#lacuna elf
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Here is the flag and ruler of the second kingdom on Ru’aira!
The loosely connected Elvish kingdoms of Ithildin gather under the banner of Ru’aira’s first city, Mélamarimma. Ruled by a supposed demigod, Priestess-Queen Mal’ryne Aleanna, the capital is a hub for knowledge.
#d&d#dungeons & dragons#dungeons and dragons#dnd#my art#my stuff#homebrew#malryne aleanna#lacuna elf#elf#elf subrace#demigod#dnd campaign#dnd npc#dnd art#dnd character#artist#ithildin
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Lacunae
Tav is back in Baldur's Gate after having spent months at sea, and she finds herself in the Elfsong looking for something. She finds it in hidden in a corner: a handsome elf with striking white hair and an arrogant smile. A kindred spirit in a way.
Or, Tav meets Astarion five years before the events on the nautiloid and they spend one night together. Five years later, Tav still remembers, but Astarion seems to have forgotten.
Pairing: Astarion x Tav (f)
Rating: explicit
Wordcount: 24,723 (series total, consisting of nine oneshots)
Seperate links under the cut.
Part 1: The one that got away
A night five years before canon.
Part 2: Until the sun comes up
The first night in the clearing.
Part 3: The language of scars
The tiefling party.
Part 4: A snippet of nighttime
Astarion's dreams.
Part 5: When we meet
The confession.
Part 6: Step into the light
Early relationship softness.
Part 7: To live again
The graveyard.
Part 8: Counterpart
Post graveyard filth.
Part 9: Something in the water
More post graveyard filth.
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Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1
Tar-Míriel vs Eöl
Tar-Míriel:
The last queen of Númenor, who was forcibly married by her cousin Ar-Pharazôn.
RIGHTFUL QUEEN OF NUMENOR her throne was STOLEN from her and I may have constructed an entire personality for her based mostly on the lacunae where she is NOT described but it's canon-supported, okay! Like - she didn't support Pharazon, she didn't support Sauron, but she didn't ever act on that in any way major enough to make it into the narrative! It's just in the very last possible minute that she does something, trying to climb the Meneltarma to get to the sacred place at the top - and the Meneltarma I'm pretty sure was erupting at the time? So this isn't her trying to get to safety, this is her trying to make it to the holy place before the wave catches her. But it's too late and she's carried off. And I read SO much into that, that the phrasing is specifically "too late she strove to ascend the steep ways of the Meneltarma to the holy place" - I read it as a metaphor for her entire queenship, how she WANTED to oppose Sauron and Pharazon, but their power was overwhelming and she couldn't see a way to succeed. So she waited, and waited, and waited, and watched for an opportunity that never came, and who knows what would have happened if she'd just thrown aside caution and acted? Maybe she would've been killed, and her supporters with her. Probably that's what would have happened. But maybe not! And she will never, never know, because the time slipped by with waiting until suddenly the earth was shaking and the sea was surging over the land, and there was no more time.
Eöl:
Called the Dark Elf. Husband of Aredhel, whom he later killed, and father of Maeglin.
listen i know we’re all mad abt aredhel but eöl makes Some Points abt turgon’s claims of kingship/authority in beleriand and the fact that it’s a Pretty Shitty Move of turgon to be like “welcome to hotel gondolin, you can never leave, so live here or die here, it’s your choice” bc what kind of choice is that at all. the only guy in the silm who’s like “hey by what token do you claim your authority anyway” who Isn’t just trying to maintain their Own claim to kingship. a vote for the dark-elf of nan elmoth is a vote for anarchy <3
Round 1 masterpost
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Huh, i think I forgot to post this when I did it, because it's still lurking in my drafts... Anyway, have it now.
Tag people to get to know them better. Tagged by @blackjackkent .
Tagging @invisible-goats , @sassyminnesotan , @solavillain , @fixomnia-scribble
Last Song: Angel's Punishment (XX version) by Lacuna Coil (because I'm back on teenage goth music, apparently)
Currently Watching: House MD. The chicken bet is now my favorite thing ever. Also re-listening to season 4(?) of the DnDnD podcast. Highly recommend.
3 Ships: Varric/Hawke form Dragon Age 2 (because chaos); Isobel/Aylin from BG3 (sure, bury your gays. Just make sure you dig them up again so they can live happily ever after); Jaheira/Rasaad from BG2 (@blackjackkent fine, you convinced me. You're not TOTALLY alone over there. Looking forward to the next chapter.)
Favorite Color: Orange. Also like dark blue (most of my gear) and dark or army green (most of my clothes).
Currently Consuming: DnDnD podcast, all things Baldur's Gate, The Magnus Protocol (which I'm behind on).
First Ship: y'all want me to remember that? It was a Long Time Ago. Melissa/Rex from Scott Westerfeld's Midnighters? Cloud/Tifa from Final Fantasy 7?
Place of Birth: Vancouver Island
Current Location: Northern British Columbia
Relationship Status: Single. Not opposed to the concept of dating, but I'm a) picky and b) not good at thinking or forming sentences around the handful of people I'm actually interested in.
Last Movie: Movies aren't my thing. They're usually too long for my attention to hold for a whole one, and hard to convince myself to go back to when I know there's only like 20 minutes left. Probably a very bad streaming service monster movie (wait, probably the latest Jeepers Creepers. Like I said, Bad.)
Currently Working On: theoretically Saints and Zealots, but I haven't done much on that lately. Some character writing for Skye (my half-elf druid) in BG3. And more practically painting and some renos on my house because it's spring and I live in a construction site.
#tag game#thanks Roz!#fandom things#i still think rasaad is lowest quality boyfriend material#(not that i don't like him. hes a great character and fun to read. but objectively the boyfriend material equivalent of like...#polyester blend denim or maybe craft felt)#but i prefer fictional relationships to be a disaster it's more fun that way
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HD older fic recs : post OOTP
Here are a few recs for older fics that were written between Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince came out. Posted in alphabetical, order as always.
Beyond Wild Moor and Fen by furiosity [58k]
In the summer before Harry Potter’s sixth year at Hogwarts, something relatively inconsequential causes him to wonder if he’d been barking up the wrong tree the whole time, as far as girls went. As the year progresses – amongst activities geared towards house unity, nefarious Slytherin plots, and dealing with the loss of loved ones – Harry begins to wonder if perhaps giving people a chance isn’t so scary, after all. What does all that have to do with Draco Malfoy? Why, everything, of course.
Disintegrate by RurouniHime [3k]
Draco has it all figured out: what he wants, what he needs. But some things are meant to be overturned…
Eclipse by Mijan [287k]
"You're dead, Potter... I'm going to make you pay..."
Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.
Inevitable by taradiane [3k]
Ginny got exactly what she wanted when she married Harry…didn’t she?
Left My Heart by @emmagrant01 [85k]
Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him. (Post-Hogwarts, set in February, 2004. Written before Half-Blood Prince was released.)
Surrender the Grey by @emmagrant01 [151k]
Draco Malfoy returns to London after five years of self-imposed exile to start a new life with Harry. But will the secrets of the past destroy everything they’ve worked for? Sequel to “Left My Heart”
Objects of Desire by Azrael Geffen [400k+]
The dream team sign a magical contract promising to lose their virginities within the year, they soon fix on the objects of their desires, but will the bitterness left in the wake of the war prove too hurtful for love to exist?
On the Last Day of Our World by Sansa [84k]
During a detention, Harry and Draco get locked in a strange room together overnight. When they escape the next morning, they discover they are alone. Love, angst and adventure abound as they struggle to survive in an empty world.
Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone by Azhure [560k]
A set of enchanted journals bring solace to two very unlikely lost souls. Whoever said the art of penmanship was lost? This is a wizarding twist on the old fashioned art of correspondence (or the modern art of Internet chatting). What will happen when the mystery writers finally discover the identity of their counterpart? Join this star crossed pair as they obliviously chat to each other; along the way learning about life and love. Find out what will happen when their own voyages of self discovery lead them to the most unlikely of places. This is eventual HP/DM, but other pairings for the protagonists along their journey.
Tempus Fugit by Poison Pen [90k+]
A monumental cock-up in Potions means that Harry and Draco have more to contend with than mutual enmity. A journey of discovery, self-reflection and love.
A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki [104k]
Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.
Delicate Sound of Thunder by geoviki [61k]
Draco Malfoy has always known that happily ever after is only true for fairy tales. When someone threatens to expose his wartime past, he risks his life to protect his secrets, but learns he’s not the only one with something to hide. The sequel to A Thousand Beautiful Things.
