Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Part Two- Revealed

Even in his wildest dreams, Mablung would not have dared hope for the chance to share one more kiss with Elu, a kiss without hiding and most of all, a kiss to which they could both consent, that was not not a desperate, heart-wrenching farewell. As their lips touched, however, the scene of that last time played again before his eyes, keen and cruel, and Mablung drew back sobbing, turning his face away in despair.

“Oh Mablung…” 

Elu merely breathed those words, his concern very apparent, with his hand still resting on Mablung’s cheek. 

“I…” Mablung began, but words failed him. And after all, how could he ever explain to Elu that it was the memory of their last kiss that so upset him now? He could not even voice it within his own head. 

“I cannot bear to say.” he managed at last, tears now cascading down his face.

There was a curious look on Elu’s face as he gently made Mablung look up.

“I think you don’t need to say it. I think I know.”

“How?”

Mablung felt deeply shaken. He had chosen to bury this memory, and Lord Námo himself had given him leave to do so. Nobody knew of that kiss, not even Melian. Then how…

“I know that it was you who found me.” Elu went on “And by your reaction, I think I can guess what you did there, in the smithy, when you were alone with my body and had nothing to lose, but a farewell to gain.”

Mablung could not look away from Elu’s light-grey eyes, and he thought he would drown in his gaze, and be quite content to do so.

“This time, though…” 

Elu paused to tenderly grace Mablung’s lips with his, waiting for Mablung to react, to tell him without words whether or not he was comfortable. Mablung did not know what he wanted, nor what he would be able to bear. After a moment, Elu again drew back a little and continued:

“This time, I am kissing you, and I’m alive, and breathing, and my heart beats.”

Mablung sobbed helplessly as Elu took his hand and pressed his palm tightly to his chest, so that Mablung could feel his heartbeat beneath his fingers.

“And it is because of you that it does so.”

Mablung blinked, bewildered. As Elu went on, there was a quaver in his voice and tears shimmering in his eyes.

“You see, there would have been a way for Melian to be with me, even had I refused Lord Námo’s offer for good. Maiar, after all, need no bodies. Or at least Lord Námo assured me that we would find a solution everyone might live with. But you… I knew that all was taken care of, that Dior reigned over the Iathrim and called to Olwë as High-King. I knew that my people were looked after by them both, and by who better? Beleg left the Halls healed, saddened and grieving, but hale. Even Elmo went from Mandos free of the shadow of our bond. He could finally be himself. He doesn’t need me anymore. This hurt to admit, even if I was tremendously relieved.”

Elmo made a noise as if to protest, but Elu paid him no heed, continuing instead:

“So really, there was no point for me to leave Mandos. I cannot overcome my grief, I am not healed, as they put it. So really, it makes no difference for me where I mourn my children, and curse my own stupidity. 

But you, Mablung, you left the Halls on my bidding only. Even after all I made you go through, even after death, you left me in Mandos because I asked you to, because I didn’t want you to refuse life on my account. You were so loyal, so true that you once again put my will above your wellbeing. And I would not have been able to bear to be myself had I abandoned you after that. I knew nothing of the statute, I knew not that we would be allowed to be together. Even less did I know that my… my wonderful wife would be prepared to agree to it. I should have known of course, but it truly never crossed my mind. But I did know that you had always wanted to be by my side regardless. That was the reason for my return in the end. I love you, Mablung. I have always loved you and dearly missed you, and I will be eternally grateful to the Valar and all the elves -and  people pretending to be elves- who made it possible for us to now explore this love fully. Come here. It’s alright. I’m never going to leave you again.”

With those last words, Elu wrapped his arms around Mablung once more, and Mablung leaned his head against Elu’s shoulder. They both cried openly now, and Mablung was holding Elu so tightly he knew he must hurt him but he could not help it. And Elu returned the embrace, cradling Mablung, his lips pressed firmly to the top of his head.

“I think it is time for us to leave you two.” Melian said after what felt like ten thousand years and only a heartbeat at the same time. “Enjoy your time tonight, Mablung, as I don’t plan on giving up on Elu all too often. But tonight he is yours, and then we shall work this out together. I mean, I’d say I’ll join you, but that would feel remarkably like fucking my little brother, with is… weird.”

Elu laughed and pulled Melian into their embrace as well. Mablung grinned, too, and wondered if he’d actually like that or not. He had never in his life even thought of being intimate with a woman, but if there ever could be an exception to that, that exception surly must be Melian.

