#the silmarillion kink meme
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Haunted, Hunted
9.2k
Horror/Suspense
Gen
Ft. Elwing as Little Red
Complete
Summary: Elwing must pass through the abandoned forest of Doriath to reach her aunt's house. As long as she stays on the path and keeps her magic jewel close, she should be safe…
Read on tumblr | Photo from Rosie Sun on Unsplash
#elwing#maedhros#the silmarillion#tolkien#tolkien tag#fanfiction#tolkien fanfiction#rocky writes#the silmarillion kink meme
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Maglor/Daeron mpreg
Maglor was honestly enjoying the festival. All the planning details were Fingolfin’s responsibility. Maglor’s younger brothers were back East, guarding the border that hadn’t had a serious battle in years, and unable to cause political drama. Celebrimbor and Gil-Galad were both in attendance, with Celebrimbor looking out for his “younger cousin” before Gil-Galad went to Ethel Sirion to learn about court.
For the first time since Valinor, Maglor could sing without any other concerns. After a few songs, he had acquired a crowd. Some of them were Silvan and Falmari, and Maglor always took extra pride when he was recognized purely for his voice, not his family name.
One stranger in the crowd seemed very intent though. He stared directly at Maglor, though he did not move when someone blocked his view. Instead the stranger remained still.
Three songs after the stranger appeared though, Maglor noticed a strange vibration. This elf was humming under his breath - but in perfect rhythm with the songs Maglor had never before played in front of audience, and notes that only departed from Maglor’s own to go on on trilling runs of harmonies.
Maglor stopped singing to take a drink of the excellent wine. He had not been on any sort of stage, so it was easy enough to approach the stranger.
“You have a good sense of melody,” Maglor said. “Do you play an instrument yourself?”
“I play the lyre, and the twin pipes, and sing as well. Your voice is very well trained.”
“Thank you. Talent without practice is wasted, after all.”
“Is it?”
“It’s a saying from Tirion, or perhaps just from my kin folk. But that’s not important.”
“What is, then?”
“I would love to hear you actually sing or play, rather than just muffled accompaniments.”
__
They create a melody, a harmony, a song that takes on a life of its own. Their voices twine into something that is made of both of them, but a thing unto itself. Daeron realizes that he has invoked his maternal inheritance too late. He pulls back from the song, to tell Maglor what they have done, but Maglor sees only that their creation is about to falter.
Maglor sings louder, and claims the tune as his own. It needs a vessel, and Maglor offers his. Daeron initially panics, but communicates to Maglor that co-creation with a maia is approximately similar to having a baby, and Maglor as male is totally unequipped for that.
“Oh, is that the only problem! It’s not pleasant, but I can do so again.”
Maglor goes to Doriath their son a year later, begging for safety for the grandson of the king and queen. Maglor pushes through branches, carefully protecting the bundle in his arms. But at one wild rose bush, the edge of the blanket is caught. When Maglor untangles it, the baby has disappeared from the blanket, and the rose bush grown brambles so thick Maglor could not reach even a finger in. “I named him for the strength of his grip and the weight of his actions!” Maglor shrieks at the trees. “Lungum, if you ever let him speak his mother-tongue!” The forest is silent, though the bush next to him now has buds amidst the thorns.
They say after that Mablung of the heavy hand was at the Mereth Aderthad, and it is true, the way elves count the beginning of a life.
#my fic#silmarillion#daemags#daeron/maglor#my writing#incomplete fic that I'll never finish#not archived yet#in case your wondering: Celebrimbor is the son of Curufin and Maglor; Gil-Galad is the son of Maedhros and Maglor#written for a prompt on silm kink meme about Maglor getting mpregnant multiple times
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A Dream of Fire (966 words) by Anonymous
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Curufin | Curufinwë/Curufin's Wife, Curufin's Wife & Fëanor | Curufinwë, Feanor | Curufinwe/Curufin’s Wife
Characters: Fëanor | Curufinwë, Curufin | Curufinwë, Curufin's Wife
Additional Tags: Cuckolding, Longing, Infidelity, Sort Of, Female Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Feanor is Spirit of Fire for a reason, Prophetic Visions, Not Canon Compliant, Not LaCE compliant, Not Beta Read
Summary:
Curufin’s wife is tired of spending her evenings alone while he’s in the forge. She makes her own entertainment.
Guys, I think I’m addicted to the kink meme. I need some wholesome prompts. 🤣 But anonymous requester, this was a joy to write.
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Fic author interview meme - tagged by @anghraine!
Apologies if you've already done this and I missed it, but tagging @squirrelwrangler @undercat-overdog @chthonic-cassandra @hoeratius @outofangband @seagodofmagic and everyone else who sees this and feels like doing it :)
1- How many works do you have on AO3?
58, more than I thought
2- What's your total AO3 word count?
146,888
3- What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
1. Surrender, 615 words, The Mirror Visitor, 149 kudos
2. Locked, forgotten, 1,6k words, ASOIAF , 91 kudos
3. With imperious hand, Fate turns the wheel, 8,8k words, Queen’s Thief, 85 kudos
4. Simple fix, 2,8k words, Supernatural, 77 kudos
5. Tied:
Cupid and Psyche, 742 words, Queen’s Thief, 66 kudos
A flower trampled underfoot, 1,9k words, Silmarillion, 66 kudos
I have a couple of anonymous/orphaned works that I can recall that have way more than any of this: one Azula/Zuko that has over 350 kudos and a Wincest fic that’s currently on 289! They’re both pure E-rated kink, so I think it figures hahaah.
4- Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try to, but sometimes I get a little stumped between a desire to respond in depth vs the conscience that ao3 comments are not really the place for fandom conversation…
5- What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?
IMO, either my most recent Vinland Saga fic “Ordeal,” or my first posted fic ever, “Barren”, about Míriel and Pharazôn.
6- What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?
I’m thinking it’s probably “Washed Ashore”, a short fic that ends with Gil-Galad telling Círdan that Ëarendil is alive and returned with an army in tow.
7- Do you write crossovers?
no
8- Have you ever received hate on a fic?
I know I did but it was in an orphaned work and I can’t recall which, or what fandom it was for? But I think that’s why I switched to just publishing anonymously instead of orphaning it altogether, so I can still delete comments and stuff. Haven't had to, though.
9- Do you write smut?
Occasionally :)
10- Have you ever had a fic stolen?
No
11- Have you ever had a fic translated?
I THINK so, because I remember someone asking me about it, but I can’t recall which fic or what language…
12- Have you ever co-written a fic before?
I wanna do that with Kate!!! Maybe one day
13- What's your all-time favorite ship?
The ship I’ve written the most for on ao3 is Irene/Gen from Queen’s Thief, and it’s definitely one of my top favorites!
14- What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?
I don’t usually post fics unless they’re finished or very close to. So the answer is something in my fic folder tentatively called "A Mirror, Cracking", which is an AU of Niënor in Brethil, if she remembered who she was! I'm suuuper fond of it and likely never finishing it, I plan to post it unfinished at some point, amnesty-style.
15- What are your writing strengths?
I think I’m good at creating a dramatic scene! Or let’s put it this way: it’s what I enjoy the most when I write
16- What are your writing weaknesses?
I’d like to write longer, more committed stuff sometimes, but I find it very hard! I also think my prose is very commonplace, but it doesn't actually bother me.
17- What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?
I avoid doing that at all costs. I either put a descriptive indicating they’re speaking another language, or I say the POV character can’t make it out. I don’t think it’s tacky and I don’t judge it in writing, I just don’t like doing it myself.
18- What was the first fandom you wrote for?
Tolkien <3
19- What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?
My dream is to write a Mediana/Ophélie fic for The Mirror Visitor, simply I think this ship is insanely hot and there was just one meager 155 word ficlet for it last time I checked! I have some notes for a fic but lost steam; maybe reading the English translation of those books will do the trick.
20- What's your favorite fic you've written?
I’m super fond of “A haunting”, one of my fics with the least amount of kudos... which I understand, because it really is one of those “I wrote this for myself but you can read it if you want to” cases—in terms of themes, characterization, style and format, corny quote at the beginning, etc, super indulgent. I really just had a lot of fun with it and it still touches me whenever I reread it, and I think the language and characterization are pretty solid! I like it a lot and I'm super proud of it :)
#actually I'm really fond and proud of my númenor fics in general... i also really like 'an account of the fall'#i think the quality of the writing there is above my usual technique-wise#and i think 'death of a lady' is still a very charming read if a little clumsy in parts#fic meme
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Fic writing roundup- thank you for the tag, @imakemywings!
Total Words Published at end of year: 22,069 , give or take a couple thousand for my tumblr fic. definitely not a much as some, but it’s my first year publishing fic, so I’m pretty happy!
Additional Words Written: 6726
Fandoms: Tolkien, predominently Silmarillion.
Highest Everything (raw kudos, hits, comments):
Hits: spirited away (1615)
Kudos: spirited away (265)
Comments: spirited away (15 threads)
New Things I Tried:
Publishing in general! Just getting over the anxiety to post in general has been an achievement for me. I wrote my first au with the stones wept and first fake non-fiction with post mortem. I had a lot of fun experimenting with writing styles in general.
Fic I Spent the Most Time On:
Probably the stones wept. current kink meme wips are also taking some time.
Fic I Spent the Least Time On:
this silly tumblr fic, or the butterfly effect.
Favorite Thing I Wrote:
I had a lot of fun with post mortem, I really enjoyed working backwards to come up with the injuries, and putting all the little fucked up easter eggs in there.
Favorite Thing(s) I Read:
from the ones who came before - kirta. note perfect earendil and elwing.
a traitor’s issue - herenortherenearnorfar. wonderful spooky and sad look at ulfang’s daughters in law following the nirnaeth.
a beautiful equation - drag0nst0rm. funny and sad caranthir (and dragons).
you are coming down with me - thelioninmybed. multi chapter fucked up horrible kidnap “family”
the loving spirit - zimraphel. genuis finrod-is-carcharoth fic.
no forest no trees - palmviolet. angela carter esque thingol/melian.
a fiend in feline shape - aipilosse. cry-laughing nimloth & ancalagon (yes rlly.)
the one with all the birds - clothonono. elwing & sons of feanor, a must read.
the sky the sea the birds between - herenortherenearnorfar. sold me on earendil/elwing/eonwe.
red wedding - arriviste. my favourite take on russingon.