Tomorrow by @novembersnowflakes [4k]
For Harry and Draco, the dawn is long in coming. (Prequel to “Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow”)
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by @novembersnowflakes [57k]
When the long-missing Draco Malfoy turns up at a Ministry field hospital with amnesia, bitter Auror Harry Potter must confront the shadows of their shared past to shed light on a potentially deadly mystery.
Daybreak by @novembersnowflakes [5k]
Harry Potter, Draco knows, has a habit of keeping his promises. (Coda to “Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow”)
The Way of the World by zionsstarfish [5k]
Draco (barely) makes a living as delivery boy. His last parcel for the day is for Mr. Harry Pot–
I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!
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I’m mostly gonna talk about the main 4 fics I’m currently writing for.
1st: Zero.
A story about vigilante Shigaraki who is looking for a cure for his broken quirk. Along the way he picks up an orphaned Izuku along with the members of the league. Izuku picks up Katsuki and later both Izuku & Tomura pick up Dabi & Shoto. This is a ShigaDabi, TodoBakuDeku fic with some background ships. It’s my main project right now that I’ve been planning out for years.
2nd: Lacuna- The Missing Piece
Izuku is a ghost tied to Katsuki. He’s not sure why he’s stuck to his former childhood friend but guesses it’s the universes way of saying Fuck You. Izuku faces new challenges alongside Katsuki at UA, both new and past problems causing him to get distracted from his goal of finding out why he’s still in the world of the living and why little by little it seems like he’s gaining life once more.
3rd: The Ashes of Magic
Dabi known to all as the Black Mage, is one of the few of his kind not to kill elves. Mages are born to kill elves, taught at a young age to kill without mercy, but when a elf saves him as a child he vows never to hurt an elf so long as he lives. This declaration gets him kicked out of his village and sent on the run from every mage who know sees him as a threat. Along the way, he saves an Elf child which lands him in Rune forest where he meets Shigaraki, an Elf who can use magic. Many trials await both Shigaraki & Dabi as the two face various threats and a growing bond between them both.
4th: will be decided at a later date as I’m not sure which of my projects I wanna put on the back burner as of right now. I have an Idea of which one I wanna focus on but I’ll need to outline it a bit more before I announce is as my fourth project.
My life is hectic right now with me finishing school, working, looking for a new job and moving to a knew state. So I write when I can. But I’ll keep y’all posted as much as possible. Things should go a lot more smoothly after I settle down.
#bnha#fanfic#writer#writers on tumblr#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#writing#dabi#shigaraki tomura#shigadabi#bnha oc#midoriya izuku#bakugou katsuki#deku#projects#anime fanfic#ao3
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❥ Namjoon Fic Recs
❣ Each blurb gives a glimpse of the contents of each fic, but be sure to read the warnings before proceeding! ❣
❥ I Loathe You by sweetestofchaos | oneshot, tumblr
↳ As a Dark Elf, Namjoon hates humans...so what happens when he finds out the object of his lust is one?
❣ Female Reader
❣ smut | fantasy au, strangers to lovers
❣ warnings: dubcon & rough hate fucking
↻ read my review
❥ Lacuna by eoieopda | oneshot, tumblr
↳ In his twenty-eight years, Kim Namjoon had made countless mistakes. Most of them were insignificant and could be shoved easily enough into the back corner of his mind. The worst of them were all tied for first place, keeping him up at night. Loving you, losing you, and now – picking up the phone.
❣ Female Reader
❣ angst, smut | exes to lovers
↻ read my review
❥ Little Intimacies by borahae-k | drabble, tumblr
↳ Joon's SICK sick, needy, and still funny af. So you go from partner to nurse with your sexual healing. Domestic, intimate stuff.
❣ Female Reader
❣ smut, humor | established relationship
↻ read my review
❥ Right Here Right Now by hobidreams | oneshot, tumblr
↳ What if little red wants to be eaten by the big bad wolves?
❣ Female Reader | Feat. Yoongi & Hoseok
❣ group, smut, pwp, humor | werewolf au, college au, friends to lovers
↻ read my review
❥ Curse of the Serpent by colormepurplex2 | oneshot, tumblr
↳ Perseus, also known by his mortal name Namjoon, sets forth armed with godly weapons and a determination to do what others have failed– find and slay the creature known only as Medusa, who is rumored to be in a sea cave at the edge of the world. Only things aren’t always as they seem. Using his bronze shield as a mirror, Namjoon can see that there’s more to the story and that perhaps his sword isn’t the answer after all.
❣ Namjoon x Jimin
❣ angst, smut, fluff | enemies to fated lovers, greek myth au
❣ warnings: intent of murder, mention of violence
↻ read my review
Namjoon | Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook
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The King's Curse, ch. 18
[cw] physical violence, blood, death
[reading time] 5½ mins.
Queen Morrigan towered above me, barely concealed disdain dripping down her nose. I needed a plan, but the pain in my shoulder wouldn’t let me focus. My fingers slipped into my pocket, remembering one thing: and there they found the black flower retrieved from the mountain. That gave me a few ideas, and I prayed at least one of them would work.
I held the blossom aloft for Morrigan to see. Beside me, Rayna gasped, “What’re you doing with that? I thought you dropped it!”
“Just trust me,” I whispered in her ear. “I’ll need your help, though. Can you do that?”
Her eyes darted to mine, alarm evident, but she responded with a hesitant nod. I smiled back at her and pushed myself up to my feet as best I could, though the Queen still towered over my head.
“Your Majesty,” I addressed her. “With all due respect, I ask you to uphold our contract. I went to the mountain and fetched a black crocus, as requested.”
Surprising me, Rayna matched my stride. “Right! And now she’s leaving the Wintervale with me, which fulfills our contract.”
Nepenthe scowled from behind his Queen. “Is this true, Your Majesty? They accuse you of taking an oath in vain.”
Morrigan’s nostrils flared. “Silence! Our contracts were void the moment you violated the sanctity of Our court!” She took a breath and composed herself, conjuring one of her cat-like grins. “Were you to return without further outbursts, We might forgive your transgressions.”
She extended her hand, palm toward the sky. I watched the motion cautiously.
“Come,” she purred. “You are wounded. Let Us tend to you.”
My eyes fell to the crossbow bolt lodged in my shoulder. The wound wept blood down my arm, but honestly, it didn’t pain me that much anymore. I twirled the black crocus between my fingers, admiring it.
“These little flowers hold immense power,” I mused.
The Queen narrowed her eyes. “You crave power, do you? We offer it freely.”
My ice-green eyes fixed on the midnight hues of hers. “It’s not the power itself, Your Majesty. It’s where it comes from that fascinates me.”
She flipped her outstretched hand around, bringing her thumb and forefinger close together. The gesture was not lost on me, nor was the warning tone in her voice. “Speak carefully, alchemist…”
No more words. With a flick of my wrist, I conjured a bright blue barrier with the crocus at its centre, drawing power from the bloom itself. Despite my preparation, the strength contained within it still shocked me. A long bolt of lightning erupted from the Queen’s fingers and struck the shield, but my gambit worked—the spell held.
“Rayna!” I shouted. “I need your help now!”
My girlfriend stepped forward and made a sigil in the air, layering a second barrier with my own to help deflect the attack. A second later, a barrage of crossbow bolts plinked off the shimmering surface of our combined defence.
“This is intense!” gasped Rayna. “She’s still going to win…”
“Just hold on,” I assured her. “You’ve got the strength, I know it! Hold on while I get things ready.”
She nodded back at me, her face scrunched more with focus than strain. “I feel it. This land… it does something to my magic.”
“That’s the spirit!”
I released the crocus, and it remained suspended in the radiant disc of light, small sparkles of magic drifting through the surrounding air. The channel of pure power intensified the shield and blinded my eyes. It would help, but the flower was finite. Frantically, I rummaged through my belt pouch, grabbing several vials of alchemical reagents.
The Queen’s soldiers drew swords and approached. To my relief, Mal leapt forward, swinging his enormous fists like hammers at the closest dark elves. The Queen concentrated on Rayna and me, and she released Lacuna from her grasp to bring more power to bear upon us. This only secured the spriggan’s position as our dark elf companion came to his aid, using sheets of ice to block sword and bolt. All the while, Nepenthe was like a statue upon his horse, unmoving, unreadable. I wondered momentarily what thoughts entered his mind, but I couldn’t let that distract me.