The feeling in Mablung’s stomach remarkably resembled nervousness as he and Elu were finally alone. So much was yet unsaid between them, and for so much Mablung had no words, so he instead busied himself with unrolling his cloak and unpacking his things.

“Are you hungry?” he asked over his shoulder, even though he himself had no mind whatsoever for food. 

It was no surprise therefore that Elu declined the offer, too. 

“Right. I let you off tonight, but you’ll eat breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Elu sighed exasperatedly but chuckled all the same, which made Mablung turn at last. He was still almost astounded to see him truly standing there, after he had so long ago ceased to hope. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, then Elu said tentatively.

“I don’t know how you feel, but my head is swimming with everything that happened today. What if we just lie down and watch the stars together, like we used to? Or we just keep staring awkwardly at each other. How is it that nobody explains how odd this is when one is still in Mandos? And…” he added as an afterthought “… the others’ expectations don’t help, either. Not at all. I’m really sorry, Mablung, for making this so incredibly awkward.”

Now it was Mablung’s turn to laugh as he sat down on his unfolded cloak, and he was quite relieved when Elu joined him after a moment. Mablung could hear him curse under his breath.

“Do you have a comb? Melian and I shared hers ever since I was released from the Halls, but obviously she has it with her now and…”

Mablung remembered that only too well, that awkward time after his reembodiment when he had lacked everything he had taken for granted in his first life- spare clothes, knife, comb, cup and bowl… it helped not, either, that the customs of Alqualondë were so very different from those of Menegroth. Coming to think of it, he had no idea where Elu planned to live from now on, or whether he had given any thought to it at all yet. All that could wait, though, and he contented himself for the moment with handing Elu his comb, and watch as he undid the two thin braids that had kept his hair out of his eyes, then started to comb through his silver tresses. Mablung could not restrain himself and reached out, running his fingers through Elu’s hair as well.

“I’ve always admired your hair, you know that?”

Elu only smiled, then handed the comb back and started to re-braid his hair, this time weaving it into only one large plait. Mablung could not take his eyes off him, that sight being so painfully familiar and dear to him that it moved him almost to tears. 

“I still need to braid it for the night. I… oh, it’s embarrassing, but I seem to have forgotten how to sleep with it open without lying on it. I never thought one could forget. It’s only now that I have one again that I realise what a nuisance a body is.”

Mablung remembered that feeling very well. He had felt so very clumsy during that first time, too.

“It’s not embarrassing. Every single reembodied elf had to deal with that, or at least every one who rebuild their body with their hair as long as yours. I never got how you ever could sleep with it open, anyway. That you could made you all the more marvellous to me, though.”

Whatever was the matter with him, Mablung wondered as he felt his cheeks burn. Talking like that had always been Beleg’s domain, not his, and most certainly not Elu’s, who looked just as embarrassed as Mablung felt. A strange recklessness had come over him, though. Tonight, he would leave nothing unsaid. Tonight, he would talk about everything that came into his mind. If he were to truly bond after four Ages of this world as a bachelor, then he could not leave anything in the dark.

He therefore reached out again, and tucked a strand of hair loose from Elu’s braid and twirled it around his finger.

“You will re-learn, beloved.” He said hoarsely “If you wish to.”

There was the smallest involuntary intake of breath at being addressed thus, Mablung noted, but still Elu did not challenge the term. Instead, he wordlessly reached for the comb again, and started to unbraid and comb Mablung’s hair. Mablung would never ever have thought the act of combing to be so intimate. He had been a warden, and keeping his hair neat and orderly a necessity, not a pleasure. And never could he have thought that getting his hair braided could actually make his groin stir. He did not react to the sensation, however. Whatever Melian’s words before, they were not there yet.

At last Elu laid down the comb and  leaned back against a mossy boulder, spreading his arms slightly as he did so. Mablung followed the invitation, shifting closer to Elu and laying his head upon the latter’s shoulder. 

“I don’t even have a name to call you by.” he whispered, tracing the fine features of Elu’s face with the tips of his fingers, still somewhat in disbelief that he truly could do that again. 

Elu smiled wryly.

“Call me however you want. I don’t know myself. It will be Elwë in the end, I think. Elmo mostly goes with this, and Lord Námo called me that, and Olwë obviously does… Melian keeps with Elu. I promise I’ll answer to both.”

