#theworldisquietheretooquiet
Note
Sorry I have another one if you want :) Míriel and 'old and forgetton'
thank you for the asks @theworldisquietheretooquiet! got míriel-brain disease and ended up finishing this one first <3
the usual míriel & descendants warnings apply. 1458 words.
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Labours of the Living
Finwë found her hidden away, in the alcove she retreated to when her own working rooms were grown tiresome to her eyes.
It did not surprise Míriel. Finwë had always had a talent for finding her, a skill honed through many years; even, and most particularly, when Míriel sought an escape. He loved her too well to want her lonesome, and knew her to well to think she should always be given her way in living engrossed in her work.
“My lady, my bright lady, here I find you at last,” he said, and came upon the secret curve of the staircase like a vision of himself. Míriel saw him as he was, tall and well-braided, the darkness of his eyes gleaming for her in the light of the high window; for a moment a stranger, a new and beloved thing.
Underneath the heartbeat of her own breast another one jumped, calling to her, thrilled at the sight.
Your father, she told her child, agreeing. Let one of them delight in the world and in Finwë particularly, when she was too weary for it. That was what children were for, joy-making and living stores of joy - so she was told. Your high-hearted father, who shall love you better than all things.
Finwë loved her so well. Nearly as much as the promise of their child; a curious loss of preeminence for Míriel, who understood him perfectly.
“Such hurry, my lady,” Finwë-king teased, jumping up the steps around one pyramid of bolts of brocade like he had when jumping the lake-stone path over the waters of Cuiviénen to visit the dwellings of Míriel, where she had kept her wild goats and first mastered the spindle. “That is princely garment that you have wrought lately, for a prince in many ages.”
“Or many princes, of many ages,” said Míriel.
She looked down at her hand upon the needle, the brilliant floss strung through, the hoop in her lap and the organized disorder of fabrics around her and that same strangeness rose like sea-sickness, the hungry thing inside her restless and small, wanting always to know, know, know what it saw through her eyes.
It wearied her spirit. And the flesh was weary enough as was. It had been a great deal of baskets and bolts of fabric to carry, even if it was but a fraction of what she was working upon; and she was weary still after the climb, though Telperion’s light upon the window beside her had fractured in many changing angles since first she arrived. She had lost precious time with it; the child delighted in the spectrum of it, and her eyes, too, were passionate about colour, heavy enough to grow distracted.
Míriel of the needle with her strong will distracted from her craft! It had not happened before, even when she had been wounded, cold and famished; it happened far too often now. Much had grown tiresome to Míriel, as her child rounded her belly, her most ambitious project kicking at her bowels and sending her constant reveries of strong, flashing impressions.
She made a wardrobe entire: court robes and sturdy traveling layers knitted in complicated patterns, thin shifts for sleep of beautifully embroidered satin. Hats in fashion not yet invented, caps and veils and nets, stitched with golden coins and intricate lacework in gold-thread. Aprons of leather-work, embossed so a distracted craftsman might pass his fingertips over the designs as they thought.
The flaming of a poppy, and the blossoming of a new flame; the sweet purple-reds of the bougainvillea. Linen, velvet, brocade and samite, all of it red, and red, and more red. Her child saw nothing else, in the haven of her womb; that was all it knew to love. Míriel found many variety of it among the fabrics of her stores, dyed others, to her own perfect demands.
Not easy, to stand before the vats with the shifting paddles, moving cotton in water with heavy, forceful arms; and less so, when her ankles so ached and her back complained. Her shoulders ached still after the long labour of her early pregnancy. But Míriel would have no aid, nor even from her best apprentices. She had a reverie in mind, a dream that was no dream, the crafter’s perfect vision of the work to finish; and she meant for it to be impeccable, for it to last.
Her king knelt before her on the cold harshness of the stone, and kissed her hands affectionately, peering down to look at the work on the hoop.
“That shall certainly be marvelous,” Finwë agreed, “Many marvels for our children shall come from your hand; yet, Míriel, do not forego sleep for it! Thou art crafting many masterpieces at once.”