My face burned with the intense heat of Morrigan’s spell. No time for measurements, I just cycled through the necessary vials: a pinch of silver powder for strength, pure quicksilver to bond the connections, and a draught of aqua regia as a catalyst. I tossed them wildly toward the crocus, and it sparkled with even more intensity than before. The lines I suspected all along revealed themselves, finely woven like a spider’s web. The thread-thin lines criss-crossed the ground, draped across the Queen like a silk cloak, and led all the way back toward the mountain where the other flowers bloomed.
Rayna dropped to one knee, struggling to hold back the fey royal’s onslaught of crackling electricity, and I kneeled beside her.
“I don’t think I can hold this much longer,” she said through gritted teeth. “What’re you doing?”
“You see them?” I asked. “The things that look like ley lines?”
She clenched her jaw and nodded.
“Okay, then get ready,” I instructed. “You’ll need to move fast, but I want you to follow those lines and do just what you did on top of the mountain yesterday.”
The Queen’s voice bellowed over the cacophony of wild magic, her power intensifying with her anger. “Insolent children! We will reduce you to ash!”
In that instant, Nepenthe moved.
His hand was as lightning, drawing the whip from his hip and swinging it behind himself in one fluid motion. The column of flexible vertebrae sliced through the air toward the Queen, and the tailbone tip snapped against her wrist.
Her hand fell, severed. She screamed, more out of rage than pain.
A dozen quarrels pierced Nepenthe’s armour, his own soldiers’ response to his treason. There was no time to worry about him, though. It was the opening we needed. I opened my mouth to give Rayna the word, but then a thunderclap broke through the air. Morrigan raised her other hand and shot another bolt of lightning in our direction, pinning us down.
“I have an idea,” Rayna yelled.
Before I could object, she swung the barrier upward and over her head. She deflected the angle of the Queen’s attack, scattering sparks of magic in every direction. Then, to my utter surprise, she sent it flying towards the fey royal like a discus. I’d never seen such a novel use of the spell! Morrigan had no choice but to redirect her attack at the spell itself before it severed her head from her neck.
The minor victory was short-lived, however. The Queen’s electrical onslaught not only shattered the flying barrier, but continued through it to strike both of us. We were so close… was this the end? It was painless, thankfully, though I couldn’t say why. As we fell backwards to the ground, I prayed for Rayna’s forgiveness for getting us both killed.
Rayna jerked her hand one last time, grasping the crocus out of the air. Another crack broke through the din of battle, but it was not a physical whip this time. Lines of light extended from the flower, tightened, and closed around Queen Morrigan, constricting her both physically and magically. Her scream echoed like the howl of a wolf, anger and frustration bathing every surface of the landscape around us.
And yet she stood. It was not enough. The movement of the sorcery connecting her to the flowers and the mountain itself drew her backwards centimetre by centimetre, but she struggled against it. Sweat beaded on her brow as every fibre of her being strove to remain in place.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “How dare you? How dare you? We are the Queen of the Winter Court! We will not be bested by some human!”
Lacuna suddenly appeared from behind her, inspecting her situation with mock curiosity. “Oh my. Looks like Rayna did best you. Well then, toodeloo, Mother!”
A blade of ice formed around their right hand, and they plunged it into their own mother’s flesh. A final shriek of anguish shook the very land around us, but her form dissipated and flew toward the mountain at unimaginable speed, fading from sight.
With the Queen gone, her soldiers’ morale broke like common reeds. They all dropped their weapons and fled back into the forest, never looking back. All… save for Nepenthe. Despite the bolts piercing his armour, he held fast to his steed and breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his porcelain face.
His grey eyes met mine, their expression softer than I’d ever seen. “Thou art both wise and cunning, m’lady. I will no longer be party to these… depravations.”
Before I could thank him, he gathered shadow around himself and disappeared. I hoped he might be okay, but part of me worried he merely wanted to die somewhere out of sight.
Rayna still laid on top of me where we fell, and I wrapped my arms around her. “Rayna! We did it! Can you believe it? That actually worked!”
There was no response. Lacuna and Mal both closed the distance to us.
“Is she okay?” asked the spriggan.
She was heavy upon me, but I pushed up to a sitting position, still cradling her in my arms. Her head lolled to one side, and I gripped her even tighter when I felt she wasn’t breathing.
“Rayna? Rayna? Talk to me!”
#story#short story#writing#fiction#originalfiction#oc#my oc#original character#fantasy#modernfantasy#magic#witchcraft#sorcery#alchemy#supernatural#fey#fairy#elf#elves#neurodivergent lit#queer lit#bywb2#violence tw#blood tw#death tw
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'All I want for Christmas is you' 🌹
Sorry this list is late, but ya know...life.
My Character is the Dark Elf, for the Light Elf's CC please head over to @plumbaleena ❤
Eyeslashes: [Kijiko]eyelash_YF_version2 Nails: Pralinesims_Nails_Female_N27_SugarMilk Earrings: Ultimate Collection by Pralinesims Piercings: Ulitmate Collection by Pralinesims Freckles: Simbience_Demure_Freckles MERGED
Ears: EVOXYR_presetEars_05galactic
Body Pre-set: miiko-sophie-body-preset-v2
Outfit One
Hat: In Game Hair: CLUMSYALIEN [PETRA HAIR] Dress: [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Silky Dress Fishnet Top: CandySims4-FishnetBodysuit[Gloves]Tights: in Game Socks: CASTERU Eunwoo Socks Shoes: [literalite] emmanuel sneakers F
Outfit Two
Hat: In Game Hair: [arethabee] Marie hair Top: [Lady_Kendal]Halloween_RetroTops_TrillykeRecolor Mesh Top: [arethabee] ana sheer accessory top Jeans: [bloodmoon_SIMBLREEN 2021] lacuna jeans_female Fishnets: Trillyke_Warning_Tights Shoes: Darte77_f_ConverseAllStarHTSneakersHQ
#simstagram#sims 4#sims 4 custom content#sims 4 simblr#sims 4 edit#sims4cc#sims 4 screenshots#sims 4 cas#simblr#the sims 4#ts4#the sims#mysims
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I’d love author commentary on basically the whole scene at Ekkaia in all my war is done (or any individual part of that scene, if your prefer). Taken together, it’s one of the most beautiful and emotionally complex and heartrending things you’ve written, from the description of the sea itself, to the difficulties of Fingon and Alqualondë, to Gil and the ocean and his ‘mother’, to Fingon and Gil beginning to tackle the thorny subect of Maedhros.
I should admit something about all my war is done: it's the most fugue-like my writing has ever been. I jotted down a few notes on my commute into work - I was deeply underwater with my PhD at the time, three months away from submitting - and then the idea of writing a sequel to scion seized me so profoundly that I sat down in the Starbucks where my bus stops, took out my laptop, and wrote instead of just collecting my coffee and walking down to my office. I wrote 15k. In one day. In about five or six hours. I've never achieved anything like that before or since - I do have good days where I can knock 2-4k out easily, but not 15k. (You might note that the posted part of all my war is done is only 12k, but I wrote all the way up into the next bit with Fingon in Tirion that you've read, up until Turgon at the dinner table). I didn't sit down or plan events; I didn't actually know much about what would happen: but I knew they were going to Ekkaia and they'd have some kind of resolution there. These are my phone-notes, from that morning:
You can see, I think, something of the way an idea hits me. I note down a few snatches of plot, not necessarily in any order, some lines I think people should say at some point, although I might not use them, sketch out some things (Formenos's ruins were going to feature more heavily, but they're waiting for a later story).
(It makes me laugh, the words my phone doesn't accept - Gil-galad, for one - and the ones it automatically capitalises from where I've yelled enthusiastically about elf things at people. I never stop long enough to correct spelling etc when I'm trying to get something down).
I clearly knew from inception that I wanted Fingon's place to be called the hill of waiting, and had tried out the name in Sindarin; because my verbs are not good, I came up with Amon Dartha. It was when I was redrafting that I realised Amon Darthir had existed actually in Dor-lomin(!!!) and the name was even more perfect symbolically than I'd meant it to be! Did I know that, unconsciously? I don't know.
You can see, too, that the Sea of Ekkaia was almost the very first point to hit me, and that I knew it and the scene there would be important, and that I knew that the story was about Fingon finding a way to tell Gil-galad that he had been loved, and wanted, and that meant talking about Maedhros; and that at the end I wanted Gil-galad to be gently, impersonally, firmly clear that he would not, could not, be staying to wait with Fingon.
Okay, DVD commentary proper - I'm sorry, I remember awfully little about writing this, given the fugue state and my thesis and everything, so I'm not sure how useful this will be!