Writing goals for 2023: write longer fics and maybe something multichapter. write more femslash.
not sure who’s been tagged already, but i’ll tag @aipilosse, @undercat-overdog , @verecunda, @carlandrea
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I posted 3,180 times in 2022
That's 3,014 more posts than 2021!
553 posts created (17%)
2,627 posts reblogged (83%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@eunoiaastralwings
@i-did-not-mean-to
@aeonianarchives
@fizzyxcustard
@blueberryrock
I tagged 1,516 of my posts in 2022
#answered - 305 posts
#the silmarillion - 132 posts
#the silm memes - 128 posts
#tarawrites - 85 posts
#silmarillion - 76 posts
#maedhros - 61 posts
#incorrect quotes - 59 posts
#feanor - 57 posts
#tolkien elves - 57 posts
#erestor - 56 posts
Longest Tag: 134 characters
#but she cleared and did so many good. the longest ruling monarch ever— can you imagine? no one is going to break that. she was amazing
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Elrond: okay, so i’ve left you all a set of instructions for while i’m away.
Glorfindel: mine just says “Glorfindel, no.”
Elrond: and i want you to apply it to every situation.
Erestor: In all my years, I finally can have peace and quiet. Finally...
198 notes - Posted April 9, 2022
#4
Please some nsfw with Elrond love youu
here you are @badsilversblog hope you like it
Where sex is concerned, Elrond is a calm but energetic. But I think he prefers a softer pace and even though this ellon has boundless amount of energy— he'll never overwhelm you.
If he’s in the mood to fuck you— know he's very sensual about it.
Skin to skin contact is a must for Elrond— always expect his hands to be running all over you. It's his way to de-stress and convince himself you’re real and with him.
He’s got a pretty high sex drive and an even more incredible breeding kink— you can see the look in his eyes wheneven he's looking at you playing with children or looking at them adoringly— oh, you know exactly what you’ll get up to that evening.
Elrond may look peaceful— but the only think in his head be dirty thoughts of him finishing inside you.
This ellon enjoys slowly worshiping your body; kissing you everywhere and I mean everywhere! Your neck, shoulders, chest, arms and down your legs— though your stomach especially! Elrond's only physical form of showing you no part of your body is unloved body him— while outside surrounded by others he would hold your hand, kiss and give you a light peck.
He’s always gentle with you and enjoys everything at a slow pace, but if you would like, he can get rough to whatever standards you put.
There’s this quiet confidence and dominant side— which is a real turn on. He's really a switch.
Elrond is a sucker for missionary— but his other favorite would be having you ride him. He likes to be able to see your face and let you have the freedom to touch or grab onto him anywhere.
He’s a giver in everything— especially when it comes to oral and very talented with his tongue.
One thing he loves to is lay you down on the bed and kiss you everywhere until you become a squirming and moaning mess— this is his dominant side— he would also hold your wrists together above your head while he worships your body with kisses.
He loves to tease you with little kitten licks at first.
Elrond doesn't bite, he rather prefers to nibble your skin.
Sometimes when alone in his study— Elrond likes to pull you to his lap and hold you tenderly in his arms, nibbling the skin on your neck and your sensitive ears enough that you're squirming on his lap.
He loves having you ride him, watching you work for your reward as you bounce up and down in his lap.
He loves to grope your chest while he kisses your deeply.
Elrond is a saint when it comes to aftercare. He’ll clean you both up and keep a close eye on you until your breathing is back to normal pace— he'll give you water without asking or food if required, afterwards it's sleep and holding you incredibly close.
202 notes - Posted May 5, 2022
#3
Fëanor and Nerdanel: *kiss in the pool*
Maedhros: *splashing them* Excuse me this is a family pool not a ‘make a family’ pool you have enough kids already!
Also Maedhros: *struggling to hide his little brothers' eyes*
219 notes - Posted April 15, 2022
#2
Lindir, to Elrond: my future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized.
Y/N: *steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to their knees and sob while apologizing profusely*
Lindir: that one. I want that one.
Elrond: well— ask Y/N to court you!
Lindir: oh— there's that! *blushes forgetting how he had to woo you to court*
Also Lindir: *stressed out thinking— almost pulls out his hair— trying to think of ways to win you over*
Elrond: *worried how alarmingly fast the color is draining from his face* ehh— Lindir?
Lindir: *throwns himself on the ground and rolls into ball position* I got nothing! Y/N would never court me!
Y/N:*actually overhears the whole thing— still crying* I do want him— why does he think I don't want him? — I don't deserve him!
Elrond: *rubs his head* the both of you— need work on your self esteems!
@i-did-not-mean-to
227 notes - Posted June 15, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Maglor: Why are you making chocolate pudding at 4am?
Maedhors: Because I've lost control of my life.
Maglor: *sees Elrond and Elros trying to hide under the table— snickering* so it is not because the elfings begged you with their puppy eyes— the eyes you always fall for?
Maedhros: *vigorously mixing* No! — My own personal reasons!
Maglor: No!— I can literally see them trying to hide under the table!
Maedhros: they are my own personal reasons!
Maglor: They begged you to make chocolate pudding in the middle of the night and you fell for their big puppy eyes— AGAIN!
Maedhros: keep using that tone, Maglor— and you will not be getting any chocolate pudding!
Elrond and Elros: *agreeing with Maedhros*
Maglor:
Maglor: I would like a small piece— please.
308 notes - Posted June 14, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#LMAO — SELF REBLOG AT IT'S FINEST
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Sandbox Love
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3I4ZeqD
by 0Rocky41_7
Galadriel felt she had a well-matched friend in Princess Luthien, and she did not expect that ever to change.
Words: 9186, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/F, F/M
Relationships: Galadriel | Artanis/Lúthien Tinúviel
Additional Tags: Background Relationships, The Silmarillion Kink Meme, Romantic Friendship
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3I4ZeqD
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Tolkien Kink Meme!
hello all! my partner and i have created a new tolkien kink meme on ao3!! this is open to any of tolkien's extended works including LOTR, The Hobbit, and Silm. it's also open to both n s f w and sfw prompts.
the link is available here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2021_tolkien_kink_meme
have fun and go wild!
#lord of the rings#the hobbit#the silmarillion#tolkien#lotr#silm#archive of our own#ao3#kink meme#fanfiction#my content
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AO3 Stats Meme
I will be doing a more comprehensive version of this meme Later (as I have done the last two years) but since that takes me ages let’s start with this (adjusted for 2020 only, hopefully, though I expect to be posting a few more things before the end of the year)
tagged by: not-tagged by @mikkeneko because I felt like doing it
tagging: if you wrote a fic this year consider yourself tagged
rules: check your stats on ao3 by going to your dashboard and clicking through to statistics.
amount of works posted:
total word count: 467,786 words, which I’m guessing doesn’t match my writing tracker count because it includes things I wrote in 2019 but didn’t post until 2020
longest fic: since I won’t count Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains (as a multichapter fic posted over multiple years), it’s going to be we live until we die at 57,868 words. depending on when my Big Bang fic goes up, it’ll beat that.
shortest fic: of fics posted on AO3 (since I think there’s shorter on Tumblr only), it’s the martyr, the victim at 1,228 words.
most kudos: With Absolute Splendor at 4,427 kudos, fuck.
fic with the most bookmarks: again it’s With Absolute Splendor (2,346)
fic with the most comment threads: take a guess. after Halfway House (again, not counting as a 2020 fic) - With Absolute Splendor.
total amount of kudos: 28.206
total amount of bookmarks: 9.321
total amount of comment threads: 3,365
fandoms written for: MCU, The Silmarillion, T H E U N T A M E D
fests you’ve written for: this year, just the three I signed up for at the end of the year, two of which are still unposted (the MDZS/CQL Rarepair Exchange, the SongXueXiao Exchange, and the MDZS Big Bang). I’m not counting my “sign up” for the MDZS/CQL Kink Meme.
pairings written for: okay let’s see here: Steve/Loki, Loki/Grandmaster, Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji technically (though almost exclusively as a background pairing, ha), Jin Guangyao/Xue Yang, Jiang Cheng/Lan Wangji, Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang, Song Lan/Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen.
favorite fic you’ve written this year: I don’t know! I haven’t done my comprehensive recap yet! I do feel like everyone else is spring bound is a personal favorite, though, but I also am pretty proud of a bunch of the Yi City ones...but also I’m scared of talking too much about liking my fic because the “STOP BEING AN ARROGANT ASSHOLE” hammer tends to come down when I do that.
I am pretty proud of both With Absolute Splendor and the unposted Big Bang fic as far as, like, writing achievements go. they were both ambitious fics and I feel like I...mostly pulled off what I was trying to do.
goals for next year: would really like to whittle my WIP list down to like. less than 50. unlikely, but a girl can dream. also: finish terrible road trip fic. also also: actually work on my original project.
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fic writer review
Thank you for the tag @skyeventide <3
how many works do you have on AO3?
26 at the moment.
what’s your total AO3 word count?
119990
how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?
Nowadays I write mainly fics for the Silmarillion fandom, but during the years, I have written fics for Final Fantasy VII, Harry Potter, Star Wars and some other fandoms.
what are your top 5 fics by kudos?
1. Walk Through the Darkest Valley, post-canon Celebrimbor & Mairon
2. Lightbearer, sequel to N.o 1, Silvergifting
3. The Unrest of the Noldor, Fourth Age, re-embodied Maedhros and Finrod have a bar night
4. His body, broken and beautiful, Mairon & Nerdanel post-canon, belongs to the same fic series as 1 and 2
5. Warming Up, Mairon & Aulë, post canon, an independent sequel to 1.
Interesting to see that the TOP 5 are all Fourth Age Valinor fics!
do you respond to comments, why or why not?