His smile was knowing, tender around the eyes. It suited him: the care he took with his lady, the last light before the Mingling curling around the stay hairs that escaped his crown. Prickly, goading and laughing and bold and full of wonder like a self-sustaining and warming fire: that was as she liked him best, the chieftain and the craftsmen she loved, her old friend from the old world.
Never had she resented him any softness, nothing of the gentleness that was in him. It had been pleasure, at first, how swiftly he nurtured it, beside his eagerness for the widening of their close and secretive family, the dear circle of their arms around one another; but she could not return it.
So much of Tírion-upon-Tuna was made exactly to his liking, from the materials he thought best, arranged in the angles of his thinking. Míriel loved the city so well. It was not Tírion’s fault Míriel was too weary to stomach the sight of it well, nor her husband’s tenderness.
She took his hands, that he might feel the child kicking inside her; and then took them, so he might help her down the steep path of her own devising.
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Fëanáro’s rooms had gathered dust for many Ages, when at last Míriel returned to life, committed again to life. He had taken much with himself on his exile to the far northern fortress of Formenos, and among his many works and treasures had been the full collection of Míriel’s works: all his wardrobe, what of it had not been passed on to his sons as they grew.
Míriel knew this: she had woven him garbed with the long tunics of her own make, raising a torch and declaring a fell promise, his sons arrayed around him likewise: in capes, and hats, and embroidered robes of rich, blood-dark crimson. She did not look for her son in the apartments where he had been young and unhappy, nor the rooms set aside for the children he begot in love - did not open drawers, or press her mouth against worn fabrics made into paler shades by layers of dust through the Ages.
Nothing remained. He was not loved now, her son; the rooms were barred and barren, so they might not be destroyed in wrathful grief by the righteous.
The palace of Tírion was much changed. There were rooms enclosed and airless, like the chambers and cairns of stone where the dead had been buried on the journey out of Cuiviénen. There was Indis’ hand in the leveling of high stone walls and the raising of galleries crowned and surrounded in glass; Indis’ hand who had drawn the mezzanines, and decided on the colour of upholstery, the design of the candlesticks.
And Finwë, in all things Finwë’s fondness for soft fabrics and bold colours, his liking for meadows with many moss-covered boulders set together for conversation matured into a tendency for low tables, and vast rooms with many seats.
Míriel’s own marks remained, for they had been made to endure unseen: curling staircases; cunning doorways, alcoves with stained glass windows and a seat carved into the parapet, the sort of places a distracted broideress might retreat to work.
Some of the places had been plainly found. Childish, painstaking scratches lined the windowsills, tengwar in a faltering fashion, still inventing itself, scratching the first attempts. A quiet place, made in ancient times.
How young she had felt, sketching the project of it upon Finwë’s blueprints! Old, and forgotten; for no children ran now, joyful or wretched, through the secret hallways of Tírion’s great palace.
There and only then did Míriel raise her hand to lay over her belly, which had so shuddering with life when last she stood in her quiet hideout; only then did she weep, Þerindë of the needle, as her child had wept in secret against the sleeves she had dyed and sewn and embroidered with the last of her last life.
#míriel#finwe#feanor#the silmarillion#my fics#asks and answers#silm fic#theworldisquietheretooquiet#noldor#years of the trees#míriel þerindë
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I have some propaganda for Urwen!
In response to her death, Hurin says this "Marrer of Middle-earth, would that I might see you face to face, and mar you as my lord Fingolfin did!' His love and subsequent loss of her is definitely a motivator, I think, for his later valiant defiance of Morgoth! So she may have died young but she had a big impact. (I mean if we want to apply the butterfly effect she kinda caused the fall of Nargothrond: motivated Hurin to deny Morgoth, got Turin cursed to give really bad advice about bridges, no more Nargothrond. How many 3 year olds could claim that?
Also more seriously, a lot of the deaths in the Silm are violent and awful. But we little of mundane, quiet deaths from sickness. A young child dying in this way stands out in its more realist tragedy. And it shows the subtler ways Morgoth sowed despair in middle earth and also that he knew the Edain were a threat. The 'evil breath' mostly killed 'the children or the rising youth in the houses of Men.'