“Oh,” said Gil-galad when they broke out of the woods and began to ride down over the dune-lands to the rocky shore. “Oh!”
The Sea of Ekkaia was beautiful, in its own way, but that way that was like no other place in Arda, in either Aman or Middle Earth.
It was a dark-blue that was almost black, even in the late afternoon, and the shore was less sand than gravel, a strange inconsistent rubble of rock and broken sea-shells that had been dashed to pieces by the constant fury of the waves. Staring out to sea, one did not see the far-away horizon the way one did on the gentler coast of Belegaer: there was no gentle faraway blue haze through which one might, perhaps, on a clear day, imagine that Middle Earth could be glimpsed, or at least the Straight Path.
No: instead along the horizon there was a seam of silver light, and then a great blackness, where the Sea of Ekkaia met the Uttermost West that was not quite the Doors of Night, but was certainly the end of Aman itself. If you stood on the shore watching, the seam would ripple with a pulse of light, sometimes green and sometimes white.
It was so far from anywhere the Eldar of Valinor lived. While they clustered around the Belegaer like moths to flame, this shore seemed instead to repel them. Was it the sight of the world’s end itself? It might be; yet Fingon thought there was more to why this wilderness was so little visited, this howling black sea lashing itself against a grey shore. It was beautiful, but not in the way Elves liked things to be beautiful: it was too raw, too unfinished, too savage.
It was too close to where Mandos kept his Halls, which were not only a thing of spirit but also matter, at least in the way that things in Aman were both. Too close to where Nienna’s tower looked out into the Void and where she wept, and wept, and wept. It was too close to death and to rebirth, to judgment and to pity.
There's a little Dawn Treader, I think, in this idea of the uttermost West. I don't know why I thought the seam of the world should pulse with strange light, but it's an uncanny kind of geography, so near Mandos and Nienna, and I like the sense that this is the end of the world, but not the end of the universe.
A lot of this came together serendipitously. I knew some kind of memorialisation of the river that bore Gil-galad needed to be part of his story; that meant going to the sea; and it's clear from the notes that I had already decided that couldn't mean Alqualonde because of kinslaying reasons and memories. (And that that too would need to be confronted). Therefore: roadtrip to Ekkaia. Therefore, the question: what would Ekkaia be like? We don't really know anything about it - only the good qualities of Belegaer. This was really written by a process of inversion, a way of pulling what we know about Belegaer inside-out, and imagining a place at the world's edge, a place that was empty, a place that was uncannily close to difficult things, to Mandos and Nienna; a place that seemed to repel the Eldar as surely as Belegaer drew them like iron filings.
I was thinking visually about New Zealand, too. I spent my childhood summers on the beaches up north, mostly around Tūtūkākā, which are bright and lovely, with golden or white or tawny sand, with gnarled pohutukawa and blue-green water. Like this:
That's what beach and sea meant to me, and it was a shock the first time I went to one of the black sand beaches where the wind howled and the colours weren't blue, green, gold, but iron, grey, navy, black. I loved it, but it felt so other, so passionate, so strange. That shock and that wild beauty and desolation were things I wanted to get at, though Ekkaia would be far more wild and desolate still.
They left the horses in the thin sea-grass, and their shoes, too, and walked down to the water. “I missed it,” Gil-galad said, and closed his eyes, breathing in the brine. “I missed it badly, all the long years besieging Mordor before I died.”
I think Gil-galad would be very marked by his upbringing first in the Falas and then on Balar; you don't lose that, if you grew up by the sea.
The wind took up his long dark hair and made a banner of it as they walked along the rough crescent of rocky ground where the waves met the shore, and around their bare ankles small stones tumbled back and forth in the lace-edge of the water.
When I was young I used to stand in the water and let the waves bury me up to my ankles, watching the water move in, out, spreading skirts of lace overlapping as new waves came in. I could do it for hours. There's something very liminal about the water's edge, between the solid land and the sea, which is why I put this conversation in it, I think. They're in a liminal space and at a liminal moment. It's the scene the whole story has been inexorably building toward, the point where all Fingon's painful scraping-away of his barriers finally reaches his skin.
“Sometimes in Middle Earth it became very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said, his eyes still closed, “in the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.” He opened his eyes and looked towards the Uttermost West where the world ended. “And here it is impossible not to. Look at it!"
This is a little more hopeful than the original version, which I don't have anymore, but went pretty much:
"Sometimes in Middle Earth it was very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said. "In the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.”
It was a comment more about Gil-galad's rueful scepticism than wonder - because he fought the Dagorlad before he died, because he spent the last ten years of his life in mud and blood and filth and horror. I work on the First World War - its literary legacy and traces in the decades after, more than its immediate experience or actuality, because there was a ten-year period after 1918 where it was more latent than overt, a traumatic lacuna of silence, a Nachträglichkeit- and I thought in the blood, and the mud, and the filth was a little too on the nose.
I kept it, though, because Tolkien was drawing on his own memories of the trenches with the Dagorlad and the Dead Marshes, with those blurred lines of solid land and mud/bog, the living mixed up with the remains of with the dead, all the themes you see again and again in the war poetry and the officer war-books. (Santanu Das is very good on this, as is Eric Leed). Paul Fussell is a bit old-hat now, but his argument that WWI altered the sensibility of its survivors because of their close, consanguinous co-existence with the dead is something I still find valuable. I think there's a lot of WWI survivor in the way I think of Gil-galad, actually, I'm just realising - not that he survived the Last Alliance. He's detached in a different way from Fingon. Fingon's built himself a thick layer of repression/denial, a kind of callous to protect himself from confronting or thinking about what Maedhros did, and what that means for him and to him; Gil-galad is entirely present, but somewhat detached in some ways, the way people who came back from war could be. Not that Fingon and Finrod aren't also separated from the Amanyar by their time in Beleriand and experience of war and death, but Gil-galad lived there for millennia, and he fought a longer, harder, more total kind of war than they did.
But he's at the Sea of Ekkaia, as west as you can get. So much of Tolkien is about that endless longing glance west, that movement: why is this very westernmost edge so under-explored?
I wanted Gil-galad to be softened by this encounter with the sea, so I went back and let his wonder be as much at the spectacle itself as the sea, like the greater hand at work he had sometimes doubted being visible was something wonderful rather than something to be bitter about. I wanted to position him to be potentially open to, perhaps, the Valar; perhaps, to Fingon. I hope he doesn't come off as closed-minded: I think of him as having a fair mind, and good judgment, but - despite placing him here between the sea and the shore - very clear personal lines between what he thinks is just, and what is not. Certainly, it helps a lot, never having known the Feanorians when they had not fallen.
The seam of the universe pulsed with light, and beyond it was – what?
Unutterable nothingness, something worse than death.
Perhaps Maedhros.
This is an important line for Fingon. He hasn't though the name of his own accord for much of the story, flinching away from it; it's only come in when Finrod and then Gil-galad speak the name. This is the first time he's thought it clearly of his own free will, and this is I think the first signal that he's brought Gil-galad here to be as honest and earnest with him as he can be, however much it hurts, or however much it might drive him away. Because if he isn't, and doesn't, Gil-galad will be driven away anyway, and Fingon wants to be connected with him, the first time he's wanted that kind of bond with anyone since he returned.
(I think of Finrod as someone who just kept turning up, regularly, and forcing Fingon to associate with him; and then bringing Amarie; and then his children; and not taking no for an answer. It bothers Turgon rather terribly that they seem to be friends now, when they were never that close Before: that Fingon pushes him away, but allows Finrod to keep pushing; that Finrod does push. He doesn't know about Gil-galad, of course).
He's brought Gil-galad here to show him if possible that he was wanted, to conjure up lost Ringwil where she might be felt if not found; and to do the same for Maedhros. This is a signal that this journey to the sea is as much about Gil-galad's missing father as his missing mother.
The almost-forgotten tang of salt in the air always mingled with the smell of blood in Fingon’s worst memories, and he was not the only one who remembered. The waves were gentle around Gil-galad’s feet, but they boiled furiously around Fingon’s, delivering small spiteful slaps at his calves.
Spiteful was probably the wrong word here. I don't necessarily mean a dramatic boiling or bubbling; but the water is harsh where it touches him, the kind of slapping roughness you get when the tide is coming in rough.
It took Gil-galad longer to mark the difference, engrossed in the joy of the sea and spectacle as he was, and when he did, his face changed. There was something terribly sad in his eyes when he lifted them from the water to look at Fingon.
