry carried in a rush to the Houses of Healing. Everything grew colder yet, and hazy, until he could scarcely move and scarcely see. Before he quite knew what had happened, he fell asleep.

His sleep was unpleasant: cold and grey, filled with terrible voices that whispered of the dead he had not saved. Some of the voices sounded like the king of the Ringwraiths and he kept stabbing at it, then remembering that the Barrow-dagger had broken. They were all dead, Pippin and Éowyn and Théoden and, somehow, Gandalf and Strider. But no—that didn’t make sense—he couldn’t quite remember—

Another voice joined in, and even in that icy dream, it surprised him.

“Awake,” said Strider, in the commanding way he had sometimes.

He sounded very far away. Merry couldn’t see through the mists, or pinpoint the source of the call.

“Awake,” Strider repeated, even more firmly, and Merry felt a growing warmth, driving the cold off. Even his hand no longer felt numb, and he couldn’t hear any voice but Strider’s.

“Merry.”

Merry opened his eyes. Strider stood nearest him, pulling his hand back from Merry’s head, but Pippin was there, too, alive and well but for his anxious face, and Gandalf just behind him. A mildly sweet fragrance filled the air about him. Just the smell of it made him feel better. And starving.

“I am hungry,” he announced. “What is the time?”

“Past supper-time now, though I daresay I could bring you something, if they will let me,” said Pippin, his voice a little unsteady. Now Merry could see that Pippin had acquired armour, too: a chainmail hauberk made of some black metal, and a black surcoat over it, embroidered with the symbol of a white tree. He had never looked more like the Thain he would be someday.

“They will indeed,” said Gandalf. “And anything else that this Rider of Rohan may desire, if it can be found in Minas Tirith, where his name is in honour.”

Well, that sounded very nice.

“Good!” Merry said. “Then I would like supper first, and after that, a pipe, if Strider will provide what is needed.”

“Oh?” said Strider.

“I had some of Saruman’s best in my pack,” said Merry, “but what became of it in the battle, I am sure I don’t know.”

Strider looked sternly down at him. Really, he was bigger than anyone had a right to be. Maybe he’d drunk Ent-draughts at some time or another—though Éomer was nearly as tall, like Boromir had been, and Merry couldn’t imagine either of them doing it at all.

“Master Meriadoc,” Strider said, in his severest tones, “if you think that I have passed through the mountains and the realm of Gondor with fire and sword to bring herbs to a careless soldier who throws away his gear, you are mistaken. If your pack has not been found, then you must send for the herb-master of this House. And he will tell you that he did not know that the herb you desire had any virtues, but that it is called westmansweed by the vulgar, and galenas by the noble, and other names in other tongues more learned, and after adding a few half-forgotten rhymes that he does not understand, he will regretfully inform you that there is none in the House, and he will leave you to reflect on the history of tongues.”

Merry blinked.

“And,” Strider added, “so now must I. For I have not slept in such a bed as this, since I rode from Dunharrow, nor eaten since the dark before dawn.”

Guilt jolted through Merry and he seized Strider’s hand, kissing it.

“I am frightfully sorry. Go at once!” he said. “Ever since that night at Bree, we have been a nuisance to you. But it is the way of my people to use light words at such times and say less than they mean. We fear to say too much. It robs us of the right words when a jest is out of place.”

Strider’s scowl dissolved into one of his rare smiles. He said, “I know that well, or I would not deal with you in the same way. May the Shire live forever unwithered!”

With that, he bent down to kiss the top of Merry’s head, then left with Gandalf. As soon as they were gone, Pippin started to laugh.

“Was there ever anyone like him? Except Gandalf, of course. I think they must be related.”

Now entirely perplexed, Merry just stared at him.

“My dear ass,” said Pippin, “your pack is lying by your bed. He saw it all the time, of course. And anyway, I have some stuff of my own. Come on now! Longbottom Leaf it is. Fill up while I run and see about some food. And then let’s be easy for a bit. Dear me! We Tooks and Brandybucks, we can’t live long on the heights.”

Merry thought about it—about Great Smials and Brandy Hall, and Meduseld and this monumental city, about their families back home, and Boromir and Éowyn and Strider. Aragorn.

“No,” he agreed. “I can’t. Not yet, at any rate. But at least, Pippin, we can now see them, and honour them. It is best to love first what you are fitted to love, I suppose: you must start somewhere and have some roots, and the soil of the Shire is deep. Still there are things deeper and higher; and not a gaffer could tend his garden in what he calls peace but for them, whether he knows about them or not. I am glad that I know about them, a little.” Then he shook his head, clearing it. “But I don’t know why I am talking like this. Where is that leaf?”