Sorry this got so long 😅
Thank you!!! She’s my submission and I need people to understand how precious she is ���️
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I'd love to hear more about the Elwing fic!
Thanks! I really want to go back to this fic and finally write it. It's going to be a sort of a character study of Elwing. I want to write about her childhood trauma, her relationship with Earendil and the final moments before she jumps. Here's a snippet for you!
“You are not afraid of Mori-Morgoth?” Eärendil asks in that weirdly endearing accent of his.
His eyes are wide in disbelief and awe. Elwing remembers the heavy footsteps, remembers the hem of the red cloak she saw through the crack under the door, remembers her nurse’s hand over her mouth.
“No. Not of him,” she says.
(The monster of Eärendil’s nightmares isn’t Morgoth either. He doesn’t look like a monster. He falls, he falls, he falls. Sometimes Eärendil falls with him.)
Elwing did not see her monster’s face, only the hem of its red cloak and its feet, leaving red, red prints after them. In her dreams, instead of walking away, the monster opens the door she is hiding behind. Her gaze freezes on its red footprints. When she tries to look up, she finds her head heavy. Slowly, as if the very air weighs on her, she raises her head, but the monster’s face is so nightmarishly hideous that she wakes up screaming.
ask game here
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15 & 21 for the ask game if you want? Glad you're feeling a bit better!
Hi there! Thank you - it was a rough few weeks, but I think I'm finally starting to mend.
15. A topic you never get tired of discussing
Probably the implications of orcs/uruks being descended from elves, if you go with Silm canon on that. To be fair, I've recently gotten more curious about this topic due to a certain original character in Rings of Power, but I do recall being fairly nuts about it when I first learned it as a kid. Like, there's some definite horror potential in this concept? Imagine meeting your kidnapped, presumed dead friend on the battlefield but they've been twisted into an orc?! This is a one-shot I'm 100% writing some day.
Also!!! If metaphysically an elf soul is still there after that transformation, does that mean orcs go to the Halls of Mandos and are re-embodied? Do the gardens of Lórien have to rehabilitate these early victims of Morgoth? Does that affect the way that the Amanyar view orcs? This is a rabbit hole that I think I'll never stop wanting to explore.
21. A favourite fandom event
Well, this is my first year of being active in the Silm fandom online. I read the Silm and enjoyed it a few years ago, but I didn't go actively off the deep end about it until I had some visuals to go with it.
So far, I've only participated in Scribbles and Drabbles by submitting one (1) art piece. But I really like that S&D is more low-pressure in terms of the art-level and fic-length. I am really intrigued by some of the various [blank] weeks coming up, but the past has shown that I'm not the best at getting my act together to participate. I really need to finish my long fic so I can write a bunch of one-shots that have been rattling around in my noggin.
Thank you so much for asking!
Asks to spread love
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Nienor & Turin for the character bingo if you want!
I just did Niënor but here is my boy:
first of all, he did nothing wrong ever actually. ok. maybe he made a few little mistakes but who hasn't. most of the really bad stuff is consequences no one could have seen coming.
when i see him i filled the violent urge to protect him. i just love him so much.
also he has so much swag like no wonder he was pulling left and right the man is irresistible
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Just saw your latest Les Mis update! I remember being surprised how much time we spent on Fauntine and knowing where it was going made it like watching a really slow car crash😭
I haven’t even GOT to her death yet (she’s in hospital and Valjean is trying to get Cosette from the Thénardiers) and I’m already so upset I don’t want to pick the book up 😭😭 She’s actually such a lovely character and I’m so upset for her!!!
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year end rec list wrap-up
2023 was such a good year for silm fic, I read so much great stuff from all corners. But I would be very much remiss if I did not rec each of the wonderful gift fics that I was lucky enough to recieve throughout the year!