It wasn’t why he had brought Gil-galad here; but Fingon didn’t want to imagine the look he would receive if he brushed aside the silent question. “No,” he said. “I am not forgiven.”
“So I see.”
They could probably leave it there.
But Fingon won't, because he's trying. He's really trying to connect after all the time flinching away from it, and he's remembering what Gil-galad said about talking, and what Finrod said about mistakes and silences in their first life.
He said, “You said you loathed the thought of being the son of – a murderer. But my own hands have not been clean since Alqualondë, and death didn’t unstain them. All the time you thought I might be your father, you must have known I was a Kinslayer, too.”
I tried to signal this in their earlier tower conversation with Finrod, and Gil-galad's changing of the topic, but I feel like it's a little abrupt here.
“Yes,” Gil-galad said, and his expression didn’t change. “And when the knights that had served you came to me, they told me that you killed that day in ignorance, that you came upon a battle already being fought; that you took up your sword to save those you loved and didn’t question whether it was just. I heard that from others, too, those who had less reason to bend facts to a flattering pattern; survivors of Gondolin and of Nargothrond. I did ask."
“Ignorance wasn’t an excuse. I died ashamed of it, and I live again with the shame.”
"Good!” said Gil-galad, and there was no forgiveness in his voice, even when Fingon jerked his head up in shock. Instead there was the stern ring of a king used to weighing the ideals of justice against the world as it was, the king who had walked arm in arm with Eonwë the Maia, led his people through many full-fledged wars, and held court and meted justice to them for an Age. “That gives me a far better opinion of you than any of the stories did! I’m glad.”
I remember talking to you about this in the comments, about what it meant that Gil-galad wasn't forgiving him. I think I really meant condone, but I also don't think it's Gil-galad's place to absolve Fingon - he wasn't the one wronged! - and that it's important to me that, because Fingon does truly regret it, he doesn't wish to be absolved, to slide away from it. I don't mean he ought to wallow in it or flog himself with it daily, but I think it would be important to him to shoulder and own that guilt rather than ever allowing himself to put it behind him or have someone else tell him it’s quite all right.
I think this is a moment where I show that they're quite similar, too, because even if Fingon wasn't aware that a bracing, clear assessment was just what he wanted, it was what he needed, rather than people being kind (which he's had a lot of, since he returned; and which hasn't touched that central guilt he's hidden from them, that he loved Maedhros, who had done such terrible things. It's prevented him from accepting kindness made him block people reaching out to him. Gil-galad is not being kind, but just, and still reaching out).
It felt like Fingon had been struggling to take a full lungful of air for a long time, and now something constricting in his chest had loosened, as it hadn’t even after the Valar themselves had judged him. It was only now that he realised that he hadn’t wanted Gil-galad to forgive or absolve him. He had wanted – needed – Gil-galad to be better than him, to withhold forgiveness when it was unmerited; and Gil-galad had. He had become the shining legacy they had all hoped he would be, the thing they had all somehow done right.
The water slapped at his ankles again, in impatient reminder.
This is too brief a transition. I should have fleshed the join out more.
“I think Ulmo would come to you here, if you called. You were a king by the sea in Middle Earth, and you may not remember it, but it was a river who gave you life.”
Gil-galad looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “What?”
“I brought you here for a reason,” Fingon said. “Where did they go, the drowned and poisoned rivers of Beleriand? I don’t know; but Ulmo might.”
I've really personified the rivers, but I think it's a clear and easy extrapolation from the Withywindle and the River-daughter in The Fellowship of the Ring that I don't need to justify in order to argue that every river might have had its own attendant Maia-spirit. It does make what happened to the Rivers of Beleriand much worse, though, and I wanted to look at the way a character that was a throwaway mechanism in scion ended up being sickened and dying as horribly as Beleriand did; this story was really about following all those lighter bits in scion home, to the end of the line, and looking at the long-term impacts of something that began more lightly. In this verse, Ringwil was a river, but also a person; and I think of her and Finrod as sharing a strange human-river friendship and overlapping enthusiasms.
He clapped Gil-galad on the shoulder, hoping it said all the things he meant it to say. Affection had been so easy for him once, in the life that had been taken from him by the fiery flails of the Balrogs, but now it came hard, and the sea-smell was in his nose, the terrible memories too close to the surface.
He had surely outstayed Ulmo’s tolerance by now. Fingon left Gil-galad there in the water, and didn’t dare glance back until there was thin sandy soil under his feet again.
Only then did he look once more towards the sea.
Gil-galad was standing in the shallows. His broad shoulders were bunched tight, as if he was readying himself for something very difficult, a confrontation with one of the Valar he had long doubted.
Then he spread his arms out, empty-handed, and tipped his head back, and the light on the horizon grew unbearably bright, whiter than white, more silver than silver; and a face began to move upon the water.
I really like this, honestly. Which I can't/don't say often! The temptation to overwrite this was strong, to show this encounter, to describe the Vala: but I think it's often stronger not to show something numinous, to pull away, to let the mind fill it in.
Again, this is Gil-galad as I imagine him: still somewhat distanced from the Valar by the Dagorlad and the things that happened there (and I think perhaps doubly unhappy in that he lived through the end of an Age once before, and that time, at least, the Valar came: they did not come in the Second, nor send so much as a messenger, and such obscenities as the fall of Ost-in-Edhil and the drowning of Numenor had been allowed to happen, and Men and Elves were left alone to come together and break Sauron's grip). Doubting, but not angry; doubting, but still curious. Open to listening.
a face began to move upon the water is of course a deliberate sideways reference to
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
-
It took a very long time. Fingon could not watch; his eyes dazzled.
Can you tell I was teaching The Duchess of Malfi at this time? Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. That sense of a light too bright and white to look upon; that sense of guilt; that faint reference to life lost untimely. This wasn't meant to be a direct intertextual reference, but that net of meaning was there, lightly. Again, I wanted to under-write rather than over-write. I know I have a tendency to over-write.
And of course - there's a sense here that Fingon is refusing the kind of close enoucnter with Ulmo he could/might have. There's water in his eyes. From the wind?
-
“Thank you,” Gil-galad said when he rejoined him at last. His eyes were glowing, and he whistled Ceredir to him from where he was tearing ropey roots of sea-grass from the dunes with great relish. “Thank you for bringing me here;” and he didn’t say it the way he’d thanked Fingon for the horse, or the armour, or the sword, or even the lance.
Because this is a real gift, something that means something to both of them, something more honest/painful. Fingon's been trying to connect through gifts but not serious conversation or sharing, like some estranged parents do, throwing money at the problem rather than giving of their time or their selves, and however well-meant, it hasn't worked.
“I didn’t truly do anything."
“You brought me to the Sea. I know – I could see – how difficult it was for you."
"Well,” Fingon said lamely. He cleared his throat. “What did Lord Ulmo say about – oh, I can’t call her your dam! – the Maia who bore you? Did she – was she there?”
The dam pun is Finrod's. Don't blame me.
A little of the light dimmed, but it didn’t quite fade away. “No, she’s gone. Back to the Timeless Halls, he says; but one with him again, Ulmo, at the same time.” Gil-galad made a noise. “I don’t pretend to understand any of it, all the metaphysical nonsense of the Ainur! But he was kind to me, and he told me something of her – that she delighted in the making of me.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I left the flowers we gathered earlier in the waves for her and the sea didn’t dash them back onto the shore. I’m sure Ulmo broke a few laws of Arda there.”
I like this image of the flowers suspended in the water. I had it clearly in mind from before I began to write.
"You were wanted.”
“I’m beginning to believe it,” Gil-galad said.
“You should,” Fingon said. He took a breath. Talking is how you sort things out; and a long time ago, Fingon had been known for his valour. Gil-galad deserved to know how much he had been wanted, who had called himself a political compromise given birth. The truth of that had stung.
And it was less than the truth. Fingon could still remember the first time he had opened his mind to Maedhros over the leagues between them and let him see Gil’s small face through his own eyes, holding nothing back. He had shown Maedhros the dark long lashes and the squashed baby nose, the milk-blister on the bow of Gil’s upper lip, the way his whole head turned an alarming red when he wailed; shared with Maedhros Gil’s fondness for being tossed in the air, his splashing joy in his bath.
This is is me trying to describe a baby without being too sentimental about it, because Fingon wasn't all, oh look at the toesie-woesies, or my son, my son: his eye was more detached, and you see him in scion thinking of Gil-galad as it.