Mablung couldn’t help but notice how resigned Elu sounded. Was it that he was just weary of the endless discussions about his person in general, or because he did not even have a say in his own name?

“It bothers you.” he therefore stated calmly.

“No. I just… I don’t know who I am anymore. Truth be told, I don’t know if I ever knew.”

“I can imagine. And maybe you truly need to discover that anew. But Elwë you are still, my -our- star, named for the beauty of your eyes, or so Círdan claims, and your aunt. Do you know that your descendants still carry your star in their name?”

Elu nodded, too moved to talk properly.

“No crown this time.” he managed to rasp.

“No crown.” Mablung suddenly laughed. “Why is it that I seem to mourn that fact more than you?”

“Because I am relieved, to be completely honest. I think I feel free for the first time in my  entire life. I was always a little bitter about it. Born a prince, born to one day rule. I wonder if that was all everyone saw, what Enel saw when my parents presented him with me. Did he bless me, or the person I was supposed to become? A boy, right? An heir to the ancient line, a reason to rejoice before he had even seen me. I never strived to be loved by everyone, but… but if loved, I wanted to be loved for who I am, not for what I was born.”

Elu had talked himself into angry tears, leaving Mablung to wonder how long he had locked those feelings in his heart.

"Olwë should have been the firstborn, he is -and always was- so much better at all that.”

Mablung graced Elu’s brow slightly.

“It’s alright. Your family loves you for who you are and Melian and I love you for who you are- even if it always moved something in me to call you my king. But you be you now, you earned that. Still a circlet you will wear- I will make you wear one, and if it is one of flowers.”

“I am king no more, Mablung.”

“But you were. You said you needed to know who you are. Then you cannot deny who you were.”

Again Mablung caressed Elu’s face, tracing his jawline and the tips of his ears.

“Let us get ready for the night. I am exhausted, and you must be, too. I remember those first days and weeks after returning from Mandos to be tiring to say the least. Uh, the not remembering. I found that the worst.”

“What do you mean?”

Mablung frowned slightly.

“When I was released from the Halls, all was… strange. I could remember my past life, but it seemed then to be so far away, like a dream I once had. Obviously I could not recall my time in Mandos, though that was not blank either. But surely you must feel the same? Everyone I know who’s been re-embodied does.”

“I do remember Mandos. Quite clearly.”

For a moment, Mablung just felt utterly stunned. Then he chuckled.

“Honestly, you can’t do anything like a normal elf, can you?”

Elu grinned wryly and shrugged, but he still remained sitting with his arms around his knees. Mablung let him be, and rid himself instead of his clothes before lying down on the soft moss. It was a marvellous thing, really, how here in Lórien there would be no moisture creeping up from the earth, not like it had been in Ennor. Instead, the undergrowth seemed to be welcoming a weary traveller, eager to make a bed for them, for a while. 

The metal biting at the hard earth stirs something in him, makes him almost -almost- feel. What he feels, he does not know, but it borders on sympathy with the cold forest floor on which he had walked for the best part of his life. Why, he feels the land ask, dost ye disturb my slumber? He has no answer to give, for the truth bites at his heart like the shovels at the ground. Why, it asks, do your thoughts stir me from my silent grief? The ground is frozen, unyielding. Try digging in this weather, he thinks, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of the words that sound only within his own head, whoever would think of dying in the midst of winter? At least there is not too much snow on the ground, despite the white flakes that sail through the air and settle on their hair and cloaks, but the bitter wind that had been howling for days blows the snow away. Does it blow souls away, too? he wonders, and feels another dull stab to his own treacherously, unfaithfully beating heart. It is their luck that they don't need to dig very deep, not with this way of a burial. It is almost scary to watch. Whenever, wherever Elves work, they sing. Their people always sing, they sing as they hunt, they sing as they walk, they sing as they fight. But they are silent as they work, like all is silent now. Deathly silent, he thinks, and suddenly feels a bout of hysterical laughter rise from his chest at the pun, cold and desperate as the wintery wood itself. He bites the laughter back and half wishes that tears would take its place. He has not cried a single tear. He should hurt, should mourn, he knows, but he cannot, cannot. It is too cold. High above them, the wind bends the branches of the beech, making them moan and creak, and yet the tree stands proud and untroubled, frowning down at their pitiful work, watching them lay the cut branches of birches on the ground. Why, it asks, cut living wood to waste on the dead? Elmo knows no answer, fingering the furs he too will waste with one hand, laying the palm of his other hand on the mossy bark of the great tree instead. He has ever loved thee. Keep him well. he begs. Keep him better than thou hast kept her, he wants to tell the tree, but does not. This bitterness belongs to him alone, and he despises it. His niece bears no blame in this, nor does she know aught of it yet. Will her flowers bloom on the grave, he wonders, when spring comes? He knows it not, for spring has long since abandoned these lands. He is alone now, with the preparations finished. He has never been so alone. The Forsaken, they had once called themselves. Now they truly were. It is folly to lay the warm furs out on the wood as if he were making a bed. Folly, folly. His thoughts reel. But the ground is hard, and cold, he pleads with his own mind. The dead feel no cold, it reasons back. (Maybe that won't be for AO3, but for @sindarweek. Would have fitted the locations-prompt, perhaps.)