Pippin’s armour clinked as he climbed off his stool and produced the pipe and leaves. Merry almost laughed, himself, at the sight of him, looking as near a fine soldier as any hobbit could be, but with a pipe in one hand and a little pouch of Longbottom Leaf in the other. His face must have spoken for him; Pippin wrinkled his nose and ran off to get some food.

By the time that he returned, Merry was truly ravenous, enough that he didn’t think to ask much of anything until he’d swallowed half of the meal in front of him. Then he slowed, new thoughts jabbing into his mind.

“Lady Éowyn,” he said. “Do you know what happened to her? Is she—”

“Alive,” said Pippin. “Strider brought her back, just like you. She is resting not far from here. The king and Éomer are seeing to their people, I believe.”

Merry relaxed, but Pippin had hardly spoken when his brows drew together.

“What is it?” Merry asked.

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” he said slowly, “but I wish he—Strider, I mean—Aragorn—I wish he could have gotten here just a little earlier.”

Merry chewed, then swallowed. “Why is that?”

“So he could have saved Lord Denethor,” said Pippin, his face clouding over. “I swore myself to his service, in return for Boromir, and … well, because I wanted to. He fell leading the retreat against the Black Riders; he and the Prince were the only ones who could hold the soldiers together, and he got pierced by an arrow. The healers kept him alive for awhile, but not long enough. He died just after they brought you and Lady Éowyn here.”

“Oh,” said Merry, feeling rather blank. He knew of the Steward dimly, through Boromir’s proud accounts of his father, and through the message sent with the Red Arrow, which had struck him as courteous. But he thought of Théoden, and felt a burst of sympathy. “I am sorry, Pip. Was he kind to you?”

Pippin nodded, then shook his head, then just deepened his frown, looking bewildered as much as anything.

“He was strange,” he said. “More like Gandalf and Aragorn than Boromir, though not as powerful as Gandalf, I think. But the same sort of person, if that makes sense. Gandalf said Denethor could see people’s thoughts, even people far away.”

All right, not like Théoden.

“I think it was true,” Pippin added. “You’d understand if you met him.” He grew solemn again. “Not that you can. He’s gone, like Boromir. There’s only Fíriel left now.”

“Is that Boromir’s sister?” said Merry. He had even less of an idea of her, beyond a vague impression of her existence and Boromir’s affection for her. But he felt sorry for the unknown lady, nevertheless—all the more when he thought of how her brother had died. Despite everything that had happened since then, his throat tightened.

“Yes,” Pippin said, and thankfully, his smile returned. “I like her.”

The words would have been tepid enough on paper, but Pippin pronounced them with so much fervour that Merry’s brows rose.

“What is she like?” he asked.

Pippin tilted his head, thinking about it. In fact, he thought about it for so long that Merry might have poked him, if not for the chainmail.

“A bit Elvish,” he said at last. “She belongs to the heights, right enough—but isn’t so far-off, if you understand me. It’s hard to explain. You can talk to her, and at the same time, she … you can’t help feeling that you would do anything for her.”

He flushed a little as he spoke. Merry hid a smile.

“Did you ask for a strand of her hair?” he said.

Pippin turned redder. “No! Don’t be absurd, Merry. It’s not like that. You’ll meet her sooner or later, and then you’ll see.”

Merry just laughed, more amused to see Pippin admiring a daughter of Men than he would have thought he could be by anything, a few hours ago.

Regardless, it seemed that he’d scarcely finished talking and smoking with Pippin when Legolas and Gimli came to see them, and they all walked and talked until he grew tired, and they told him of their (terrible!) adventures coming to Gondor. It was a pleasant way to spend an hour—but before long, the rest were all riding out to confront Sauron himself, in Mordor.

Merry watched sadly, feeling very alone, and fearful of what might happen to them all. Pippin’s young friend led him back to the Houses of Healing, saying something meant to be reassuring, but Merry barely heard it. And in the Houses, the hours rushed inexorably on, while Merry tried to calculate the army’s progress in his head, for no messengers came, and nobody seemed to know anything about what was happening out there. But the more the time passed, the closer they had to be getting—and here he was, doing nothing.

As dreadful as he felt, it seemed like he’d only just turned around when he realized it’d been two whole days. They wouldn’t be in Mordor yet, but they’d be making progress, unless something else had gone wrong.