I've been thinking about why Fingon in no way allowed himself to consciously dote on the baby, why that streak of denial that's so strong in his second life was there in his first light, and really: it would have been dangerous to let himself love him, to see Gil as his son and Maedhros's. He was born at a time of terrible loss, after the Flame, when they all expected they could die themselves. He was moved around Beleriand like a game-piece. Fingon was always going to lose him: he wasn't going to get to raise him, after all, until and unless Morgoth was defeated. Maedhros wasn't going to meet him, until and unless &c. It was easier not to let oneself get attached than it was to confront those hard facts and let oneself be hurt by them. Easier to think of him as a baby Finwean prince, and that only: a political pawn, not a son.
Conversely, Maedhros maintains a physical distance, but not an emotional one. Here's a bit from Maedhros's perspective:
Finrod had told him that. They had written, back and forth, in the long months as Ringwil’s belly swelled, as the child formed, as it began to move and stretch and turn frog-like inside her. They had corresponded constantly during the first months of the child’s life in Nargothrond, and during the first months of his life, Finrod had sent long scrolls detailing every change in Artanaro’s weight, his length, his hair colour, his eye colour, how much milk he’d consumed each day: screeds winging forth to Himring until the child was old enough to survive the secret trip north.
Fingon’s letters had been infuriatingly spare of useful information while the child was fostered at Barad Eithel. Beloved, ineloquent Fingon: Fingon, who had nevertheless shown him the child as no reams of paper could.
Fingon had given him forever the rounded bloom of his full cheeks, and the pursed mouth, sullen in sleep: the feathery, rather cross-looking eyebrows, and the small hands with their deep dimples and smaller fingernails, curled into the edge of Fingon’s furred mantle.
Maedhros had felt the way Fingon hovered between wonder and confusion at what they’d wrought: the way he couldn’t quite manage to think of the child as his own, this thing spun out of air and calculation and freshwater into heavy, solid life. He could have loved him so desperately, Maedhros knew that. He was halfway there, hovering in terror on the edge, afraid of falling. If the baby had stayed in Barad Eithel longer; if Fingon had watched him begin to creep around on fat little knees, to pull himself up on the furniture and to take his first steps – to hear the baby babble turn into words and speech – his heart would have opened to him like a flower, and the child would have become the centre of his universe, the sun in his sky.
Fingon had never known what to do with Idril as an infant, either, but he’d easily become an adored uncle as she grew up. If they’d had more time – if the child had been permitted to stay with Fingon even a month longer before being sent for safety to Cirdan –
Well, they’d never had enough time.
There had been few walls between them then, so he had felt Maedhros’s bright joy, the painful love, in its moment of birth: swelling and swelling like a cloud with rain, as though his heart was growing and his blood was leaking out of him at the same time, transmuting into pure tenderness and iron purpose.
I like this because I think of the Ekkaia scene as a cloudburst, full of emotion that has been swelling and swelling and now released. This is one bit of the breaking-through.
He had never needed to ask whether Maedhros considered Gil-galad a son.
“I don’t want to talk about – him,” Fingon said with difficulty, and the salt breeze stung his face, his eyes. “I know you loathe him, and rightly; and I do, too. I do hate him; or I hate what he did. I do! But you should know – you deserve to – that he wanted you, badly, although he never met you; he never wanted the shadow on him to touch you or to taint you.
And this. You can see here where I spun off into cliffs of fall, which isn't a scion story, but sprung out of this speech. It was already there in those sketchy notes, too, a lot of what Fingon's saying here: this important line about hating Maedhros, or what he did (that movement from clear certainty to trying to separate the deeds from the loved one; to urgent reptition - I do! I mean it, I really do! - which means he doesn't, can't: this is the heart of Fingon's guilt, because he wants to hate Maedhros utterly, but he can't, and he is profoundly in denial about that).
“He always wanted children; I took that from him even before the Oath did, but I gave it back to him with you. I loved you first of all for that, but he loved you for yourself. Because you existed, against all hope and possibility and fate and chance; and because you were ours.”
Gil-galad said nothing. There was still a wildflower tucked behind his ear, but the brilliance had quite left his eyes.
“Well,” Fingon said at last. “I needed to tell you that. You should know that you were never – not only – you were wanted very much."
Beloved ineloquent Fingon, &c.
-
They were some miles from the beach when Gil-galad said, “‘Ours’?”
“Yes."
-
I was trying to let the gaps and breaks talk for me in the text. Under-writing.
The beginning was full of these little breaks, too, because they didn't yet know how to talk to each other; now at the end, that connection, and their conversations, are breaking down again. It's echoing that ride together at the beginning very strongly, but now it's not Gil-galad trying to become acquainted and Fingon giving light, unsatisfying answers. These are the real questions/answers at last, and the whole story has really been about getting to the point of Fingon and Gil-galad in Aman where they actually could have the kind of conversation Gil-galad was trying to have at the start.
-
Some miles further, Fingon said, “Did you ever meet him in Beleriand? After I died. I always wondered.”
“No,” Gil-galad said.
It didn’t seem like he was going to speak again, and Fingon had begun to assimilate that knowledge, that pain – that Maedhros had never seen him, had only ever known him through Fingon’s own eyes – when he added,
“But I saw what he did. Have you ever seen a whole city ruined, and known the ruiners to be Elves? It wasn’t even a city, poor Sirion! It was a refuge, a place for the desperate, as far to the West as they could get, as close to the safety of the Sea. They had so very little. No great stone palaces, no towers, no spires. Little enough fresh food. They were able to grow so little, and they lived on fish, and sea-weed, and what brave hunting parties would bring back; and hope. They lived on hope, and they thought Elwing wore it around her throat, but the Valar didn’t come for them: Maedhros Fëanorion and his brothers did instead, and they burned and killed and ravaged. I’d say they salted the earth, but it was salt already. To fall on any innocent Elven city would be a horror: on poor Sirion it was the greatest cruelty I ever saw, and entirely pointless."
They said nothing more.
I like this, too, actually. You see a little here of why Gil-galad might be healthily sceptical of the Valar - they didn't come for them: Maedhros Feanorion and his brothers did instead - and that very post-war experience of seeing a descrated, destroyed town. Worse when you had seen it when it was whole, when you knew the dead and fled.
Sirion is, I think, the worst thing the Feanorions did. I find it worse than even Doriath or Alqualonde (though they're all awful!). These were desperate survivors, huddled together at the edge of the sea for protection. So many of their leaders had been killed or lost. Idril and Tuor had disappeared; Earendil was away; Maedhros and the others struck while only Elwing was there, and she was so young, and so alone, and so damaged already by what they'd done in Doriath. And now they’d come again. There's something about the revictimisation that gets me. It's awful.
I wanted it to be weight and counter-weight - that soft, painful, remembered moment of Maedhros seeing baby Gil-galad through Fingon's eyes, something Fingon has clearly not deliberately thought about since he was reborn, but dredges up now for Gil-galad, because he should know: and which is echoed in the beginning by Fingon's question to Finrod. But Maedhros is still the person who did the things he did, and I wanted to set that soft moment of truth against his deeds at Sirion, another truth, to point out clearly why Gil-galad would recoil so hard from this offering, this honesty Fingon wants to be able to give him.
This is the dichotomy at the heart of the story: reconciling Maedhros and how one felt for him with what he did, and how one feels about that. It is irresolvable, at least for Fingon, at least at the moment I've ended it at for now.
I don't know if this is quite what you wanted, @warrioreowynofrohan, especially because like I said, I wrote this story in a frantic fog, but I hope this in some way suffices!
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CREATOR TAG MEME
Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!
tagged by @chloebeale <3
1. outlander
Summary: Beca doesn't care much about college. She's moving to LA next year, only the universe has other plans for her. aka Beca falls into Middle Earth, Chloe is an elf. Bechloe x Lord of the Rings
This one was a real challenge as it was the first time I wrote fantasy, and I also wanted the people not familiar with TLOTR to be able to follow. I’m very proud of myself for completing those twenty chapters (yes, with a three month hiatus in the middle oops) and so happy with the response. Also, Elf!Chloe was such a trip to write.
2. tides
Summary: Chloe wants to push her away because she feels pathetic and weak, but Beca’s lips feel like a siren’s song; Chloe can’t resist it, despite knowing it will most likely lead her to wreck.
Something different from the style I usually write in. Took me a year to write lol but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.
3. if there's a light at the end (i choose you)
Summary: While fleeing Nazi controlled France, Chloe crosses paths with Beca Mitchell, a member of the French resistance.
I love writing historical AU’s and this one has a special spot in my writer’s heart.
4. lacuna
Summary: The sky is a moody grey. Beca's memories are fuzzy; she doesn’t remember much except stripping down to her underwear and lowering herself into the filled bathtub.