Putting all my head canons concerning the royal house of Doriath together here in one post so as not to flood @sindarweek with them xD (sorry about that. But they are my family within Arda and I do love them all very very very much and have just as much to say about them)

-My headcanon about Elmo's wife (whom I at last decided to name Thônwen)

-little fluffy Lúthien headcanon (I'm still going to write my full hc about her)- @lycheesodas brought that headcanon to life for me with her gorgeous art

-my headcanon on Sindarin burial rites -Elmo (my most beloved obscure character) -about Elwë and Elmo as brothers part one and part two and part three -on Galadhon and his family/descendants -and our beloved Queen, my female mc through almost all my works, the one part of my favourite characters... part one, part two, part three & part four -how I think the Girdle might have worked -and, with my 'headcanon-explained' yet unfinished, my <put in many words here>, Elu Thingol, part one, part two & part three (to be continued)

Betrayal-Again part 2

Lúthien whirled around, but her thoughts whirled faster. Daeron had betrayed her. He had truly betrayed her trust a second time, something so painful that she could not allow herself to think about it just now. All her hatred was instead focused on the elf before her, her own father. Fleetingly, she thought of the knife that hung by her side. He would not expect that, and would not defend himself if that meant harming her, either. One quick stab, almost painless, and then, you see, I am the one to make the rules, and can do as I please. The next moment had her stumble back, appalled by her own thoughts. Had she truly come so far as to think of murdering her closest kin? She, who had grieved for cousins she had never known, and whole-heartedly shared her father’s and uncle’s hatred towards the kinslayers? Had she just now truly considered killing her sire? Daeron, clearly seeking to steady her, placed his hands on her back, and she snarled at him. “Don’t touch me! You… I loved you, ever! Since we were elflings, you were my very best friend. I were ever dear to me as a brother. I trusted you. I forgave you. I thought you cared for me, truly cared for me.” “I do, Lúthien, I care for you more than I care for my own life…” he pleaded, but Lúthien wouldn’t even let him finish, drowning his words in a derisive laugh.  “Sure. Just as much as my dear father, ey?”  Once more, she turned to the King, who stood still as a statue, his expression impossible to read even for Lúthien.  “I know you are angry, and also how unjust this must feel to you, but you need to see sense. I don’t know what this human did to you to make you act…” Again, Lúthien’s hand longed for the hilt of the knife. “What he did to me? Did to me? You…”  But words failed her, indignation striking her momentarily dumb. Again, her father spoke, just as evenly as before. “You will not go after Beren. He knows the task. If he indeed is the man he believes himself to be, than he will be true to his oath.” “And you think you will hinder me? The daughter of Melian the Maia?” Lúthien thought she saw her father wince ever so slightly at her words, but if so, he swiftly recovered. “You will not leave my realm. Ai Lúthien, do not make me lead you back to Menegroth like a prisoner…” She laughed mirthlessly. “Like the prisoner I am, you mean?” “If there is no other way in which I can keep my only child safe, then yes.” Silence spiralled horribly between them, until finally, Lúthien broke it. “Fine then.” she said, tears of anger and despair falling from her eyes. “I shall bow to the law of the King. Put me in chains, if you will, and watch me bleed to death from the hurt you have inflicted upon me. But make no mistake, lord, you will bleed with me, for I am your daughter no longer!” She meant to wound as much as she possibly could, and it pleased her greatly that she knew her words to find their mark. As for Daeron… she turned once more, surveying the minstrel haughtily. “Get yourself gone from under my eyes, Daeron. Once and for all.” And with that, she followed the king back to Menegroth in silence, her heart aching as never before. She had finally lost them all.

fic reblog for @sindarweek​ 2023 (post 6/6)

Betrayed-Again part 1

Prompt #5: Red Herrings. Something a character assumed was true … isn’t.