I try to always respond to comments! I love getting them, and I love the fandom interaction.
what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
I believe it’s either Dead End (the canonical death of Celebrimbor) or The End of All Things (the canonical death of Maedhros).
do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?
Not really, but I have written a crack crossover where I have put Fëanor and Mairon inside events of Kalevala.
have you ever received hate on a fic?
No.
do you write smut? if so what kind?
Yes, I do. For me, it’s most often about relationship dynamics, so there is always some plot included. Also, kink exploration.
have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I know of.
have you ever had a fic translated?
I have translated myself one of my fics, originally written in Finnish, into English.
have you ever co-written a fic before?
No, but I have had a lot of collaboration with one of my TRSB artists this summer, and that has been wonderfully inspirational.
what’s your all time favorite ship?
Silvergifting (Mairon/Celebrimbor)
what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?
My Finnish longfic about Sauron in Númenor: Tähden maan velho - Sairon Elennanóreo - the Wizard of the Star-shaped land. It’s dear to me, and I have written different versions of it, but I think I have outgrown it, for nowadays my view on Sauron is changed. FUN FACT: I have taken my username from the fic’s Quenya title - only elennanore was reserved so I became elennalore XD
what are your writing strengths?
Character dynamics and writing multi-dimensional villains, or antiheroes. I have lots of ideas for fics.
what are your writing weaknesses?
Not being a non-native writer, my writing in English is not as fluent as I wanted it to be.
what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?
It should be understood by the reader, so there should be a translation available somewhere.
what was the first fandom you wrote for?
Final Fantasy VII, Harry Potter
what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?
Probably Walk Through the Darkest Valley, for I wrote it to explore the relationship between Mairon and Celebrimbor, and during the writing process I became a Silvergifting shipper myself.
I feel too shy to tag anyone now, but feel free to do this meme, I’d like to see your answers!
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18, 21, 34 for the writing ask meme!
18. What is your favorite writing prompt?
Uhhhhh. I don’t think I have one! I mean, I genuinely just like receiving prompts, even though I reply slowly. I think my favorite is probably 3-sentence fic prompts, because it’s fun to dash out short little vignettes like that, and I don’t have to worry too much about quality? I got some really good mileage out of the pairing/AU 3-sentence fic prompt. But I do also like the one I made up that’s a Choose One: Platonic or Kink prompt game.
21. What’s your shortest fanfic?
Probably one of the aforementioned 3-sentence fics! Let me see which one I cheated the least on... Looks like it’s this little modern cultivators high school AU at 83 words! Oooh, although I did do a one-tweet thing recently... let me see... This one is 57 words, yes! Oh wait, no, this one beats them all out at 49 words with the intro tweet.
34. How did you find the magical world of fanfics?
So I had a pretty close friend in middle school named Sarita. She moved to a state beginning with the letter C (genuinely cannot remember which one, RIP) sometime halfway through 8th grade, and shortly after that move when we were chatting on AIM she told me that she had gotten into this cool new thing called fanfiction.net. THE REST IS HISTORY. (For the record, this is back before ff.n split into ff.n and fictionpress.net for origfic, so the first thing I ever published on there, actually, was an origfic that was a weird amalgamation of some Silmarillion shit and my own worldbuilding. I should track it down sometime and see if I can turn it into something...)
Fanfic writers ask meme!
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Fandom: The Silmarillion
Ship: Galadriel/Luthien, Galadriel & Luthien (+ background canon ships)
Summary: Galadriel felt she had a well-matched friend in Princess Luthien, and she did not expect that ever to change.
De-anon of this kink meme prompt for a quasi-romantic friendship between Galadriel and Luthien that ends with complications.
Length: 9.1k
AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG
Photo credit to Ricardo Tamayo on Unsplash.
____________________________________________________
Doriath was alive with gardens, an endless riot of trees and flowers and trailing vines, more than Galadriel had ever seen in one place. Already she has gotten lost in them a dozen times, and wandered around in increasing frustration, unwilling to admit to passers-by that she couldn’t find her way out of a garden. (If that news had gotten back to her brothers, they would never have let her live it down. She could hear them lamenting their poor baby sister who needed a chaperone to even make it to Thingol’s back door.)
However, she was also unaccustomed to long stretches spent underground, and at times—coincidentally, often when her lessons with Queen Melian were going poorly—Menegroth felt positively claustrophobic.
Melian hadn’t even agreed to teach her yet. She’d only shown Galadriel parlor tricks, as she had petulantly called them in an unsent letter to Aegnor, but even those were apparently beyond Galadriel’s mastery she thought sullenly as she swept past a clutch of bulbous purple blooms. She stopped beneath a small cluster of thin, knotted trees, hands fisting beneath her sleeves. It was right that she should learn from Melian—or perhaps it was only that she wanted it so badly she could feel it like a toothache.
“Blast these lessons,” she said aloud, sourly.
“Mother wearing on you?” A melodic voice floated down from overhead, making Galadriel jump and snap her attention to the trees. Above, partially obscured by small, glossy green leaves and swells of orange fruit, was Princess Lúthien, lounging on a tree branch.
Galadriel cursed her momentary lapse.
“Never,” she replied far more graciously. “I fear only that my abilities are not up to par.” Lúthien laughed lazily, fiddling with something in her hands. A bit of yellow-orange rind fell to the base of the tree. There was a moment, not yet come to be, when she would place sweet chunks of this fruit’s flesh into Galadriel’s mouth, and Galadriel would have to refrain from licking her fingers as she did it, seeking the taste she craved more. “…what are you doing?” she asked, when Lúthien said nothing else.
“Being dreadfully bored,” said Lúthien. “Daeron promised me he would be back this morning so we might continue work on our new routine, but he is not, and so what am I to do?” She swung a foot through the empty air. Wood-elves were casual about heights and trees in a way Galadriel still found alarming. “What is Mother working you at?”
“’tis nothing,” Galadriel demurred, but Lúthien was not deterred. She shifted above, casting the remains of her fruit out into the foliage, and then dropped down into the grass and rose up to her feet in seemingly a single fluid movement.
“Perhaps I can help,” she offered. Up close, Lúthien was taller even than Galadriel, and certainly taller than her brothers. Her almond-shaped gray eyes, so dark in the right light they looked black, seemed to see some other dimension to the world invisible to mere Elves. “I have some expertise with these matters.” The smell of fruit clung to her porcelain skin, contrasted against the twilight blue of her loose gown.
“Magic?” Galadriel asked.
“Mother,” Lúthien corrected.
Expertise in the matter of the queen was no small achievement—even when she spoke kindly and moved gently, there was power in Melian, and something unknowable to the Children. Galadriel did not know what kind of Elf wed with an Ainu.
“Come! We will review what she has told you and she will be very impressed when she sees you again!” Lúthien did not make it sound like an invitation. She strolled off into the plants, bare feet against the dirt, and after only a momentary pause, Galadriel followed.
***
Perhaps underground was less strange for Wood-elves as they had already become accustomed to the shaded light of the forest. It was not so for Galadriel, habituated to the open streets of Tirion (and later, to the relentless exposure of the Helcaraxë), and she at times found herself vexed with the dim light, which was inescapable outside the height of day, unless one wished to climb.
Lúthien led them into some fresh quarter of this garden into which Galadriel had not ventured—nor even known to exist—until she found some location which satisfied her, where she seated herself cross-legged in the gloom, half obscured by shadow.
“Is there something special about this place?” Galadriel asked, looking around before lowering herself down across from Lúthien. The growth here was heavier, the paths virtually nonexistent. The air seemed thicker. The princess shrugged and flashed a toothy smile. The swoop of the bridge of her nose was particularly elegant, befitting a princess.
“I like it,” she said simply. “Give me your hands.” Galadriel reached her hands out, uncertain. Lúthien’s fingers were cool and smooth against hers, the skin of her palms unexpectedly soft. She held Galadriel’s hands but lightly, and Galadriel wondered how much strength was hidden in those neat hands.
She made Galadriel run through her earlier lesson from the beginning, which was irksome enough that Galadriel was tempted at times to refuse, but she still obeyed. Lúthien was another kind of teacher from the queen—but she found this gave her a new perspective on the same thing the queen had been trying to show her. Lúthien seemed to see the whole thing differently—as if Galadriel were looking at a painting of trees, but Lúthien was standing in the woods. When Galadriel got a taste of the princess’ magic it shocked her with its breadth, but the moment Lúthien drew back, Galadriel wanted more. Thoughtlessly she reached out, seeking a closer connection with the electric power of Lúthien’s mind and spirit.
“Now,” Lúthien reprimanded her lightly, throwing up a barrier that pushed Galadriel’s questing mind back from her. “That isn’t what Mother is showing you today.”
Galadriel drew in a quick breath and straightened up, blinking as if she had just resurfaced from a deep dream as she was jolted away from Lúthien’s expansive spirit. What had she been doing? At once, horror at her own misstep washed over her—what had come over her? She had never felt such power in another Elf.
“I’m terribly sorry—” she began in a rush, but Lúthien put up a hand and interrupted.
“No need for that. But if you wish for my help, you will need to learn more restraint,” she said. “Such things are my own, unless I choose to share. But it was an…interesting response.” She tilted her head slightly, regarding Galadriel, and the young Noldo had the uncomfortable feeling Lúthien was cataloguing her apparent intoxication by Lúthien’s magic.
She assumed then that Lúthien would call an end to their little tutoring session, but to her surprise the princess merely set aside the incident and carried on with her efforts. Still, Galadriel thought she sensed Lúthien keeping her more at a distance when they connected after that.
“Did she give you such lessons?” Galadriel asked at length, when there was sweat beading at her hairline and beneath her breasts from her focus. Lúthien’s hands were still cool and soft.
“As a child, yes,” Lúthien said, smiling. “She wished to see how much of her power I had inherited.”
“And how much is that?” Galadriel asked. And how long ago had it been? She realized then she hadn’t the slightest inkling of how old Lúthien was, except that she was younger than Cuiviénen.