“Master Meriadoc! Master Meriadoc!”

Merry turned to squint at a servant of the Houses. He’d mostly been left to his own devices, apart from the healers who insisted on examining him every day.

“Yes?” he asked.

“If it is no inconvenience,” said the servant, “there is someone who would like to see you.”

“See me?” repeated Merry. He couldn’t imagine who would feel the slightest interest in him, except perhaps Éowyn, and he gathered that she was still recovering. “Who wants to see me?”

The servant straightened, looking proud. “The Lady Fíriel, master. She is waiting here in the Houses now, if it pleases you to speak with her.”

Merry didn’t know whether to take this as real concern for what pleased him or not, or just part of the people of Gondor’s odd way of talking.

“Well—certainly,” he said, baffled but curious.

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, anyway, and he didn’t want to be impolite, particularly not to Boromir’s sister. He trotted after the servant towards a wall overlooking the gardens, where a few healers and recovering soldiers were walking to and fro. He didn’t see Éowyn among them, but he did see a woman standing at the wall. He couldn’t make out much of her beyond black skirts and black hair that hung loosely down her back; still, he felt sure that she was indeed Fíriel of Gondor.

“My lady,” the servant began, and the lady turned around.

She had a pretty face, but Merry was struck less by this than by how much it resembled Boromir’s. And Aragorn’s, in some odd way that he couldn’t immediately identify—more of an air than any particular feature.

“You must be Meriadoc,” she said.

Merry bowed, a little awkwardly; he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“I am,” he said.

Fíriel swiftly walked over, and held out her hand, which Merry took in some confusion. She shook his in the manner of the Shire, her face lighting with a pleasant smile that only deepened her resemblance to her brother. Merry appreciated this, even while feeling a little unsettled. She was tall like Boromir, too—very tall. The Men of Gondor generally stood higher than the Rohirrim, to be sure, but though no man, she must be taller than many if not all of the Riders. Certainly more than any woman he’d seen except Lady Galadriel.

“I am Fíriel, daughter of Denethor,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

“You are, er, welcome,” he said. Even to himself, his tone seemed flat and strange.

“Perhaps you would walk with me, unless the exertion is too much,” said Fíriel.

“Oh, no,” Merry said, then flushed. “I mean, it isn’t.”

She gestured towards the steps that led down to the gardens, a certain gentle command in the gesture, and they walked together on the greensward, among the early foliage. After a minute or so of silence, she said,

“You have already done a great deal for my people, Meriadoc—more than we could ever repay. But I would ask something still further.”

“What is it, my lady?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound rude.

“I am a healer, of sorts,” said Fíriel, which did not at all surprise him. “I have often worked in these Houses, and I wish to help those whom I can. I just met with one of these people, a person recovering in body but not in spirit, and I hoped you might be able to assist me.”

More puzzled than ever, Merry said, “Well—if I can help—but I don’t quite see how.”

“You accompanied the Lady Éowyn to Minas Tirith, I believe,” she replied.

All at once, his confusion cleared. “Oh! Yes. Is she the one you’re trying to help?”

Fíriel nodded.

“I would like to help her,” he said frankly, “but I still don’t see how.”

“I know very little of her,” Fíriel told him. “I thought you might tell me more, so that I might better understand her malady, if you can without breaking her confidence.”

Merry was already nodding, now eager to comply. Despite how little he knew or understood Fíriel, he felt a sudden conviction that this gracious lady might indeed be able to help, if anyone could.

“I don’t think there were any confidences,” he said, thinking it over. “Except as Dernhelm, of course, though she still didn’t tell me.”

“Dernhelm?” said Fíriel.

“That was the name she gave when she brought me with her,” said Merry, realizing how little Fíriel—or anyone here—would know of the story. Nothing, really.

So he took a deep breath, and told her everything.

---------

Notes (LOTS OF NOTES)

1) One minute he had been watching Gandalf defend Théoden: One of the underlying ideas of the verse is that canon Faramir wouldn’t be there to exercise his vaguely supernatural command over “men and beasts” in the retreat across the Pelennor, which has multiple consequences, but one of them is that there’s no pyre preventing Gandalf from joining the battle. He suggests in LOTR that he would have been able to save people in the battle if not for the pyre.

2) “I am hungry,” he announced: much of this scene is taken from the book, but of course without Merry’s mourning of Théoden.