Panic was still clouding Lúthien’s every thought, even after two days of knowing, and weeks of careful preparation. The thought of Beren, her Beren, captured by that abomination that called himself Sauron and held captive was very neigh unbearable, as was the fear of coming too late to safe him. At least, Lúthien thought, she would not have to do it alone. Daeron would be with her, and that was a tremendous relief. It paid off now that she had not had the heart to tell him that she had long since forgiven him, for he had been so eager to get back into her favours that he had agreed to come despite his misgivings. Part of her felt guilty for that, knowing how much Daeron was loathe to leave Doriath to go on some adventure, an adventure, moreover, with the mission of rescuing the man she loved, inevitably changing their relationship forever, and be sure to earn him his king’s wrath. It was selfish to use Daeron’s love for her for her own ends, she was well aware of it, yet it could not be helped if Beren was to be saved. And if he wasn’t, Lúthien reasoned, Daeron would lose her anyway, for she knew with absolute certainty that she could not survive losing Beren. Her mother’s words still rang through her mind, nothing should seem good nor fair… That was precisely how she herself felt, too. The very idea of life without Beren seemed to take all the warmth from the sun. Funnily enough though, that thought had something very reassuring, for if she felt for Beren the same way her mother felt for her father, then her feelings were beyond any doubt true and not, as her father still was convinced, fleeting as summer in the north. Yes, one day, Beren would die, her mind knew that, but her heart refused to believe it or indeed think about it ere it was inevitable. She would tackle the problem then, in many, many years. Her feet made no sound as she hastened to the little glade where she would meet Daeron, moving swiftly through the woods that had so long been her home and that she now was to leave. Already she saw him standing there, hooded, his head bowed as if in grief, and when she drew nearer, she saw that his shoulders shook in a way that told her only too clearly that he was indeed crying. Pity gripped her heart, but she could not release him from this predicament, she needed him too badly. “Let’s go.” She breathed once she reached him. Slowly he looked up at her, his fair face streaked with tears. “I’m sorry, Lúthien. So sorry.” Daeron sobbed. “But I could not let you walk to your death!” “And neither can I.” said a voice behind her. 

fic reblog for @sindarweek​ 2023 (post 5/6)

Betrayal- Doomed

Prompt #4, Medium: Killing Me Strangely. Most causes of death are frankly boring—but never in mystery novels! Apply this concept by choosing a detail (large or small) from your fanwork and changing it into something unexpected. Once you decide on the detail you plan to change, you can open the next prompt. (Note that you don’t have to have actually changed anything yet!)