The Silmarillion, in reverse-chronological order:
Indissoluble by @polutrope [idril/tuor/voronwe; rated e, 2.6k, nawa]
All the banter-filled, life-affirming sex for my ot3 equals merry christmas to ME.
untitled by @polutrope [tuor/voronwe; explicit, five sentences, on tumblr]
Sensual, tender, and full of hope against all odds on the way to Gondolin.
a passionate kiss by @jouissants [earendil/elwing; on tumblr]
Amazing worldbuilding and sensuality in this portrayal of Sirion-era Starwing.
she is so tired of fleeing by @that-angry-noldo [morwen; five sentences, on tumblr]
Perfect refugee Morwen characterisation in just five sentences.
blessed disorder by @sallysavestheday [turgon & aredhel; rated g, 0.1k, nawa]
The sweetest snapshot of these two being the best of friends.
Muntjac by @jouissants [celegorm/orome; rated e, 2.2k, nawa]
Hot, emotional and fairly dark sex between these two in Beleriand as everything falls apart around Celegorm. Just so perfectly THEM.
salt by @verecunda [earendil/elwing; three sentences, on tumblr]
Super sweet and romantic slice of life for my otp.
the glassmaker by @thelordofgifs [ofc/ofc; rated t, 1.9k, nawa]
Such excellent worldbuilding and a tender blossoming romance between two ordinary women of Sirion while it was still thriving, by fellow Sirion-understander.
swing by @welcomingdisaster [nerdanel/indis, rated t, 1.3k, nawa]
Beautiful imagery and wrenching emotions in this post-flight of the Noldor fic. And yet, despite it all, some hope.
Leaves of Countless Years Lie Thick by @polutrope [celegorm/orome; rated m, 0.8k, nawa]
Stunning, sexy, emotive post-canon reunion between these two. Fantastic Orome pov.
a kiss to wake up by @polutrope [Idril/Tuor/Voronwe; rated t, nawa]
A lovely moment of tenderness and then hope as Earendil rises in the sky.
the longed for that cometh beyond hope by @meadowlarkx [earendil/elwing; rated g, 0.4k, nawa]
Beautiful bittersweet fairytale vibes in this tale of "peredhil living through their own myth", as Earendil's quest is completed.
forced to watch by @theworldisquietheretooquiet [morwen & aerin; 1.1k, implied rape, on tumblr]
Wrenchingly sad exploration of Morwen's emotions as she is forced to watch Aerin and Brodda marry.
warmth by @that-angry-noldo [earendil/elwing, elwing & earendil & elrond & elros; on tumblr]
A lovely soft and adorable moment as Earendil and Elwing play with their children.
what remains by asterisq [dior/nimloth; rated t, 2.2k, mcd]
Impeccable clinical horror vibes and tragedy in this remix gift! Observations of the corpses of Dior and Nimloth following the second kinslaying.
summer by @halfelven [earendil; on tumblr]
Evocative and heartwrenching portrayal of a young and traumatised Earendil in Sirion.
House of the Dragon
a discreet kiss by @ellrond [rhaenyra/alicent; on tumblr]
A sweet stolen moment between a young Alicent and Rhaenyra, tragic when one remembers what's to come.
and as if that wasn't enough, I was also #blessed enough to receive several stunning illustrations of my own fics. Each is absolutely beautiful and adds to the fics immeasurably. Go and Look at them.
one of your girls
Celegorm in a dress by @curufiin
nothing beside remains
Uinen tends to Tar-Miriel's bones by @meadowlarkx
the salt in the wound
Curufin's wife holding angrist by @matrose
Luthien/Curufin's wife by @matrose
sister, sister
Young Aredhel tags along on a Turgon/Elenwe date by @matrose
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(Just thinking about Aerin after Túrin leaves.)
There had been two dozen in the halls that evening when she had followed Brodda there, silent and numb. All of them lie dead or have fled into the cold hills. The night is quiet but she knows it will not be for long. Not all who fled the halls left with Túrin.
She steps inside again. The fire in the hearth is dying. Broken glass and wooden splinters shatter the ground.
She looks at Brodda’s body for just a moment. For a man of so much violence it had taken so little to end him.
She walks to the table where she had been forced to sit beside him and play her cruel role. It had been splintered off in the chaos. She picks up one of the broken legs. It is heavy in her hand as she drags it across the floor. In her other hand she takes a torch from the wall, one of the few left. It is too warm to hold but she does anyways until she has walked the length of the hall to the other one left.
Aerin drops the torch.
She knows Túrin will never reach Morwen. She knows no help will come.