“Not much,” Lúthien said. Galadriel thought she detected a thread of disappointment, but perhaps she imagined it—perhaps it was her disappointment (or disbelief). “But not nothing,” she added, reaching out to thread her fingers through a patch of grass—in the wake of her touch, niphredil sprang up dewy and white. Lúthien smiled and flicked her eyes back over to Galadriel, whose gaze was fixed on her.
It seemed to her it would be rude to ask questions about her blood, but the curiosity burned in Galadriel’s breast.
“Are there others, like you?” she asked at last.
“Of course not,” said Lúthien, kicking her legs out with a smile. Her toes wiggled, bottoms dusty brown from their walk. “There are none like you either.”
“’tis not what I meant,” said Galadriel.
“You meant about my blood,” said Lúthien. She ran her fingers through the niphredil and plucked one out, twirling it between two delicate fingertips. “As far as I know, I am the only one. I know of no other Maiar who wed with one of the Children. But who can say for certain?” She took another by the stem and began to make a chain of them.
In the darkness of the woods of Middle-earth, to learn that there was an Ainu who had wed with an Elf and lived among them as one of them was shocking enough that Galadriel had to reform her expectations of what life was like on this continent. Maybe there were other Ainu/Elf marriages there. The rules of Aman seemed to govern less here.
Galadriel sensed she was edging along territory which might not delight Lúthien to discuss, and the thought of either annoying or boring the princess was intolerable. She withdrew and left her questions stinging her tongue.
“I hear the Noldor are poor climbers,” said Lúthien, rising up. “Is that so?”
“Compared with yourselves? I imagine we are,” said Galadriel, looking up at the princess. Lúthien made a faint moue.
“Will you not argue for your pride even a little?” she asked.
“Against a woman whose life has been spent half in a tree? I think not,” said Galadriel. Lúthien’s expression did not change, and for a moment Galadriel braced herself for a snit of royal temper (being of a prodigious royal line herself, she was familiar with these), but Lúthien’s face relaxed into a faint smile.
“Pity,” she said. “Perhaps I shall have you another time.” With this, she grasped a low-hanging tree branch and disappeared up into the trees, leaving Galadriel in the dirt, along with the chain of niphredil.
***
Galadriel got the sense Lúthien had not expected her to keep up so well on this walk. When Lúthien had invited her out, Galadriel had agreed at once, before considering what a half-Maia princess considered a suitable casual walk. Unsurprisingly, Lúthien’s stamina was considerable—and more, she seemed to be trying to tire Galadriel out, although it was possible Galadriel was crediting her with more intent than was warranted.
They were several hours out under a toasty autumn sun, the thick, damp forest air clinging to Galadriel’s skin and urging her to drain the waterskin at her waist, though she refrained—she needed to parse it out sparingly, with no idea how long Lúthien intended to keep them out.
For the last hour they had been on an increasingly steep incline.
“The view is one of the best in the forest,” Lúthien promised Galadriel, her eyes bright, her throat slick with sweat. Despite this sign that the long walk was having some impact on her, Lúthien’s step remained perky and she led them on at an uncompromising pace.
“Let me know if you wish a rest!” Lúthien called from a few steps ahead, as she had several times before.
“I will!” Galadriel said, with no intention of doing that. Her be the one to call a rest? She’d cough up a lung first, especially in front of Lúthien.
Nevertheless, Lúthien predictably reached the top of the cliff first, though Galadriel soothed herself that it was not by much.
“See?” she said, gesturing out. They were indeed above a considerable portion of the tree canopy, allowing for a view that stretched out in swaths of green and made Galadriel once again aware of the vast size of Doriath’s woods. From this height, there wasn’t even a hint of the many Elves who lived beneath that canopy. She let her hands drop from the straps of her backpack and marveled at the far reach of the horizon and the brilliance of the sky’s blue backing the vibrant colors of the earth. “Is it not beautiful?” the princess sighed. “On occasion I look at this and I want to walk all the way yonder!” She pointed to some indiscriminate point out on the horizon.
“Why there?” Galadriel asked.
“To see what lies there,” said Lúthien with a grin. She exhaled a gusty sigh and slipped her backpack off her shoulders, lowering it down to the grass. “How do you feel about making this climb again?” she asked.
Galadriel lifted her chin.
“Why, did you wish to race?” she asked. Lúthien laughed.
“I think we know already who would win that,” she said, not unkindly.
“But I would make you work for it,” said Galadriel.
“You would, I am certain!” Lúthien agreed. “But ‘tis not that which I had in mind.” She removed the pouch at her waist and set it beside the backpack on the ground. Galadriel leaned over the edge of the cliff to spy a body of water below.
“No,” she said, deadpan. Lúthien smiled a sweet smile.
“Bring my things down, won’t you? Or else we will have to come back up for them,” she said. Presumably this was if Galadriel intended to join her. She took several steps back from the cliff edge.
“Lúthien,” Galadriel began, but Lúthien did not stay to listen. With a running start, she flung herself off the edge of the cliff, still dressed in her tunic and trousers, shrieking with delight, her black braid whipping out above her like a ribbon as she plummeted towards the water. She drew her knees up to her chest and hit the surface with a colossal splash. For several moments, the water began to still, and Galadriel felt a surge of anxiety. She resisted the urge to call out for Lúthien. Moments later, the princess resurfaced and waved up to Galadriel, calling something that Galadriel couldn’t hear.
“Confound it,” she sighed, looking down as Lúthien began to cut a backstroke across the water. She moved her backpack over by Lúthien’s, and dropped her waterskin beside it. She loosed her braid down from its bun, knowing her pins were unlikely to survive from cliff to shore, and tucked them into her backpack. Then, before she could give it much more thought, she copied Lúthien’s running start and leaped over the edge.
Conceptually, it was not far removed from things she had done back home. This was just higher than she was accustomed to. The air rushed by, blowing her hair back from her face, cooling the sweat on her body, until she hit the water like an explosion, driving straight down into the plants and muck at the bottom. She heard Lúthien crying out until the water filled her ears and the world went still but for the bubbles streaming up around her. It was not as cold as she had feared, and after the initial shock it was deeply refreshing, as if she were a thirsty plant suddenly drenched. She hovered there in the water until her chest began to ache and then she surfaced.
Lúthien was waiting nearby and she grinned at Galadriel, beads of water gleaming on her face and hair like a dew-washed meadow.
“I was uncertain if you would come,” she said.
“And let you have all the fun?” Galadriel scoffed. Lúthien splashed her, so Galadriel splashed back, and they chased each other into the shallows and then back out into deeper water.
“I love coming out here,” Lúthien sighed, floating on her back. “It’s so marvelous, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Galadriel agreed, treading water beside her, looking at the Elf beside her rather than the landscape. Her fingers tingled lightly in memory of where they had grazed Lúthien’s skin during their horseplay.
“I’m glad you came,” Lúthien said, turning her head to look at Galadriel. “Now that I know how well you keep up, I shall have more adventures for us!” Galadriel was quite content to consign herself to adventures that did not involve frostbite or murder. A smile tugged at her lips. “Ah! There, I knew I would have it eventually!”
“Have what?” Galadriel asked, sobering again.
“Your smile,” Lúthien said, kicking her feet to drift just past Galadriel.
“Do you find me so serious?” Galadriel asked, the corners of her mouth turning down.
“You are, rather!” said Lúthien. “But no matter, it isn’t a problem. Only I should like to know you enjoy your time in my kingdom.”
“I do,” Galadriel said genuinely. “And it has been most kind of your family to welcome me here.”
“And you enjoy your time with me, too?” said Lúthien. Galadriel snorted, and splashed the princess in the face in response, making her duck under the water. When she resurfaced, Lúthien was laughing.
***
If there were only a few things Galadriel had learned about the Wood-elves since she had come to Middle-earth, among them was certainly how they loved a good party. Doriath seemed to have a kingdom-wide party at least twice a season (Thingol always seemed to have a party prepared when Finrod or Aegnor or Angrod stopped to visit) and they bore a closer resemblance to the bacchanalias of some of the stranger Ainur-worshipping sects in Aman than the formalistic affairs of court parties in Tirion. The Iathrim had made a close study of the effects of various mushrooms, and they were prevalent when the sun went down on a festival.
Generally, Lúthien took well to them, dancing wildly among her people until the sun had come up above the horizon once more, often followed at the heel by Daeron in his crown of ferns, piping whatever tunes most pleased the princess, if she had not pulled him into a dance along with her. They were together then, not feigning not to speak, as they did sometimes in court, when Galadriel was certain they were conversing volubly by ósanwe even as they stood passive and still by the side of the king and queen.
Galadriel had been looking for her.
As Lúthien leaned down to put her lips by Daeron’s dark head, she touched the great ruby at her throat, and Galadriel was reminded of their preparation for this party:
Lúthien had swept into her rooms, wanting to see what Galadriel planned to wear. Lúthien herself was radiant in lavender and yellow, as she would have been dressed in a burlap sack. There was nearly a glow about her, which came at least as much from the energy with which she carried herself as the loveliness of her face and form.
“Help me with this,” she had said, and somehow managed it in a way that made one wish to help, rather than merely be annoyed at the demand. Even when Galadriel had the thought that Lúthien had been spoiled as a child, she could never do it with malice. Lúthien had held out the necklace, which Galadriel had taken. The metal was warm where Lúthien had held it.
The princess had turned, leaving it to Galadriel to gather her thick inky hair away from her neck and shift it over Lúthien’s shoulder. She had stood behind Lúthien, transfixed by the nape of her neck and the ridges of her spine and the dusting of delicate hairs there. The smell of Lúthien’s gardenia perfume had enveloped her like an dreamy embrace invented by Galadriel’s own mind in the middle of the night.
“If you would lower yourself a little, my lady,” said Galadriel through a dry mouth. It wasn’t strictlynecessary, but it would make her job easier.
“Ah! My mistake,” Lúthien had giggled, crouching slightly to put her neck more within Galadriel’s reach. “Better?” With one hand, she held her hair out of Galadriel’s way.