Heavy subject. Writing supporting Chloe is one of my favorite things and I like how their relationship evolved through Beca’s hardships.
5. quarantining
Bechloe + kids during the pandemic
Just a little fun piece that I really enjoyed writing :)
tagging (sorry if you’ve already been tagged!) @massivedrickhead, @ninth-on-eight, @snowydot
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Name: Rostek
Race/Class/Alignment: Neutral Good Half-Elf Monster Slayer Ranger
Vitals: tall, white hair, (see: Witcher, but less scars) perpetually dirty and unshaven but can clean up well, doesn’t actually have cat eyes but I headcanon that D&D races with darkvision absolutely have some tapetum lucidum going on
Personality: gruff, quiet, tends to communicate in grunts and gestures, walls up all around so nobody knows that he /actually/ cares, may or may not have a drinking problem, clings to a very strong moral code otherwise that makes a big distinction between what is and isn’t a monster, still loves to make things and always finds ways to keep his hands busy when he’s idle
Bio: A Tragic Backstory(tm). Was a contented blacksmith with a family until one night a bunch of ghoulish monsters attacked their homestead and destroyed everything and killed everybody. He fought back as much as he could and only survived by some miracle of circumstance, though the encounter left his hair turned white. After that dedicated himself to hunting down and killing monsters. Your typical revenge quest. Nothing else to live for. Yada yada.
Quote: “..........”
Theme Song: “Losing My Religion” by Lacuna Coil
...I have...no justification for this character other than I wanted to play Geralt of Rivia. x_x Just a huge pile of tropes that I love: sad hot single dad, white-haired bishie, badass lone wolf, grump with a heart of gold, etc.
UGH
(also holy crap I rolled well for his stats o_O )
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Daily Mix Tag
I was tagged by the wonderful @enchantment1385! Thank you for thinking about me in your tags. :D
Rules: Write down the first songs in your Spotify daily mixes 1-6 and tag onward!
(You’re getting 7. There are 7 days in a week, 7 deadly sins, and 7 playlists named after them)
So I don’t have Spotify hence I used shuffle button for my YT playlists “Favorites”.
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(Pride) - “Warrior” - Aurora
(Lust) - “SexyBack” - Justin Timberlake
(Greed) - “Eye of the Storm” - WattWhite
(Wrath) - “Warpath” - Hidden Citizens (Feat. Tim Halperin)
(Sloth) - “Let Strength Be Granted” - Demon’s Souls Remix
(Envy) - “La Volta” - David Hirschfelder
(Gluttony) - “Die & Rise” - Lacuna Coil
Tagging: @chenria, @highexarchs, @commander-krios, @bewitched-elf, @jeannedarcprice, @a1thusa, and @jessicamarianadraws!
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Lacuna | Seo Changbin
✧ lacuna - a blank space; a missing part
✧ Genre: Fantasy!au, fluff, cutie changbinnie
✧ Summary: as a little girl, you absolutely adored horses - but one day, you’re thrown off of one in the middle of a race, leaving your legs crippled. when your parents finally muster up the courage to ask ylanta’s court wizard for help, you end up being stuck inside a palace with no one to talk to - except the cute stableboy that just won’t leave your side.
✧ Word Count: 2.3k
✧ PSA!! this installment is a bit more serious in a sense; while i’ll let you find out what I mean for yourself, please know that this piece can potentially hit home for many of us in the world in regards to loving yourself and finding happiness outside of whatever might be holding you down in life
✧ Other installments in the series: woojin, chan, jeongin, hyunjin, minho, jisung, felix, seungmin
✧
the country-side land known as grimsby had been the place you’d grown up in, and much like the other kids, you were raised around farms and livestock
rather than worrying about the length of your nails or the cleanliness of your dapper shoes, you strode over to your family’s farmhouse and helped pile bales of hay onto a makeshift wagon so your mother could tow the yellow bales to the livestock
you owned one pair of boots that looked normal and tattered, splashed with long-since dried mud and other substances found on the common farm
except, your family had been running the quaint farm for centuries; in fact, whenever they would go out riding through town, the harness and saddle of whatever horse they were using was always painted the two colors of your family emblem: a dainty green and pigmented gray
honestly you could have cared less about the family business, you simply cared for the horses
the pigs were damn cute, of course, but they never seemed to get along with you
and sure the sheep were soft as pillows, but they screamed at you whenever you walked past their pasture
meanwhile the grazing horses let you stroke their manes and clean their bodies, not once flinched or shying away from your demeanor, which is why you simply adored them
then came the month of ayrith, where the royal family and other special guests from all over the country would travel to grimsby to watch what was called the greatest sporting event in the entire country
from endurance runs to throwing barrels full of flour across the field, all of the events were entertaining and made for some friendly competition
the biggest event of them all, however, was the horse-race
one representative from each family in the town could participate in the race, although the scary part is that everyone in grimsby took this particular race very, very seriously
including your parents
both of your mothers (your father is a case we won’t speak of, the conniving twit-) were dead set on having you make your racing debut this year, as in two years time, ylanta would be hosting an even bigger racing competition with the bordering countries
so it was likely that whoever won this race would be chosen to represent the whole country in the next two years
which was nerve-wracking, to say the least
you had grown up around horses, obviously, and held a natural bond with the stunning creatures that you could’ve flaunted all day
except... you’d never properly rode on one
your mothers refused to listen to your concerns the day of the race, and the days before that, saying that you were such a natural that you would have no problems competing (which was by far the most idiotic thing you had ever heard, but you were younger, more easily influenced by the talk of your dear mothers, hence why you didn’t doubt them... sort of)
when it came time to mount your horse, who’s name was redwick, you just barely managed to pull your body up onto the saddle
maybe you would be fine after all
you knew there was no possible way you could win, having no racing experience beforehand; but you were eager to see other racers in action just feet away from you
you kept reassuring yourself of this as you were led to the starting line, redwick not making a noise of complaint the entire time
even as the whistle went off in the background you kept saying that everything would be alright - even as redwick started to trot at a faster pace than you expected
then he started to go too fast, and you were nearing a sharp turn
you tried to stop him, or at least make the horse slow down, to no avail
you just didn't know what to do
you were helpless
the second you hit the curve you were thrown off of his back, your hands slick with a nervous sweat so that you were unable to cling to the reigns
with a sickening thump you hit the ground, the lower part of your back completely and utterly numb at the harsh impact
you could still hear the faint screams of the concerned audience, the worried shouts of another racer who showed good sportsmanship in falling behind to help you up
you remembered everything
those retched nightmares haunted you each night after that, even as another three years passed by like a ticking timebomb
“now, sweetheart,” one of your mother’s began to speak quietly, causing you to glance over at her blankly, “once we arrive at the palace, we are going to go speak with the court wizard about your legs. you have already been given permission to roam around, just don’t try to sneak upstairs into their chambers, alright?”
“yeah, sure.” you brushed off her sickly sweet tone with a roll of your eyes, going back to staring outside the window of your carriage, watching as the people of the capital giggled and ran around without a care in the world
you missed that feeling of utter freedom, the feeling of being able to dip your toes into the sticky brown mud after a rainstorm, or the feeling of being able to pop the joints in your legs even after being scolded about it by your mothers
you would give anything to be able to walk again
within another few minutes the carriage has slowed down to a complete halt just inside the palace walls, having been taken over a bridge of sorts
the sliding door opened, revealing a boy who couldn’t be much older than yourself, one hand held nervously out to you while the other rested on the handle of what seemed to be a makeshift wheelchair
“miss y/n, correct?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of natural roughness. after your nod of confirmation he gently helps you down from the carriage and into the wheelchair, which has a plush pillow meant for your own comfort
“alright babygirl, we’ll come find you after the meeting,” one of your mothers hums lovingly, leaning down to peck the top of your head while the other scrunches her nose and looks away from your pitiful form, stuck in the wheelchair, “be careful.” and with that, they’re gone, following a pair of guards clad in red armor into the castle
you tilt your head to look back at the boy who had assisted you into the wheelchair, “what’s your name, shorty?”