She walks back towards the night that will soon dawn a frigid grey. The flames leap over the table and the tapestry. She feels no warmth from them.
The house burns for a very long time.
Notes:, I think SO much about Aerin and Túrin’s brief exchange over Morwen. It actually dates back to the book of lost tales version too! Am revising my post on this. Two, am leaving this purposefully ambiguous to whether or not Aerin survives. That being said I am certain that Húrin watching saw her burn. I was talking to theworldisquietheretooquiet about this! We have so many agonizing ideas :)
#the silmarillion#the children of húrin#Aerin#mentions of:#Morwen#Túrin#very tired tonight but#musing and meta#short writings#occupation of hithlum#they have fired the hall
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤
Tagged by @ruiniel thank you very much!
This is really hard, because I write lots of little things rather than a few great long ones, and because I do it for fun I am pretty fond of most of them.
But here goes with a broadly representative sample (all Tolkien):
The Ways We Touch The Ones We Come To Love (T, Legolas/Gimli, 1089 words)
A Sea Change (G, Curufin and Finrod, reborn, 726 words)
I Have Found What I Sought Not (G, Glorfindel/Ecthelion, 333 words). And the whole series that follows...
My Bones Divide And Shake (G, Celegorm / or & Oromë, 347 words). And the whole series that follows...
Call Me Out Of The Gloaming (T, Egalmoth/Rog, 758 words)
And I am cheating by adding 2 more (and making up for it by tagging 2 extra people 😆):
Sweet Falls The Rain (G, Maglor and Elrond, 969 words)
Shieldmaiden (G, Eowyn, 421 words).
I'm realizing there's nothing funny here, although I do write humor (Unethical Anthropologist Finrod, stand up and cheer!). But I guess I just prefer the more melancholy stuff 🤷.
Tagging @actual-bill-potts @theworldisquietheretooquiet @grey-gazania @cuarthol @idrilsscribe @searchingforserendipity25 @swanmaids and everyone else who wants to self-promote. Let's hear what you love best!
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Fic Self Recs
Thank you to @ruiniel @grey-gazania @swanmaids @searchingforserendipity25 @ettelene for tagging me on this! I've been mostly working on prompts this summer so I thought I'd pick 5 of my favourites so far from the Silmarillion Phrase Prompts.
1. First Contact (T, 2.7k) for @welcomingdisaster. Following the unexpected re-embodiment of Fëanor, Daeron, minstrel of the Eldar, finally reaches out to Maglor. Humour & Fluff, Daeron/Maglor.
“What is so strange about it?” asked Nerdanel. “You have a great deal in common. Minstrelsy. Arrogance. Legendary self-pity.”
2. Leaves of Countless Years Lie Thick (M, 0.8k) for @swanmaids. Celegorm/Oromë reunion sex.
With Celegorm, he has never been a god. From the first time his spirit brushed up against the white flame of Fëanor’s third-born son, Oromë has cleaved to him as the steadfast wolf cleaves to its mate.
3. Further Apart (G, 0.9k) for @melestasflight. After the War of Wrath, Lalwen has to tell her brother that Valinor is no longer her home.
“You are a hero now,” says Lalwen.
“You know that I never wanted to be one,” says the High King of the Noldor.
4. A Salve (T, 0.9k) for MoonLord. Battered and humiliated after the encounter with Beren and Lúthien, the bond between Celegorm and Curufin is strained. Celegorm/Curufin undertones, for readers who want to see it.
“I shouldn’t have left you, just now,” Celegorm said, his voice thin. He looked away. “I was angry.”
You are ever angry, Curufin thought. One side of his swollen mouth twitched up. “We’re both angry.”
5. Giving Shape (G, 0.8k) for @ruiniel. Young Túrin is helped through his frustration by Sador.
"You are eager, son of Húrin. Your mind runs quick as a rushing brook, swollen by the storm cloud.”
How did he know there was a storm cloud inside him? Labadal was the wisest person Túrin knew.
“Sometimes it is better to pause,” Labadal explained. “To stay your course, for a little while.”