Galadriel had slipped the silver chain around the princess’ graceful neck. Her fingers brushed against the warmth of Lúthien’s throat and her shoulders as she brought the clasp together. Her breathing trembled; her chest felt hot. She did not want to let go of Lúthien, did not want her to move away; there was a kind of swelling in her throat and tongue; she thought of how she and her cousins had slept all piled together on the ice to stay warm and thought of lying so pressed near to Lúthien, sharing the warmth of her breath and the heat of her body. When she’d hooked the chain in place, she gave it a tug to make sure it was secure, and then Lúthien twirled away from her, her hair falling back into place, and she beamed into Galadriel’s vanity mirror.
“There, that will do, won’t it?” Her expression faltered for a moment, but she brushed it off and had turned back to Galadriel. “Are you ready to go?”
Seeing Lúthien’s fingers on the necklace again drew Galadriel temptingly back into her room, where she had hung that jewel about that throat, touched her fingers against the pulse of life in that neck. Did Daeron clasp her jewels as well? Lúthien was smiling at something Daeron had said (in Galadriel’s mind, Daeron’s best personality trait was his ability to make Lúthien laugh—and his willingness to do anything to that end), but when he moved away from her, that more solemn expression which had been only briefly on her face in Galadriel’s room returned.
Galadriel began to push with more insistence through the crowd towards her, but when she finally made it over to the tree where Lúthien had been standing, she was gone again. Catching sight of straight-backed Mablung, she briefly turned towards him with the intent of asking if he had seen where Lúthien had gone, but then held back. She didn’t wish Lúthien to think she was chasing her down if Mablung found her first.
“Looking for someone?” Elves simply seemed to bleed out of the mass of revelers, so Galadriel should not have been surprised to be addressed. She turned to see Lord Celeborn, a flute of mead pinched between his fingers, a wreath of dark green leaves upon his fair head.
“The princess, she was just here,” Galadriel said, allowing some frustration to bleed through her tone.
“Ah, I believe I saw her over yonder,” said Celeborn, pointing off in a wholly different direction. Galadriel sighed. “Care for a drink, my lady?” he asked, holding the cup out to her.
“No, I believe I have more walking to do,” she said. “Excuse me, my lord.” She turned away, tugging her tunic flatter against her chest, and waded off through the crowd once more in search of Lúthien.
***
She didn’t find her until the next morning. At some point in the raucous night, Galadriel had simply given up. If Lúthien wished to find her, she would. And if Lúthien did not wish to be found—well, she had other friends. There was no requirement she spend time with Galadriel, even if it left a sour taste in her mouth that there might be others with whom Lúthien preferred to spend the party. So Galadriel had surrendered the chase, taken several cups of mead, and followed Lord Celeborn to a friend’s house where a dozen of them had lounged for some hours over food and a few tender, bitter mushrooms before Galadriel had finally fallen asleep on a floor cushion.
It could not have been more than an hour or two at most when the rising sun cast its rays through the unclosed shutters of the treehouse, dragging Galadriel back to the physical realm with the sticky, blurry feeling in her eyes. Groaning, she hauled herself upright and picked her way through the slumbering Elves carpeting the floor, wishing she had gotten herself back to the palace before falling asleep.
Not terribly desirous of taking a ribbing from the palace personnel about her current state, she decided to slide around a side entrance, which involved stairs and one of the many labyrinthine balcony systems common in Doriath.
It was on one of these balconies in the tender glow of the dawning day that she found Lúthien.
Lúthien also looked like she had not been back to her rooms since the night before, but the difference was that on her, it was a look of careless and carefree lack of concern for trite things like night and day and the passing of time, and not a look of having spent the night on a wood floor with a baseboard digging into the back of her head.
“Good morning, Arwen,” she said, only turning to flicker a tired smile at Galadriel after she’d said it. “It looks that you had fun.”
“Oh, I was foolish to stay out so late,” Galadriel sighed in mild vexation, plucking a tiny brown leaf from her hair and tossing it aside, too worn out to keep up appearances. “I spent the night on someone’s floor.”
“Whose?”
“You know, I don’t even know.”
Lúthien laughed quietly and looked back out at the brightening orange of the sky. Galadriel tentatively came to join her at the railing.
“I did not see much of you last night,” she ventured.
“Ah, forgive me, little daffodil,” said Lúthien, turning to tuck a bit of Galadriel’s hair back behind her ear, instantly silencing the Noldo’s ability to speak. “Were you looking for me? So much of last night is a blur!” She spoke to Galadriel, but her attention was on the horizon. Galadriel followed her gaze and for several minutes they stood in silence, the warmth of the climbing sun washing over them, making Lúthien look as if she herself was responsible for the return of the light, as if Arien returned at the call of the princess of Doriath.
Galadriel’s feet and back and eyes still wanted her to get down to her bedroom and fall into bed, but she was reluctant to pull away from this moment alone with Lúthien. However, as the silence went on, she began to wonder if Lúthien had come here to be alone, and now Galadriel was intruding on that. As she gathered herself to say goodbye and carry on, Lúthien spoke.
“Have you ever had the feeling,” she asked, “that you are not where you are supposed to be, or that you are missing some grand events which you could be party to if only you were able to seek them out?”
“…I have not,” Galadriel said slowly, turning her attention to the princess’ profile. Lúthien sighed and tilted her head from side to side. Abruptly Galadriel felt that she was looking at something raw and exposed.
“There is a restlessness in me sometimes,” Lúthien confessed softly, the ruby glinting at her throat. “I have thought it an effect of my mother’s blood yet…I have never known her to be restless.” There was that look again, the one Galadriel had seen on her face at the party.
“No?”
“If there was more to her life before she wed, she does not mourn it. She has always seemed wholly content, with my father, with me, with Doriath…Perhaps because she knew something more, she can afford not to miss it. My mother has known the unknown. But I…I wonder if one such as myself can ever be ‘settled.’ How can I, when I have never wandered? I feel I grow less content over time.”
“One such as yourself?”
“I think you forget sometimes that I am only half an Elf.” If you think for even a moment I forget how special you are…Galadriel thought. “There is another half which is ill-contented being so restrained, yet lacks the power to be anything but what I am.” She sighed from low in her belly and for the first time, Galadriel saw something approaching unhappiness on the princess’ face, and it was baffling.
“Where would you go?” asked Galadriel, who had all the excitement and potential she could hope for there in Middle-earth. “What would you do?” For a moment, she had a vision in her mind of their leaving Doriath together, side-by-side on horseback, riding off into the great unknown of Beleriand, but she batted that aside.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” said Lúthien. She flicked her eyes over Galadriel’s face. “It it such a strange idea?”
“You are safe here, in Doriath,” Galadriel pointed out. “And there are few who would deny you anything and even those would keep little from you.” Galadriel had rarely known the king to ever say “no” to his daughter, and she had a near-endless font of power and wisdom in the queen.
“Ah. Worry yourself not,” said Lúthien with a faint half-smile. “Shall we find Daeron to play us a tune? He can always lighten the mood.”
While it was true Daeron had a talent with jaunty tunes—as he had a talent with all tunes—his freestyle tended more towards trembling notes of aching yearning, such that Galadriel wondered that Lúthien should characterize his playing as ‘light.’
Fortunately, Lúthien observed Galadriel more closely for a moment and then said:
“Oh, how thoughtless of me. How tired you must be, poor thing! Go and rest.” She put a hand on Galadriel’s upper arm and squeezed lightly. Galadriel felt the press of her fingers long after the princess had let go. “I have selfishly kept you. Go, we shall talk another time.”
But Lúthien never did raise the topic of her restlessness again, at least not with Galadriel.
***
If Galadriel closed her eyes, she could hear Doriath’s cheery chorus: crickets among the leaves, birds chasing them down, the chatter of the frogs in the reeds, the slosh of water as Lúthien kicked off the muddy pond bottom. If she opened them, she could see Lúthien’s pale breast gleaming against the dark water, slick and pebbled with faint chill as she floated on her back. The heat of the day was fading fast in the darkness.
The very first time they had done this, Galadriel had managed to perfectly humiliate herself by blurting out something about Lúthien’s parents wondering where she was, to which Lúthien had just laughed. As if Galadriel hadn’t sneaked out herself! She couldn’t imagine why such a thing had passed her lips.
The princess drew in a deep breath and straightened up, water cascading down over her sleek black hair as she turned her sharp, heavily-lidded eyes on Galadriel and made her shiver.
“We should stay out tonight,” she said. Faint beams of moonlight filtered through the trees and fell along the calligraphic line of Lúthien’s cheekbones. Galadriel thought of her warm, dry bed in her small apartment. She thought of combing the pond water out of her hair, and dabbing a bit of scent on her wrists before pulling on a silk nightgown and burrowing down among the covers. She thought of the absence of mosquitos indoors, and a good night’s sleep.
She looked into Lúthien’s eyes. They were not luminescent in the way of Galadriel’s or Thingol’s, as Lúthien herself had never seen the Trees—but there was a shifting glimmer there, a whisper of Melian’s blood which once again made Lúthien unique, even among the Calaquendi.
She didn’t argue.
Lúthien came out of the water to lay beside Galadriel on the great boulder, water streaming off her and pooling onto the rock beneath, the thatch of black hair between her legs springing up again at once.
“Tell me something about where you come from,” she said, closing her eyes. The topic of Aman had fascinated her initially, then repelled her when the truth of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë had come to light, but had begun to open up as a topic again when the king’s forgiveness had had time to settle. For her part, Galadriel was simply relieved to not have been cast out, nor put aside as Melian’s student, though she sensed she had lost Melian’s trust in a way that could not be regained. But now wasn’t the time for those thoughts.
“Oh, never mind about there,” Galadriel said. “Things are far more interesting here.”
“Are they?” Lúthien peeked open her gleaming eyes. “Do you mean ‘more dangerous’?”
“I mean there is more opportunity,” said Galadriel.
“You miss it not?” said Lúthien.
“I do not,” Galadriel lied. “I harbor no regrets about leaving. There was nothing for me there.”