“changbin - my name is changbin - and please don't call me that.” he pleads in an exasperated tone, making you snicker quietly in amusement
“so, changbinnie, where can a cripple girl get some food around here?” you ask him nonchalantly, expecting him to flinch at your self-deprecating joke, though he instead playfully rolled his eyes and set his hands firmly on the handles of your wheelchair and swiftly whisked you around towards the entrance of the castle
“where anyone else can find some decent food in this place, y/n - to the royal kitchen!” he let out a giggle as he started to push you inside, your lips parted in a shriek when he continues to pick up the pace and whisk you away into the wonderous castle
this keeps going for quite some time; changbin, who you learned was the resident stableboy, would recklessly whisk you away to different parts of the castle at any given time of the day - or night
of course, him being tasked as the one to help you around each day in the castle didn’t exactly help the situation either
not that you wanted it to be any different
because for once you weren’t being given pitiful looks or being treated like a porcelain doll; you were already cripple, anyway, so you personally didn't see the big deal in letting you have fun for once
and by fun, you meant changbin waking you up in the wee hours of the morning, wheelchair in tow as he helped you get dressed (which wasn’t even a big deal in itself, as you wore underwear that resembled shorts, so he couldn’t even try to see anything more than the already exposed skin)
he would take you anywhere and everywhere, even though you knew you could wheel yourself around
a couple of weeks had passed since you had arrived at the palace, but still there was no promising words coming from the court wizard named minho
he was a high elf skilled in magic of all areas imaginable, but he had never dealt with someone who had no further feeling in their legs
even he couldn't offer any surefire results
while you probably would’ve had a fit about it ages ago, you found that you could still be yourself and do the things you loved without the feeling in your legs
if you wanted to go to the market, changbin was there to push you along the sandstone paths through the bustling crowds, politely asking for someone who got too close to back away before they could accidently hurt you
or if you wanted to swim in the lake behind the palace, which was technically forbidden, changbin was right by your side, attaching a pair of floating devices he had minho conjure the night before onto your arms to make it easier for you to float
within a matter of a few weeks the self-titled ‘dark’ stableboy had become someone you depended on - someone you indefinitely needed by your side
whenever he would take you out to the palace garden, lunch in hand, he would make sure to place a red and white blanket on the ground and voluntarily help you sit up on the fluffy material, placing a pillow on the back of your wheelchair so you could lean against it properly
he would hand you a haphazard attempt of a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, blushing each time you playfully teased him on his poor skills in the kitchen
still you would eat anything he made for you for lunch, all because he made it
seo changbin, the stableboy who had been by your side the entire time
then came the day you had forgot about - hell you never expected it to even happen at this point
“y/n, come quick! minho finally found a cure for your legs!” your parents had cried out joyfully in the middle of your lunch with changbin, effectively plopping you back into your wheelchair and dragging you off to another part of the castle, even as you hissed in surprise and gestured for a stunned changbin to follow
but they had already pulled you into a strange room, shutting the door and preventing the stableboy from following you into the court wizard’s chambers
“alright miss y/n,” the high elf hummed, ignoring the excitement radiating from your mothers while they impatiently waited for him to do whatever he needed to do, “as a precaution, I am going to tell you everything about this spell and even where I got it from, as to make sure you are satisfied completely. understand?” you of course nod, your eyes not once leaving the elf as he adjusts the bowtie on his robe and continues to flip through a book on his desk, not once looking up at you or your parents
“so this particular spell actually came from a witch in arbington; I have an acquaintance down there who knows her... well enough,” he pauses, a small smirk twitching onto his thin lips, “anywho, she’s skilled in the art of healing magic - its something all magical beings can learn, but it is hard to master. she taught me the incantation and confirmed that she has used it before, so no need to worry. the one downside is that this spell can only heal one person every twelve months - its a reasonable cost for how powerful and draining it is, so be careful after this, okay? just, sit back and relax - you do want this, right?”
“of course she does-”
you quickly interrupt your mothers’ protests, nervously gripping onto the sides of your wheelchair. “I - I... no, I don’t want this.”
and you don’t, you realize, the stunned silence of your mothers and the intrigued wizard only further supporting your sudden decision
if he could only use it once per year, you didn't want to use it on yourself
you knew that there were other people who needed it more, who couldn’t feel happy with themselves being crippled
but you - you had found your happiness even without the use of your legs, with changbin
he had somehow taught you to love yourself no matter the circumstances, he showed you that the world could still be beautiful and loving
surely if you were happy, there was someone else out there who could benefit more from the powerful spell
it wasn’t a case of you settling for the fact that maybe someone out there in the world had it worse - it was you realizing that you did still love yourself, and that you deserved happiness in the form of whatever, or whoever, you wished it to be
and that person happened to be the short stableboy still waiting outside the wizard’s chambers
ignoring the baffled stutters of your parents, you swiveled yourself around and pushed the door open so you could find changbin - who had been pacing up and down the hall, nibbling on his fingernails nervously
when he saw you, he didn't ask why you weren’t up on your two feet; instead he leaned down and nearly crushed you with how strong his arms wrapped around you
“changbinnie~” you cooed beside his ear, gently pushing him away just enough so your temples were now pressed together, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret for refusing the spell, “thank you.”
“w-why are you thanking me?”
“because you make me so fucking happy, shorty.” you laugh softly, quickly pecking his parted lips before he could protest, pulling back just as fast, your cheeks heating up to a degree you didn’t know was even possible
“thank y-you, y/n.”
“now why are you thanking me, binnie?”
“for kissing me.”
✧
#skzwriters#stray kids#stray kids au#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#stray kids drabbles#seo changbin#changbin scenario#changbin imagine#stray kids angst#stray kids fluff
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Roana Tabris - The Hero of Ferelden (Aether Effect)
Alive as of 9:42 Dragon; Whereabouts unknown as of 9:45 Dragon (2186 CE)
Few expected the world to be saved by, of all people, a city elf.
Nevertheless, Roana Tabris, daughter of Cyrion and Adaia, surprised them all when she ended the Fifth Blight before it had truly begun. Rescued from certain death at the hands of the Denerim authorities by the Grey Warden Duncan following her violent escape from Vaughan Kendells’ grasp, she was left as one of the two surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden when they and King Cailan were betrayed by Teryn Loghain.
Retrieving the ancient treaties signed by the peoples of Ferelden to the Grey Wardens, Roana defied impossible odds, recruiting as allies against the Blight the remains of the Circle of Magi, King Bhelen of Orzammar, and the Dalish after ending the curse of the Brecilian Forest, curing Arl Eamon of Redcliffe of his agonising plight before confronting Loghain for his crimes in Denerim.
Defeating him in single combat and appointing Alistair as king with the queen regnant and Loghain’s daughter Anora as his wife, Roana spared his life only to offer it up to the Joining, such that he could redeem himself by slaying the Archdemon; however, the witch Morrigan offered a new solution to the Blight, with the only price being his seed and his child which she would bear, imbued with the untainted soul of the Old God trapped in the Archdemon.
It was thus that the Fifth Blight ended so unexpectedly in Denerim, with neither Roana or Loghain’s life forfeit. The new Commander of the Grey took up her seat in Amaranthine, tithed to the Grey Wardens after the death of Loghain’s chief crony Rendon Howe. Surviving the conflict between two ancient darkspawn, the Architect and the Mother, Roana sought out Morrigan’s whereabouts, pursuing her to a reconstructed eluvian and standing by as the witch stepped into the enchanted portal to destinations unknown.
Thereafter her movements became more obscure, first leading an expedition into the Deep Roads across the Waking Sea to investigate the Primeval Thaig which was the home of the red lyrium idol which would prove disastrous to so many just as the exiled Arishok, in his last acts, led a suicidal coup against the Kirkwall authorities, then to the edges of the known world to seek out dragon-worshipping Reavers and the apparent secret to curing the self-inflicted taint of the Grey Wardens. Her whereabouts after Corypheus’ defeat remain unknown.
The only person in all of Thedas who might know would be her lover, the former bard Leliana, also known as Sister Nightingale and Left Hand of the Divine. Remaining by her side throughout and beyond the Fifth Blight, she and the Warden found solace with each other, with the only lacuna in their contact being Roana’s odyssey beyond the Sundered Sea, which Leliana could not follow due to her obligations to the late Divine Justinia.
Perhaps one day the Hero of Ferelden will resurface to lead the people of Thedas in their struggle against the Dread Wolf’s machinations. Perhaps it is time for the next generation to form their own legends.
Full OC List / Wilfred Hawke / Rivka Lavellan
#roana tabris#oc#my ocs#dragon age#dragon age origins#f!tabris#f!warden/leliana#f!tabris/leliana#aether effect#the warden#hero of ferelden#warden-commander
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Topsong number 13,66 and 74!
Torched Song - L.A. Noire SoundtrackMy Spirit - Lacuna CoilTrespasser Lost Elf Theme - DA:I Soundtrack
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