3) a chainmail hauberk made of some black metal, and a black surcoat over it, embroidered with the symbol of a white tree: taken from the earlier description in the book.

4) Éomer was nearly as tall, like Boromir had been: UT says Éomer was of like height with Aragorn, inheriting the trait from his Gondorian grandmother, while Boromir is described in Fellowship as only a little shorter than Aragorn. In another note, Tolkien says that Aragorn would be at least 6′6″ (so potentially even taller!) and Boromir, “of high Númenórean lineage,” 6′4″. Very tall indeed to a hobbit :)

5) he bent down to kiss the top of Merry’s head: in the book, he does kiss Merry before he goes!

6) he and the Prince were the only ones who could hold the soldiers together: one of the other consequences of no canon!Faramir to do it. The fic assumes that Denethor’s avoidance of battle wouldn’t extend to a situation where he’s probably the only person who can lead against the Witch-king/Ringwraiths (with Imrahil needed for the sortie).

7) But the same sort of person, if that makes sense: while Denethor is obviously not a Maia, we do hear in ROTK that “Pippin saw a likeness between the two,” and also that Denethor is more reminiscent of Aragorn than Boromir.

8) I like her: Pippin’s instant love for Faramir in the book is carried over to Fíriel here.

9) A bit Elvish: in ROTK, Faramir is described as “one of the Kings of Men born into a later time, but touched with the wisdom and sadness of the Elder Race”

10) you can’t help feeling that you would do anything for her: genderbent version of “he knew now why Beregond spoke his name with love. He was a captain that men would follow, that he would follow, even under the shadow of the black wings.”

11) “Did you ask for a strand of her hair?” he said: one of the things that’s always entertained me about this verse is that Pippin’s love for Faramir basically becomes a scaled-down version of Gimli’s for Galadriel.

12) they told him of their (terrible!) adventures coming to Gondor: I didn’t feel like replicating the fairly extensive conversation they have about it in the book.

13) Pippin’s young friend: Bergil does lead Merry away in the book.

14) there is someone who would like to see you: in the book, we only hear that the Warden tells Faramir that Merry would know more of Éowyn and accordingly, “Merry was sent to Faramir” and “they talked long together.”

15) She had a pretty face: Faramir is described as having a “fair face.”

16) how much it resembled Boromir’s: from ROTK—“Pippin gazing at him saw how closely he resembled his brother Boromir.”

17) She shook his in the manner of the Shire: since Fíriel isn’t in battle, I imagine that she spent a bit more time with Pippin and picked this up.

18) a pleasant smile that only deepened her resemblance to her brother: Frodo describes Boromir’s face as “fair and pleasant” in FOTR.

19) She was tall ... very tall: Faramir is described as “very tall” in TTT and elsewhere said to strikingly resemble Denethor, who was “very tall and in appearance looked like an ancient Númenorean.” Fíriel isn’t quite as towering as Faramir (who has to stoop to kiss the forehead of the tall Éowyn), but she’s still over six feet.

20) The Men of Gondor generally stood higher than the Rohirrim: this is according to UT.

21) a keen, intelligent attention: TTT—“a keen wit lay behind his searching glance.”

22) unable to escape the feeling that her clear grey eyes saw everything there was to see about him: Faramir is generally portrayed this way, but ROTK specifically says that Faramir picks up more than Merry actually says in this scene.

23) a certain gentle command in the gesture: Faramir is described as “commanding” in TTT, but also gentle throughout.

24) Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality: ROTK says Faramir has an air “such as Aragorn at times revealed, less high perhaps, yet also less incalculable and remote.”

25) “I am a healer, of sorts”: this is necessary for Fíriel to be present at all, but I also thought that a Faramir who couldn’t be a warrior would be, in some ways, freer to follow his(her) temperamental inclinations, so it seemed pretty natural for Fíriel to be a scholar/healer. It’s “of sorts” because she does have Númenórean gifts, but they’re very different from Aragorn’s kingly healing.

26) this gracious lady: Denethor accuses of Faramir of always trying to appear lordly, generous, gracious, and gentle; my interpretation is that he (and therefore Fíriel) really is those things.

#lmao it took five years to write these 3000 words #i was going to make footnotes for all the canon references but i'm too lazy rn #i'll probably go back and edit that in later though #anghraine's fic #genderbending #fíriel of minas tirith #/#//#///#meriadoc brandybuck #faramir #fíriel daughter of denethor #éowyn #peregrin took #aragorn #lord of the rings #legendarium blogging #legendarium fic

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