“Well, then, I am glad you came,” said Lúthien, smiling. “For I have benefitted of your friendship, Galadriel.” Galadriel breathed deeply to stave off a flush and Lúthien giggled. “’tis a lovely nickname, truly. And very appropriate! Why, when I heard, I was cross I had not thought of it myself!” She reached out to twine a lock of Galadriel’s hair around her finger. “Radiant you are indeed!” She sat up and stretched. “Shall I braid your marvelous golden hair for you?”
“If it pleases you,” said Galadriel, belying, she hoped, the way the offer made her stomach twist and churn. She knew by then that such offers did not carry the weight among the Sindar that they did among the Noldor, but the shocking intimacy of it made Galadriel’s heart leap all the same, and purr with satisfaction at the thought of being dear to Lúthien.
Lúthien hummed and sang as she plaited Galadriel’s damp hair, her sweet voice filling up the space around the trees, lulling Galadriel into a place apart from the rest of the world. Her deft fingers brushed irregularly against Galadriel’s bare back and shoulders until Galadriel nearly trembled with desire for a more forceful touch from her. That night, after they had wandered enough, she took them deeper into the woods—Lúthien never seemed to lose her way—and found a satisfactory (in her mind) place for them to sleep. The ground was lumpy and cold under Galadriel’s light robe and her cloak, but the stars glimmered up through the holes in the tree canopy and Lúthien lay awake beside her, watching the wispy clouds drift by overhead.
“Are you cold?” Lúthien asked.
“I’ve known colder nights,” Galadriel said. Lúthien liked her nights out in the woods, and Galadriel would not be the cause of their returning. Nor was the cold anything worth complaining about—not for her. As long as she could still feel her fingers and toes, she would not complain. But Lúthien drew off her own deep blue cloak and threw it over both of them, with the better part over Galadriel.
“Get some rest,” said Lúthien, and Galadriel had the strange feeling Lúthien did not intend herself to sleep. But the day had been long, with the queen testing Galadriel’s power to its limits, and she drifted off quickly, replaying the scenes from the pond over in her mind. Memory bled into dreams, dreams where she dragged her tongue over Lúthien’s fair breasts and her imagination supplied what the princess’ cries of pleasure might sound like. Galadriel woke atremble and could not see Lúthien beside her in the darkness, but she squeezed her eyes shut and went back to sleep, which offered no relief.
In the morning, Lúthien was there, pink-cheeked and full of song, and Galadriel could not decide if she had dreamed of Lúthien’s absence or not.
***
Lúthien’s restlessness eventually turned all of Doriath upside-down. Galadriel had oft considered Daeron impulsive and short-sighted, yet she could not disagree with aught that he said about Beren of the Edain, and she wondered at what madness had come over Lúthien that she would think to pledge herself to a mortal Man.
Through many trials, Beren and Lúthien returned once more to Doriath, but Carcharoth haunted still their steps, and the king prepared his warriors to take down the great wolf. Galadriel had sat in the throne room as Beren and Lúthien gave the tale of their quest to the king and queen, and she watched Thingol soften to his daughter’s will, and release the resentment and mistrust which he held for Beren, and was shocked to feel herself reject his change of heart. It could not be, that he meant to allow this mortal to claim Lúthien’s heart! Who was Beren, to lay claim over one so treasured by all of Doriath?
But before his throne Lúthien took Beren’s hands, and Galadriel perceived that Lúthien was slipping away from her, that the sweet days in which they had passed their time since Galadriel passed behind the Girdle were coming to a close, and she fought against despair that Beren had succeeded so well in his appointed task.
Lúthien had no further patience for those who did not understand her. Galadriel had tried to speak to her before, but Lúthien allowed none but her old friend Daeron into her treehouse prison. Galadriel still was not sure what she would have said—how could she of all people counsel restraint? Yet how could she encourage this pursuit, which would surely only end in fatal grief for Lúthien, taking her so far beyond Galadriel’s reach? Even now, Galadriel hesitated, but she could not leave so much unsaid between them.
Lúthien answered the knock on her door with a prompt call to enter, and Galadriel did. There was a new tension in Lúthien’s voice, in the way she moved; a new wariness in her eyes: she had something to protect now, something she feared to lose, and she carried herself differently for it. Galadriel understood more in the last few weeks about Lúthien’s power than she ever had in the years before.
“Is Beren here?” Galadriel asked.
“He is with Mablung,” said Lúthien at her loom. “He would learn to fight with just the one hand, now.”
“I have not seen you much since your return,” Galadriel said.
“There has been much afoot,” said Lúthien. She was weaving bandage cloth. “What troubles you?” She paused, then lifted her eyes, and seemed for the first, uncertain. “I have yet to give condolences for your brother,” she admitted, rising to her feet and moving away from the loom. “Finrod’s passing has grieved me greatly; I have known fewer souls kinder or more well-intentioned.”
Truly, Galadriel had not meant to speak of Finrod with Lúthien. The grief was still a shock to her; despite the losses of Aegnor and Angrod, she had somehow still believed that she and Finrod would survive longer. The better part of her mind continued to insist he was off in Nargothrond, learning about Edanic weaving techniques or lounging around the baths or plotting new summits among the Elven lords. It would take time for that to settle in, and she could not afford it to now—she needed to focus. She could not think of Finrod now.
“Mean you truly to do this? To leave?” Galadriel blurted out. Lúthien was only momentarily flummoxed by this response before switching gears along with her guest. Her back stiffened.
“I will swear no oaths on it, but presently it is our intention,” said Lúthien. “Mother and Father would welcome us here now, but I have decided I wish to experience more of the world.” What about her experience nearly being forcibly wed to Celegorm or battling Sauron and his minions in Tol-in-Gaurhoth had made Lúthien want to see more of the world Galadriel couldn’t fathom.
“A sojourn,” Galadriel said. Lúthien tilted her head from side to side.
“It may be a very long one,” she said. Not longer than Beren’s life, Galadriel guessed. When her mortal love was gone, then Lúthien would come back—if she survived his passing. The alternative struck her to the quick and she found herself resentful once again that Beren had ever found his way into Doriath.
“There is something on your mind,” said Lúthien, nearly short in her tone. “I would have you say it, Arwen.”
“I am sure it is nothing you have not considered already,” said Galadriel.
“Still, I would have it said.”
“Mean you truly to bind yourself to a mortal?”
The way Lúthien looked at her then made Galadriel wither in a way she had not felt since she had been a silly child. There was a kind of cold disappointment there, as if Lúthien had expected this, but had hoped Galadriel would surprise her. It was not a look Galadriel had ever received from the princess.
“I believe I have made myself quite clear on this point,” said Lúthien. “Have you a new criticism to launch at me?”
“It is only…how short are their lives, Lúthien! And this man...is he truly worth the cost?” It was a losing battle, of course—Lúthien was not even on the battlefield with her—yet the anguish in her heart urged her on. “You would surrender everything you have here—”
“How like the rest of them you sound!” Lúthien cried in frustration.
“I am only concerned with—”
“Oh, so everyone is concerned!” Lúthien jerked away and paced several times, snapping her dark gaze back over to Galadriel, a wrathful smolder there unusual in its intensity. “Even now, even after all I have done, you think I know not what I desire? You think I do not see the world clearly? I have lived many more years than you, Arwen, perhaps you ought consider that! Perhaps it is you who is failing to see things clearly!”
“My youth does not negate what I have experienced already!” Galadriel snapped back.
“Perhaps you would have more perspective were you not convinced perpetually that you are the cleverest person in the room!”
“I do not think that, except when it is true, and you will not even stop to consider you may be doing what spoiled children always do and grabbing for what you want with no thought for—”
“I am the spoiled child?” Lúthien demanded. “As if you have not considered it your right to learn at my mother’s foot since first you came here, even when you concealed your bloody truths from us?”
“Will that never lie!”
“You merely seemed so keen to dredge up the past!” Lúthien replied. “If you have come only to dissuade me, you may take your leave. I have not done all that I have done to be chastised by you. Make your decisions. I have made mine.”
Galadriel drew in a breath and forced herself to try to calm. Was this how she wished to bid goodbye to Lúthien? Truly?
“I do not understand you,” she confessed, lowering her voice. “That is all. I wish to understand.”
“You do not need to understand,” said Lúthien. “I need none to understand.” But then she softened and approached Galadriel. “This is what I want,” she said, almost urged. Some of the tension Galadriel had not realized she was holding bled out of her shoulders. “Surely you understand seeing so clearly the direction of one’s future! I have no doubts, Galadriel. None at all—I have never been so sure of anything in my life. I know many of our kind see a tragedy in this, but that is not what I see. Someday you will feel this kind of love,” she said, pressing a hand to her breast. “The kind that fills you to the brim, that wraps around you like a warm fur, that reaches into your core. Then, you will understand my choice.”
Galadriel did not understand it. She did not understand what was so special about Beren. She did not understand willingly giving up her life for anyone. She did not think she ever would. Then, unbidden, she thought of her brother whom she had been trying not to think of—and how Beren said that when Sauron’s wolf came at last for him, Finrod had burst his chains to throw himself at it, and died to spare this mortal another day of life, not knowing Lúthien was right on their heels.
It occurred to her dimly then, that Finrod might have done such a thing for her. Would I have done it for him? she wondered.
“Worry yourself not,” Lúthien said at last when Galadriel had been silent a time. Before she took her seat at her loom again, she said: “You need know only that I am making the right choice for myself. Someday, you will see it.”
***
Menegroth was not still, never still, but there was a subdued air over it, and indeed over all of Doriath. Beren and Lúthien had gone on good terms, with Beren seated at the left hand of the king himself, and so while at the end Lúthien’s parents had willingly parted with her—and indeed, been in great joy after the end of her seeming death and the restoration of Beren—it did not lessen their grief at her departure, nor over the fact that she was bound now to a mortal life, and would then pass beyond their reach until the breaking of the world.
Thingol was melancholy, distracted, perpetually looking east in the direction which Beren and Lúthien had gone. Even Melian was withdrawn; she pressed little during Galadriel’s lessons, and despite her earlier prescience that Lúthien would part from them, Galadriel guessed she bore still a mother’s loss. Daeron had simply never returned; no word had come of where their chief loremaster had gone, nor even if he knew that Lúthien lived.