This has been going around a few days so trying to think of people I haven't seen on my dash, apologies if you've been tagged already @theworldisquietheretooquiet @i-did-not-mean-to @quixoticanarchy @lemurious @foxindarkness - no pressure.
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5-fic self-rec!
Thank you to @theworldisquietheretooquiet @swanmaids @searchingforserendipity25 @thelordofgifs for tagging me for this one!! (I think someone else might have tagged me as well but I'm out of it so if I forgot your name i apologize!)
1: enemy of good
(russingon, E, 4.4k)
a little story about maedhros, his emotional issues with intimacy, and uhhh. fingon getting tied up. i had a lot of fun writing this one and i think the characterization came through well in it.
2: prick a finger
(mindis, E, 2.5k)
another bite-sized story about people working through trauma. yes the rough sex is crucial
3: sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines
(celebrimbor/narvi, unrequited sauron/celebrimbor, M, 2.6k)
i think this is, mostly, my read on silvergifting and perhaps an examination of whether or not sauron is capable of loving someone. i'm pleased with the way the narration flows in this one.
4: statue of an elven woman
(nerdanel/indis, M, 1.2k)
i just think this one turned out hot :)
5: keepsake
(finrod & the edain gen, 1.1k, T)
something something love and grief and two sides of the same coin also finrod is real shiny
honestly i'm not 100% sure who's been tagged and who hasn't! so if you see this and you wanna do this meme, this is your chance. but i'll tag...
@eilinelsghost @mirkwood-hr-department @runawaymun @starvels @oluka @rowantreeisme @jouissants @outofangband & anyone else who'd like to do it!
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Fingon for the ask game!
Character Ask Game 💚🤍🖤
Thank you so much @theworldisquietheretooquiet!
Fingon
one aspect about them i love
He genuinely did the best he could, for the best reasons he valued at the time. Were they always the right choices? No, but he believed in them at the time.
Everything after Alqualondë is tinted by Alqualondë, and he knows it, and he endures the Ice and the Siege and the crown’s inescapable weight and attached awareness of futility, because it is the right thing to do regardless of the wrong done before. Hope of that kind unspeakably brave, and the best part of his courage.
one aspect i wish more people understood about them
Totally a murderer.
One (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character
Voted best person to be killed by on the Ice (deservedly. mostly mercy killings! with consent! but still). Finrod has the favour of Ulmo still, a trump card they don't want to discard, and no one else wants to bloody their hands again - it is Fingon's duty to make certain no one bloodies their hands again, after he lead them to it the first time. It falls to Fingon to be one who goes out farther into the ice storms than is wise and finds those that can be found, and delivers a quick death to those that cannot be brought back. He sang them to sleep so gently, made beautiful promises, and then -
His the keen, painless blade people go to when they are so very, very tired.
(A fire is very like the other. Fingon was th older of many cousins and brothers; the cooking pot was often his responsibility on any far trip away from Tírion.)
It is not the sort of thing you ask your family, or your prince. But Fingon was known to all, and open to aid all; and who else can you ask that of, if not a friend? weird, weird dynamics about fealty and consumption that allowed Fingolfin to delegate that messy part of ruling in exile but pretty much ruined their relationship until they took the effort to recalibrate what their different approaches to ruling were like in the Long Peace.
as well as
one character i love seeing them interact with
Húrin.
one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more
Aegnor and Angrod. Would have loved to know what their relationship was like after Alqualonde on a personal level - did they visit each other, did they write, did they have adventures on and off the Ice?
If not them, then Morwen! I want to think they met at least once, and had a fun, distressing conversation about hope, valour, defiance, ruling and different kinds of courage. Andreth/Finrod paralells, but very different people and core questions.
one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character
Aredhel was great with the deer-skin drums and they had amazing music nights together. Even in the Ice - it was something that frightened away the beasts that prowled in the dark and kept the fire-circles of the Noldor safe and brave, and made those of the vanguard fierce before and after hunting threats.
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Dark/darkness for the WIP word game? :)
(send me a word and if it's in my WIP I'll answer with the sentence containing it)
But Maglor’s dark eyes, trained on Maedhros’ face, were bright with some animating urgency.