Lúthien was at a loss of what to say. She stood beside her mother, who sat by the roots of a tall beech-tree, her arms wrapped around her knees, and wept. Seldom before had she seen Melian cry, but not knowing why her mother was so upset was even more alien to her than her tears. True, Lúthien thought, while she gently stroked Melian’s back, she had not spared her family much thought since Beren had left Menegroth, but every time she had actually talked to her mother -mostly to ask her if Beren was in any danger- she had seemed just fine. “Please, Nana, tell me what’s bothering you. I’m getting scared.” But Melian only shook her head, wiping her eyes on her dress. “Beren’s fine for now, Lúthien. No need to be scared, as I told you.” Lúthien winced- she had indeed first been scared that her mother had foreseen Beren’s death and was so upset because she knew what that would mean for herself, Lúthien. Only now that Melian had done naught but reassure her that all was yet well did she realise how disgustingly selfish that thought had been. She resumed the stroking of Melian’s back, still very ashamed of herself, but more determined than ever now to find out what ailed her mother, and help her if she could. “You did, and I am deeply thankful for that. But I’m not worrying about Beren at the moment, I’m worrying about you. Will you not tell me what makes you so sad?” Melian did not answer straight away, but let her gaze roam over the woody glen, stretching out her fingers to let one of her birds hop onto it. “You know… you’re not the only one who fears for their beloved.” she said finally, her voice still thick with tears. Lúthien felt herself tense both in a fit of anger and bewilderment. Still she kept her voice even and compassionate for Melian’s sake, determined to help her, not make her sorrow worse. “What do you mean?” Melian again took her time in answering. “I know that you are angry with your father, and rightly so. I am, too. I would love to say ‘I don’t know what got into him’, but the problem is, I do. I know how terribly he fears losing you…” “Well…” Lúthien interrupted heatedly, unable to keep her temper “… why did he hurt me so, then?” “He did not mean to. But he was so frightened that he saw nothing else, no consequences. And that’s…” Tears again began to roll down Melian’s cheeks “… that’s exactly what troubles me so. Do you understand what he did? Have you listened to Galadriel? Ah Lúthien, I fear so much for Elu and our people. Much I have done to protect this realm, to  above all else protect you and your father, but it seems that all that was vain. I cannot protect you against the perils of your love, but Elu, at least… oh, should I lose him, nothing would ever seem good nor fair to me again on either side of the sea.” Lúthien knew not whether she had ever head Melian fretting over anything like that and was not at all sure if her mother was actually still talking to her. “Have you told him that?” she asked carefully. “No. That is it- I’m still so very angry at him that I just cannot bring myself to. It was that thought that brought me to tears in the first place… that doom might befall Doriath and we had never laid aside our quarrels. And make no mistake, just because I see your love to Beren differently from your father, I am by no means less worried about you, either.” Melian’s words deeply touched Lúthien’s heart, leaving her lost for anything to say. She was, as Melian had said, so very angry with her father that she did not even mind the idea of him falling under the Doom of the Noldor, but she knew in her heart that she did care nonetheless, just like she still deeply loved Daeron, who was her best friend and who had acted out of love to her, just like her father. In her wrath, Lúthien had accused them both of darker motives, of Daeron betraying her to her father because he thought he might then win her hand, and of her father selling her for gems. Neither was true, she well knew. Both had feared for her safety. Fools. Fools, all fools, her Beren not less. How could he still think of recovering a Silmaril? She would have expected him to have seen sense by now, but apparently, he had not. Yet still, she too delayed leaving Doriath to seek him out and convince him that that stubborn fool she called her father had not truly meant him to go gem-hunting, that he had just wanted Beren to be gone for good. Did she, deep down, want Beren to have a try? But no, that question she was able to answer at once. She most certainly did not want him to get himself into any danger, nor did she want her family and people to have anything to do with the curse of the Ñoldor. Somehow, anyhow, she needed to put everything right again.

Fic reblog for @sindarweek 2023 (post 4/6)

Betrayal- Annoyed

Prompt #3, Medium: Against the Odds. Let your character experience a setback. Once you begin creating about the setback, you can open the next prompt.

In hindsight, Lúthien thought that she might have known that her plan would not work out. After all, things like that never had worked out even in childhood, she mused, again realising how often she had been in a situation such as this back then. However much her parents had promised not to get angry if only Lúthien were to tell the truth, they always had, anyway. The same had held true for Daeron’s parents, and Galadhon and his wife. So really, she might have known better from the start. True, her father had not strictly speaking broken his promise to her (at least not yet), but still she cursed him into Angband itself as she learned in the morning that he had made his men search for Beren and capture him, to be brought before the thrones. Daeron, her father… who else would betray her trust ere this matter was settled? She would not, however, be the Princess of Doriath if she couldn’t do some quick thinking- so she forestalled the guards that were leading Beren to Menegroth as a captive and took his hand, pressing it firmly. His palms were wet, and Lúthien felt the turmoil of his soul. “It will be alright!” she assured him, leading him before her parents, well aware that all of Menegroth seemed to be assembled in the Hall. Lúthien first looked at her mother, who sat upon her throne silently, no clue to her feelings showing on her fair face. But as their eyes met, Lúthien perceived her mother’s thoughts, and knew that Melian was truly biting back laughter.  Silly Maia! Lúthien called her in her thoughts, not bothered at all whether her mother would actually be aware of what she was thinking. But then she looked on to her father, and for the very first time in all the millennia of her life, she was somewhat cowed by him, for it seemed to her that she stood not before the father she loved but only before her King as a wrongdoer. Lúthien shook the feeling off quickly and hoped with all her might that Beren, who was by now quaking with fear, would do the same and get a grip. They had no margins for error in this. 