Galadriel thought for the first time in a long time—she had grown quite practiced in sequestering her thoughts even before she’d first touched a toe in the mud of Middle-earth—of her own mother, sitting alone in a house suddenly still. Did she look out over the sea, as Thingol looked to the edge of the wood? Did her hands grow still all of a sudden at her tasks, as if some memory had gripped her tight, as Melian did? Was there silence too in her house, an emptiness where there had once been joy?
But mostly she thought of Lúthien.
Often she took out the things Lúthien had gifted her, simply to run her hands over them. There were quite a few from just before her final departure, when Lúthien had pressed into Galadriel’s hands things she insisted she would not need in her new home with Beren. Sometimes, she sneaked into Lúthien’s own rooms and sat there, still, focusing her mind on the past, as if she could use some lesson of Melian’s to conjure up Lúthien’s ghost and the sound of her laughter, her teasing, her touch. As if she need only focus hard enough, and she could feel the brush of Lúthien’s hands through her hair or hear the sweetness of her voice.
“You cannot bring her back that way,” Melian had said when she’d caught Galadriel sitting in the nook where Lúthien had once read—where they had once read together. She felt as if she’d been caught pawing through the queen’s silks.
“I had not meant to,” Galadriel lied. It had been a very long time since she had tried to lie to Melian—it never went well, so at some point she had given up. Easier to lie with what she did not say.
“It does not do for the Children to dwell in memory,” said Melian, “and the Quendi are particularly susceptible to this. You must enjoy your recollections of her without losing yourself in them.”
Galadriel almost said something about Eärwen, but held her tongue.
“Forgive me,” she said instead.
“There is nothing to forgive,” said Melian, but Galadriel took her leave regardless, and stayed away from Lúthien’s rooms afterwards, if she passed by them more often than necessary.
Her lessons became less frequent. Galadriel did not press the matter—she could not, not so soon into the queen’s mourning. Instead, she tested herself, driving her to stretch her abilities until she swayed on her feet and nearly swooned. Celeborn fretted, but Galadriel brushed his worries off. It kept her mind busy, and helped her fall into bed at the end of the day too exhausted to ruminate or even dream much. When she did dream, it was of running through the forest, with a presence by her side she could never quite see; or of swimming endlessly through one of the murky forest ponds, seeking something; or strangest of all, of Valinor and the places she had once occupied.
One afternoon, on one of the balconies near the rear of the palace, she found the king leaning forward against the railing.
“Am I disturbing you, Your Grace?” she asked
“No,” he answered. “Stay, if it pleases you.” He was looking east. Galadriel came to the railing and looked out, a faint breeze stirring the hair at her temples. Somewhere out there was Lúthien. Happy with the fate she chose? Galadriel could only imagine it was so. So absorbed was she in this consideration that it startled her to hear Thingol speak. “Do you miss her also?”
She turned to look at him, and for a moment there was not Elu Thingol, King of Beleriand, an emissary to Aman and the Valar, an Elf of great age and power—only a father, struggling to let go of his only child. Startled, Galadriel said:
“I do.” Then she said: “Do you wish that she had stayed, Your Grace?” Thingol exhaled and turned his weary gaze out onto the trees.
“I cannot,” he said, “for if she had stayed she would have been unhappy. When I understood her feelings for Beren were not a temporary madness or some spell, I knew she could never be happy in her old life again. I knew I had already lost her. But as long as she is happy…as long as she is safe…” Galadriel couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince her, or himself. Lúthien’s fate after death must have occupied him a great deal—Galadriel knew it occupied her. He turned his Tree-lit gaze once more on Galadriel.
“You loved her,” he said, and Galadriel felt as cold as if she had just been stripped to the skin. Speechless, she fumbled frantically for a response, and then Thingol said: “She inspired that, didn’t she?” He made a quite noise that did not quite pass as a laugh. “After she came into our lives, we never even considered other children. Lúthien took all our time, and that felt right. And why should we want for others, when we had her?”
“I told her not to go.” The words tripped right out of Galadriel. “She…” She was disappointed in me. She thought less of me. She made me feel like a child.
“There was none who could dissuade her,” said the king kindly, inclining his head to Galadriel. “This was a pivotal choice for Lúthien.”
I was a poor friend. But Galadriel could not decide if it was because she had not persuaded Lúthien to be less hasty, or because she had even tried.
“I do not understand her,” was what she said.
“I think there are few who do,” said the king reflectively. “She is, after all, one of a kind. And yet…as the queen has pointed out…she is perhaps not so different from ourselves. I should have seen that earlier.” There was a rueful chagrin in Thingol’s voice at the tardy realization that his daughter’s marriage drew some near parallels with his own. A child of Lúthien’s, even if she had been pure Elf, would also be one of a kind. “Some things are the same. That’s her brooch, isn’t it?” He gestured to the clasp at Galadriel’s throat. She nodded.
Grief had made her stupid: Galadriel began to unpin it.
“No, no, it is yours to keep,” the king reassured her, pressing a long-fingered hand over hers to stop her. For a moment, his touch made her remember his daughter’s, and her throat constricted. “All of Lúthien’s gifts are yours to keep. She would wish them to be used.” His touch lingered just a moment, a fresh unhappiness in his gaze. “There is something else for you, as well. I had meant it for—ah, I had meant it for Finrod. But now it shall be yours. A book—a piece of Daeron’s treatise work. It may not be of particular interest to you. But I should like you to have it all the same.”
They had spoken already at length about Finrod’s death, and while Thingol did not share much with Galadriel of his feelings on anything, she could see how much her brother’s death weighed on him. They had buried him, Lúthien had said, in the grass on Tol Sirion (for so it was called again). That was perhaps for the best; what use had Galadriel of her brother’s lifeless body? His spirit was gone—he was gone. Gone to join Aegnor and Angrod in the Halls of Mandos. Gone, leaving her the last of Finarfin and Eärwen’s children in Middle-earth. Galadriel found she could only nod; there was too much to say, too much she risked saying, and her throat had grown achingly tight.
“Thank you, Uncle,” she whispered. That was what Finrod had called him; he would prance into Menegroth after months abroad, his eyes agleam with tales of what he had seen, ready and eager to ask more questions of Thingol and have his updates on Galadriel’s life in Doriath.
Breaking away, she excused herself before she could be more foolish than she had already been, and she returned to Lúthien’s rooms for the first since Melian had caught her there. She shut the door behind her and paced three times around the bedroom.
“I don’t understand you!” she cried aloud, throwing her hands out, her frown turning into a scowl. “To make such a choice! For this man! Who is he to take so much from you? From all of us?” To willingly walk away from her crown! To walk away from her immortality! To walk into obscurity! To let go of her Maia’s power! Galadriel wished to see her friend’s perspective, but it was obscured from her; Lúthien may as well have said she intended to kill herself and was pleased with the choice. She had gone from the possibility of death to the certainty of it—to choose a mortal life! If Galadriel knew slightly less of Beren, she too would have wondered if he had cast some ill spell over Lúthien.
She jerked open one of Lúthien’s armoires and drew out one of the fine silken dressing robes Lúthien had not found time to give away before leaving, and gathered it in her hands. She buried her nose in the collar, seeking a last trace of Lúthien’s scent, but found nothing, and a cracked noise of pain parted her lips. She sank to the carpet, pressing Lúthien’s robe against her face.
“I don’t understand you,” she said again, and she wept.
***
Shortly thereafter she sought out Celeborn, and came to him matter-of-factly in the stable.
“I am leaving,” she said. “It is time for me to go.” He regarded her a long moment, but Galadriel said nothing else, and then he said:
“I shall pack, then.”
#rocky writes#galadriel#luthien#galadriel x luthien#the silmarillion#fanfiction#tolkien tag#tolkien fanfiction#the silmarillion kink meme
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W,U,X,I,A,N
thenk u iza 4 me distraction <3
W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships (gr8 one right off the bat fuckn love it, dont got a lot of kinks but tropes r the same thing right)
Merthur- BAMF!Merlin. my bby boy is the living avatar of all magic, pls let him go totally apeshit with godlike displays of power hes earned it.
Wangxian- bottom lan wangji rights y’all but mostly Marriage Ceremonies And Parenting Sizhui
Trephacard- listen, this whole arrangement is like my best fantasy. oh to be a sexy and morose dhampir curating the largest combined library of supernatural texts and artifacts on the continent and nightly getting railed by a huge himbo and powerful witch who brush my hair and tell me im pretty. this is the dream.
Spirk- Visibly Alien S’chn T’gai Spock. My hc vulcans r not just lime flavored desert elves i demand! weird vocalizations!! alien dick!!! anatomical and behavioral holdovers from pre-reform times aside from fuck or die!!!! i am a monsterfucker these r my rights!!!!!
Viktuuri- CULTURAL DIFFERENCES. SLAVIC CHAV VIKTOR. THE RUSSIAN MEMES.
U - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms
Mo Dao Zu Shi- Wen Ning my sweet bby boy
The Silmarillion- Maedhros
Dragon Age- Anders
Howl’s Moving Castle- Sophie Hatter
Evangelion- Kaworu Nagisa (im sorry japan the w has become a fixture)
X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM
see here’s the thing even with my own characters i usually gotta beat them up a lil before the happy ending. that being said wen ning did nothing wrong ever in his life and if ppl dont properly appreciate him i will blow a fuse
I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why
Lord have mercy on my forsaken soul, i just cant be exposed anymore to superwholock. individually or the collective. also theres one old flash-in-the-pan fandom of which i do not speak but involved an old cartoon that i look back on and think “how the fuck did that even start??” i probably regret it less for the ppl and more bc i was 16 and Dumb
A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s)
Wangxian of course, u and @smol-merci did this to me. im recently interested in wen qing/jiang cheng/lan xichen and wangningxian tho bc of fics
N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (goin with MDZS cuz its my current thing)
Ohhhh boy u already know im working on Crouching Tiger Hidden BAMF Jiang Yanli, moreso i just want her to have like desires outside of caring for the boys and evidence that she is A Noblewoman of Authority With Responsibilities
I tend not to think on the romantic lives of the juniors bc im 23 and theyre babies but something in my soul thinks Ouyang Zizhen is aroace w/ a deep aesthetic sense and imma roll with it
Less corporate jobs in modern au’s and this goes for everything like, not every young master has to be some lame bougie business major. Trade skills and ordinary jobs for life!! let WWX be a childrens librarian!! Academia only if it’s full of the bullshit shenanigans i know scholars get up to like the beef over Poe’s orangutan and underground smuggling rings of of japanese chalk
#it speaks#piyo-13#this took me legit two hours and i promptly forgot everything ive ever loved or blogged about besides mdzs lmaoooo#how was i ever into like five animes at once i dont remember at all
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silm meme
i was tagged by @lunavagantt for this meme that was titled “silm meme” but has random non-silm questions sprinkled throughout and looks suspiciously like a no-longer-morphing iteration of the 11 questions meme.....