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Tagged by @welcomingdisaster to badly summarize my WIPs. Thank you <3
Here we go.
Tagging @sallysavestheday, @grey-gazania, @theworldisquietheretooquiet, @cycas, @i-did-not-mean-to
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Many Sentences Sunday!
thank you @searchingforserendipity25 and @grey-gazania for the tags! From my second age Nimloth & Kids reembodiment fic, the beginning of an excruciating social interaction:
_______________
The twins had found other children to play with on the beach and Nimloth, though letting them out of her sight for long still made anxiety coil tightly in her stomach, thought it best to leave them to it - new people would be good for them after their long isolation. They hadn’t gotten to play with children their age at all since they’d returned.
They were safe here. It would be fine. The sooner she accepted that she could not always hover over them, the better. Nimloth ran her errands, pointedly unhurried, forcing herself to stop and chat every now and then.
The palace of Alqualondë loomed over the docks, blindingly white in the midday sun, a jagged cloud against the azure sky. Nimloth thought that she quite preferred it out here, amid the amiable chaos of market stalls and fishing boats.
After some hours, her steps led her back along the road toward the beach. She was so occupied with keeping her pace measured that she did not take particular notice of the woman walking in the opposite direction until Eluréd and Elurín stuck their heads out of the cart she was pushing.
“Emmë!” Eluréd called and waved when he saw his mother.
The ground tilted beneath her feet. The woman’s face at once split into a cheerful and open smile as she turned toward Nimloth and lay torn and bleeding on the polished floor of Menegroth’s great hall, eyes unseeing. No, not this woman’s face, only one very like it, she told herself sharply and bit her cheek hard enough to return fully to the present, clenching her shaking fingers in the fabric of her bag.
“Children,” Nimloth said, and prayed that her voice did not sound as strained to them as it did to her, “I told you to wait by the beach.”
“We were coming to meet you!” Elurín clambered over the side of the cart.
“Do forgive me,” the woman said wryly, “Your sons have been quite the help and we thought we’d spare you another walk.”
“Of course, no problem at all,” Nimloth replied weakly.
The woman was dressed in well-worn, practical working clothes, her reddish hair was cut unfashionably short and she appeared to be pushing a number of rocks of uncertain purpose in her cart. Does she know? Nimloth thought wildly. But there was nothing in the woman’s easy cheer that spoke of recognition.
She’d been collecting rocks, she told Nimloth, who could hardly hear her over the sound of her own frantic heartbeat. Eluréd was still sitting in the cart.
Then, with a bow, she introduced herself as Nerdanel. I know, Nimloth wanted to say. The words stuck in her throat. Instead, she stumbled her way through her own introduction, giving the same false name she’d handed out all day, glad she did not need to hesitate. Memories she kept carefully detained throughout her waking hours pressed in on her mind.
“These two have quite the eye for colour,” Nerdanel said appreciatively as they began walking back toward the harbour.
“They’re rather neat, too,” Nimloth heard herself say, “I’ve rarely met children so neat.” I killed your son. He looked just like you.
Nerdanel laughed.
“I envy you! Our house was always a mess.”
“Don’t, my daughter is much worse,” Nimloth looked at the twins, away from Nerdanel’s bright, too-familiar eyes that told her to grab her children and run, “She’s a woman grown now, and I find myself sorting her kitchenware.”
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This has been passed around so often now and everyone's been repeatedly tagged, but just in case someone wants to go another round i'm no-pressure tagging @theworldisquietheretooquiet, @samarqqand, @that-angry-noldo, @outofangband, @swanmaids and @polutrope!
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WIP title poll game
Thank you for the tag @theworldisquietheretooquiet. I really needed a kick in the behind to get writing again after so much sewing!
The rules: run a 24-hour poll of your WIPs, then write as many sentences for the winner as it gets votes.
Not sure if I'm allowed to disclose the scribbles and drabbles contents to people outside the event, so they'll remain mystery boxes for now :)
Tagging, no pressure: @thenookienostradamus, @coraleethroughthelookingglass, and @somebirdortheother
#writing tag games#please force me to write again#I've spent altogether too much time thinking about costume sewing lately#and not enough time thinking about elves
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