She noticed her very own error too late. Upon setting foot in the Hall, playing along the lines of yesterday’s conversation had seemed prudent, but even as she spoke, praising Beren’s deeds, she realised how weak she had made her own position. Behave like a child and you’ll be treated like a child, she chided herself, but the damage was already done. This time when she looked into her parents’ faces, she got no clue as to what either of them were thinking, but her heart leapt a little when her father bade her let Beren speak for himself. If he did not make the same mistake as she had, they might still stand a chance to end this to everyones satisfaction. Well, almost everyone’s. The next moment, however she would have loved to kick Beren in the shins, or else a bit higher up, she thought savagely. He had obviously got his courage back, but now he so grandiosely overdid it that Lúthien groaned inwardly. And of course her father rose to the bait. Lúthien would gladly have buried her face in her hand and denied that she ever had anything to do with either of them. Males! she thought. Males of any race. Need they all be so idiotic?  She wasn’t even truly shocked when her father named a Silmaril as her bride-price, was even somewhat relieved. Yes, Beren in his pride had of course set out to fulfil his oath, but even he must know this was ridiculous, just like her father knew. She would let tempers cool a bit, then set out to get all their heads on the right way again, and hopefully, they would all be able to settle the matter without anyone getting harmed. 

fic reblog for @sindarweek 2023 (post 376)

Betrayal- Wronged

Prompt #2: The Sleuth. Your character learns something shocking. When you decide what it will be, you can open the next prompt.

“Have you heard me, Lúthien?”  She jerked out of her daydreams, noting the heat creeping up her cheeks. Couldn’t it have been anyone else but her father who found her so deeply in thought about Beren that she had not noticed anything around her. She looked rather guiltily up at Elu, who gazed back at her gravely. “No. I am sorry, my mind wandered.” She knew something was very off when her father did not return her smile, and was confirmed in her suspicions by the austerity in his tone when he answered. “Clearly. If you can spare me a moment, I should like a word with you.” “Since when do you ask my time as if it were an audience?” Lúthien asked, bewildered. Her father, however, did not answer, instead gesturing her towards the edge of one of the many fountains that played within Menegroth. They sat down on the rim, and Lúthien bathed her hand in the cool water, greeting the spring like a living thing, a pet dear to her. The King still said no word but watched her quietly, until Lúthien could no longer bear it. “You’re frightening me, Ada!” she said at last, leaning her head against his shoulder, or rather attempting to, for he held her off. Lúthien stared at him. Never before had he dejected her in her showing her affection.  “You frighten me, too, Lúthien.” he said quietly instead. A cold dread settled in the pit of Lúthen’s stomach at those words, and at the sincerity she sensed behind them. Whatever could have befallen to have him act like that? “How so?” “You spend a lot of time in the woods of late.” Lúthien inwardly flinched. But he couldn’t possibly know about Beren. “I do so every summer, Ada… since when does that cause you any concern?” That’s none of your business, was what she had really wanted to say, and she would have done had not her father seemed so unusually grave.  “You are right, of course. What you do at you leisure is indeed nothing to concern me… but if Doriath’s law, my law is broken, it is my concern.” There was a strange rushing sound in Lúthien’s ears now. He knows, she thought, and fear flooded her body.  “What do you mean?” was all she could get herself to say, desperately playing for time. He bowed his head, contemplating his own hands. “I think you know…” he said quietly at last. “…but if you want me to, I’ll tell you. Daeron came to see me…” Lúthien did not need to hear any more, and her heart ached. Daeron. Her dearest friend. How could he have done her such wrong? The King seemed to notice that Lúthien was not listening anymore, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t. Please. How could he?” But her father only shook his head sadly. “Don’t go blaming Daeron. He was caught between his loyalty to his friend and that to his king, and his concern for your welfare has tipped the scale in my favour. But how could you, Lúthien? Men are not permitted into Doriath, you know that full well…” She laughed, an entirely mirthless laugh that more resembled a snort. “Ha… no, I never heard of such a thing. It’s not like you remind everyone who would listen of how much you hate the Second-born…” Elu did not react to her taunt in any way, which made Lúthien all the angrier. If they indeed needed to have this fight (and truth be told, she had known deep down that it would come to this ever since she had fallen in love with Beren), then she wanted her father to at least make as much of a fool of himself as possible. “I do not hate them, as I do not spare them as passionate a feeling as hate, I mistrust them, hence my laws.” “And it doesn’t make you consider one bit that a man passed through the Girdle? Does that not tell you anything? Do you mistrust your own wife if…” “That is quite enough, Lúthien.” he said, and though he had spoken those words without heat, Lúthien knew that she had really crossed a line there. Well, if you don’t like me jumping to unjust conclusions, don’t do it to me, either. Keep your nose out of my love life, then I’ll keep my nose out of your’s, she thought viciously, and perhaps her wrath showed on her face, for her father again reached out a placatory hand. “Just… just tell me who he is?” “No.”  Lúthien was adamant in this. She needed to know that Beren was somewhere safe before she told anyone anything, and however much her father pleaded with her to tell him -in everything between desperation and anger-, she did not yield. At last he gave her a long, scrutinising look, then said with a sigh: “Alright. I swear to you an oath that I will not harm your… lover, nor imprison him. He walks safe and free. Will you now tell me who he is?” A vivid image of herself, Daeron, Galathil and Celeborn sitting scowling before their parents came into her mind.  Just tell us what happened, we won’t get angry… She almost laughed at the memory. “I honour your oath, Adar, and I trust you to keep it. Give me until tomorrow to explain to you and Nana. Alright?” She needed to find her mother, to talk to her. She would understand, and certainly would have a solution? Why Lúthien had not thought of asking Melian for advise before she did not know herself. Only that for such prudent a move it was now too late.  