1. Where was the last place you traveled?
Depending on the definition of “travel”, Colorado and Las Vegas with my gf <3
2. Chapter of the Silmarillion that gets you the most emotional?
Either “Of The Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath”, or “Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor”
3. And why?
The Voyage of Eärendil, because of the amazing vivid fragility and mythicness of the events and the set pieces and scenes and character dynamics....the two half-elves, the last of their houses, orphaned, homeless, childless, all their city and people dead and scattered, cast away across the sea on a desperate hope, and the becoming a star....Of the Sun and Moon, because of the most quintessentially tolkien alchemy, of a small marred scrap salvaged from ruin and death and loss, and holding an echo of what was lost, transformed into the light of the world.
4. Which do you think is more important to civilization, science or art?
I mean, both are necessary (and often very overlapping) but I suppose science is more of a means and art is more of an ends. If you think of ends as most important, then mayb art, but I’m not sure I think of world processes like that....
5. Tell me your go-to order at one of your favorite restaurants:
Amsterdam Falafels, on 18th Street in Adams-Morgan, Washington D.C. -- a serving of the literal best falafels in the universe, eaten ASAP in the tiny narrow seating area.
6. If you write or make art, what’s one idea you’ve had that you haven’t started working on (yet)? (If you don’t, what’s one leisure activity you’d like to do, but haven’t?)
That I HAVEN’T started working on.....which of the 4923......um i mean......the in-universe Your Religious Kink Is Not My Kink fic featuring background Annatar/Celebrimbor is a good one
7. Do you have a pet? If so, what kind?
I have a dog! Okay he’s my parents dog now, used to be our family dog before my sister and I moved away, but he is the handsomest border collie ever.
8. What’s one thing you’re looking forward to right now?
My girlfriend is gonna be visiting me again before the semester starts and I am losing my fucking mind with excite
9. Apples or bananas?
Both is good!!!!
10. What’s the weather like today?
It was cloudy and hot and humid and windless, aka the actual worst weather type possible.The night is giving some relief atm though.
11. Do you have a favorite fandom-related item that you own? If so, what is it?
I have some precious art and cards from juliana and lion!!!!! and my grandmother’s battered ancient 1960s canadian paperback edition of LOTR, which i love very much and it’s pretty weird to think of reading LOTR from any other physical source.
Feel free to ignore me if you’ve done it already because i have no clue what’s been happening, but @gurguliare @thelioninmybed @crocordile @actualmermaid @imindhowwelayinjune @ivanaskye
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WIP meme
Do This: List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.
Tagged by the magnificent @thistle-verse
Works in varying states of Progress:
Stories #2 & #3 for my top Fandom Trumps Hate bidder (LOTR/Silmarillion)
Who wanted stories that focus on the Giant Eagles of Middle-earth, and sent me so many great ideas and suggestions that I decided to write not just one short story for her but three. The first has already been posted (Prey Tell, Bilbo/Landroval). The second, tentatively titled “Ring’d With the Azure World” (after the Tennyson eagle poem) is almost done in first draft form, and tells of a HIGHLY AWKWARD incident that happens as two of the great eagles carry two of the Istari on their journey from Valinor to Middle-earth. The third is giving me fits but I’m almost 6,000 words on it. It’s called “When Wind is In the Deadly East” (which comes from the Ents’ song even though it isn’t about Ents) and is a fusion with another fandom (GEE GUESS WHICH ONE) and has to do with HIGHLY AWKWARD Giant Eagle sibling relations.
“Signs Following” for @significanceofmoths, another FTH bidder (Sherlock AU, Johnlock)
A Bone-Fiddle-verse casefic set about three years after the first story, so around 1976 (which, as it happens, was the year when WV abolished its sodomy laws). It is loosely (very loosely) inspired by “Speckled Band” and involves a snake-handling church.
Ejaculations of Wonder (Sherlock/Oglaf fusion, clusterfuck pairingwise)
I’m posting this serially, first 10 chapters already up. The chapters of this one are really short - I’m trying to give the shape and pace of each little bit a feel that’s similar to the Oglaf webcomic, and give regular readers a quick giggle from time to time. I try to stay at least two short chapters ahead - and this story is very nonlinear, so I can stop and drop a few hundred words every time I get an idea that makes me giggle. Which the whole thing does. I mean. CUMSPRITES.
Setting and Sense of Place essay
This is due very soon and I’m clipping right along. It’s for Spark, the newsletter of Improbable Press.
Things I need to Really Start Working On Soon In Earnest: 1. Story for #4 FTH bidder (which is going to be raunchy Johnlock smut, that’s all I know and maybe all I need to know). 2. Johnlockolly prompt from the kink meme that caught my eye.
Backburnered, temporarily stalled-out stories still churning along under the radar:
“Ginger Bush League” A Johnlock and Marene cracky casefic loosely inspired by “Red-Headed League” and much, much dirtier. In the same universe as Venus Infers. In which Irene is a dashing jewel thief as well as a dominatrix, and Mary is her sidekick and backup and gun moll. Sherlock and John are trying to catch them. Maybe they’re like a dog chasing a car who doesn’t know what to do with what it catches.
TWO Bone Fiddle-verse casefics, “She Warbles as She Flies” and “Blue Face of Kentucky.”
A Hobbit story involving mithril-shirt worship that’s likely to wind up Bilbo/Thorin/Thranduil to some degree.
The next story in the Their Terrible Sharpness series. Don’t you want to see what terrifying grotesque entity Sérelókë is going to fuck next? (I KNOW that’s not a nice thing to say about Iaun. I’m not TALKING about Iaun. OBVIOUSLY Sérelókë is going to fuck him. I mean in addition to....)
tagging @anarfea, @whogrooveson, @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant, @zaffrefic, @itsacon10, @random-nexus, @violsva, @dulcimergecko, @missdaviswrites, @onethousandhurrahs, @pipmer, @pippnfrodo, @redbuttonhole, @redscudery, and anyone else who wants to play
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Text
Let us taunt old care with a merry air / And sing in the face of ill
Fandom: Tolkien
Pairing: Earendil/Elwing
AN: De-anon from the kink meme for Earendil and Elwing’s developing relationship. Title is from the poem “In Summer" by Paul Laurence Dunbar.
AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG
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In the fall, Elwing is five, and she builds sandcastles in front of a strange ocean with a boy from a city she never saw, that doesn’t exist any longer, which makes them two of a kind. He grows the same way she does, in odd fits and starts, with no one sure where their milestones are supposed to be, or what their futures will look like. They skip through the wet sand and in the daylight forget the memories of burning trees and clashing blades and running, running, running in the joy of warm sunlight on their cheeks and cups of hot cider pressed into their hands by the adults. If his parents hover slightly, she doesn’t notice, any more than she notices the fretful, haunted eyes always watching her.
In the winter, Elwing is fourteen, and she understands what she has lost. The howl of the inconsolable waves on the shore echoes the raging in her breast for everything that has been stolen from her; the memory of her brothers haunts the corners of her vision and she introduces herself as Dioriel. Eärendil does not begrudge her her wrath or her grief and sits beside her while she trembles as a storm-tossed sail, while she demands answers of ghosts and apparitions who cannot speak. The Silmaril is in a box in her room and there is bitter pleasure in opening it up to stare at the jewel that cost her family everything, and to know the monsters who did this to her will never have it. Eärendil asks her what she remembers of Doriath, and the resentment is so heavy on her tongue she can barely speak when she replies: Nothing.
In the spring, Elwing is twenty-six, and she is tired of being angry. She takes long walks on the beach with Eärendil and his parents, and she does not begrudge him their company. Idril Celebrindal presses egg tarts into her hands and Tuor Ulmondil regales her with stories of his journey to Gondolin, and when Eärendil lays his head on her shoulder, she puts her arm around him and asks him what he remembers about Gondolin. Eärendil tells her of the splendid fountains, and of his grandfather Turgon, who would lift him up on his balcony to let him see the entirety of the city spread out at his feet, and of the sweet mountain air. While he speaks, she feels his joy, and not her own loss, and that is how she knows she loves him.
In the summer, Elwing is thirty, and Eärendil wears a hair clasp emblazoned with the symbol of her house, and she can feel the stirring of life below her ribs. The Silmaril is heavy around her neck, but it shines like a star when it catches the light, and in the mornings when Eärendil is home, he gathers her thick dark hair away from her neck to clasp it on for her. Sometimes when he is away, she sleeps with it on, as if feeling the weight of it against her breast somehow keeps him close. They sit on the edge of the pier in front of a peach sky and discuss what they shall call the baby, and Elwing threatens to push Eärendil into the water when he suggests the name of his father’s favorite goat (who now lives in their own yard). The glorious radiance of the time they have together so outshines the pain of their separation that Elwing forgets what it feels like to say goodbye once Eärendil has come back to port.
�� In the summer, Elwing is thirty, and she no longer thinks about “going home,” because she has created a new home for herself, and in this, she hopes the phantoms of her past will finally find peace.
#elwing#earendil#earendil x elwing#the silmarillion#tolkien tag#fanfiction#tolkien fanfiction#rocky writes#the silmarillion kink meme#case and point about g-rated requests on the kink meme#starwing
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