fic reblog for @sindarweek 2023 (post 2/6)

Betrayal- Disguise

Prompt #1- London Fog. Consider the obscured and obscurity and work an element of related to one of these themes into four fanwork. When you decide what you will do (you don’t have to have started yet) you can open the next prompt. 

Lúthien stretched comfortably in the warm grass, drawing an admiring sigh from the man beside her, and when she opened one eye to look at Beren, she saw his gaze wander over her slender form. His desire was as obvious as it was innocent, and she laughed as she turned onto her side, cupping his face with her hand and kissing him gently. “You still scratch…” she whispered. Not that that put her off in the slightest. If anything, she found his beard interesting. Beren grinned into their kiss, but then drew away, listening, a look of alarm on his face. Lúthien was aware of the wardens as well, but she only grinned and gestured Beren to be silent ere she threw her long hair around them like a mantel.  Had one of them chosen to stretch out their hand, they might have been able to wrap them around the ankles of the two elves that wandered by, singing gaily. When they had past and their voices could no longer be heard, Lúthien threw back her hair, laughing at the befuddled expression on Beren’s face. “How did you do that?” he asked, sounding as perplexed as he looked. “I can avoid being seen if I don’t want to be. No need to be so astounded, my love.” Beren clearly was, though, gazing at Lúthien with a frown upon his face. “Elf-magic working on Men I understand. But of Elf-magic working on Elves I have never heard before.” “Why, but I am no mere elf!” Lúthien replied, her tone feigning offence. “For I am the daughter of Melian, who dwelled with the One ere Arda was wrought.” Beren looked at her, blankly. Then he just said: “Ah.” Lúthien giggled, Beren’s astonishment being both very comical and very endearing. He seemed vaguely annoyed by her amusement.  “Oh well, why tell me sooner, anyway. Honestly, Lúthien, we’ve spent all summer together and now you remember to tell me that you are some half-divine being?” he asked, very sarcastically.  Now it was Lúthien’s turn to look bemusedly back at her lover.  “I never sought to hide that from you, I just thought you knew. I mean, you know I am the King’s daughter… have you never heard of Doriath being held by its Queen’s might? Why do you think it is called the Girdle of Melian?” “I have, but… I didn’t think…” he stammered. “No, obviously not. Are you scared of me now?” she asked, the laugh in her voice not entirely obscuring her insecurities. This time it was Beren who grinned, though still looking somewhat unnerved, and kissed Lúthien gently. “Nay, love, not of you…”  “You need not be scared of my mother, either, unless you were a servant of the enemy.” Lúthien reassured. “Gentle she is, and wise, and she must approve of you, as she has said naught to the contrary.” “She knows?”  Beren sounded somewhat alarmed still. “I’m sure of it. I don’t think much slips her notice within the Girdle.” Beren, still looking mildly troubled by that information, apparently decided it was time to steer the conversation somewhat away from that subject. “So… your hair can make you invisible?” “What… no, of course not. I’m an incarnate being just like you, after all. But it may obscure me, and hide me in plain sight, like a spider will be camouflaged against the bark of a tree and not seen unless it stirs.”

my own fic reblog for @sindarweek 2023 (that fic consists of 6 parts)