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justfandomwritings · 3 years

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By The Norns (Part One - Soulmate!Loki)

Pairing: Loki x Reader, Soulmates AU

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Nobody was harmed in any way in the making of this story... but there was some arson.

Summary: She wasn’t a goddess. She wasn’t even an elf or a dwarf. She was a mortal, a Midgardian, a human. To Odin, she was a curse. To Loki, she was a second chance.

Notes: Don’t worry. Despite what the chapter and the description may make you think anyone whose read my stories before will know I am not a fan of soulmate aus that take away the character’s choice. This chapter is set up. Stick with me on this. I promise. Posted in honor of @muna1412 being very excited at the prospect of another soulmate au.

This is not related to Loyalty in any way... I just have an unhealthy obsession with Soulmate aus.

Fate was a funny, fickle thing. Loki knew that much. After all, he’d met her.

Them, to be more precise. The Norns.

Urdr, Skuld, and Verdandi were their names: Past, Present, and Future, as they should be known.

It was they who watered the tree, and they who grew its leaves. The task fell to the Norns to write, shape, create, and control the fate of every being under the branches of Yggdrasil.

A poor, dwarven craftsman working on the surface of Nidavellir, a beautiful, golden elf living on a hill in Alfheim, a meager, puny human scurrying around the surface of Midgard. It was they who made the dwarf rich, who killed the elf in his sleep, who let the human sow the land. They did not exchange the gold; they did not wield the dagger; they did not draw the plow. But it was by their hand, by their grace and mercy, that the worlds turned, that life waxed and waned, that the Realms drew breath.

Every birth was through their will. Every death was by their hand, and everything in between was because they decided it would be so.

All fell under the gaze of the Norns. The kitchen cook, Andhrimnir, who served the Aesir’s table at night, owed everything to the Norns. They allowed his birth into Asgard. They raised him above the station of a lowly tavern boy. They gifted him the family he cradled so dearly to his chest.

Odin, King of the Nine Realms, Protector of Asgard, owed everything to the Norns. He was born by their choice. He survived a thousand battles because they said he would do so. He married Frigga because they put her on his path. His sons…

Well, one of his sons.

Loki knew the exact moment Odin stopped looking at him as a son, the exact moment Odin chose Thor over him, the exact moment Odin turned his back on him, the exact moment his father marked him disappointment.

It was, like all things, the doing of the Fates. The Norns.

Fates were theirs to command from the highest branches of Yggdrasil down to its very roots. From king to beggar, slave to master, aristocrat to pauper, farmer to merchant, sailor to soldier. From Loki to her. She was their doing.

Love was an inevitable part of life. Not even the Norns, with all of the power of the gods and then some, could stop that. Humans, Aesir, Elves, Vanir, the sentient beings of the Nine Realms felt an overwhelming urge towards emotion, and one of the strongest, one of the most inevitable, was love.

They couldn’t stop it, but they could direct it.

It fell under the purview of Fate to decide who one loved. People, god and mortal alike, fell in and out of love all the time.

Sometimes, though, every now and then, the Norns would reach down and touch two beings. The Norns would take two souls in two bodies and braid them together, weave them together, mold them together, as if they were one.

Those who knew magic well, those like Loki, could see them, watch them, doing this.

They could see Urdr floating, invisible amongst them, deciding the pair. They could see Skuld, plucking up their souls. They could see Verdandi tying them together.

Loki watched them when they took his soul.

“Mother, Mother,” Loki tugged on his other’s silk skirts and pointed up into the rafters of the Grand Hall. “What’s that?”

Frigga followed her son’s gaze and gasped. Magic was not her proficiency, though what little she had she wielded well. She had enough to see the Norns, floating ghostlike in the air over her younger son. She had enough to see his soul in their hands, and another at their side.

In the old days, before that fateful night, it was considered an honor to be chosen by the Norns. It was a guarantee of a great, powerful destiny in the future. It was a promise of passion, understanding, and respect on the horizon. It was the mark of one who would know true love.

The Midgardians called them soulmates. The Aesir called them the destined.

“The Norns have touched Loki,” Frigga whispered to Odin at her side. “They are gifting him a match.”

“With who?” Odin asked because he could not see them for himself.

Frigga squinted in the direction of the apparitions tying together Loki’s future. “I cannot tell. She appears to be…” Frigga’s eyes whipped around to Odin, “Midgardian.”

Odin turned up his nose and sniffed.

Midgard. The word, the world, that had sentenced Loki to a lifetime of second best.

His ‘destined’, his ‘soulmate’, his curse.

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It was centuries before the soul tied to Loki’s found the body it would spend its own life in.

(Y/n), her parents named her.

They weren’t sure why they named her that. When asked, they said they saw the name once in a book. Or was it on the tv? Or in a dream?

Neither could really remember. All they knew was that, as she grew, the name suited her perfectly. Almost as if fate itself had chosen it for her.

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For centuries, millennia even, her soul had been lingering on the edges of reality, existing but not quite feeling. She floated through time and space, following the ties that bound her to existence, waiting.

By the time her soul entered her body on Earth, she had existed longer than any other Midgardian ever had or would in all of history. She had lingered for years just out of reach of one of the most powerful beings on Asgard, her soulmate. Lifetimes had passed her by in the blink of an eye, and though she didn’t remember any of them, they remembered her.

Her soul hovered above its mate, basking in the magic that dissipated into the air around him like smoke. She breathed it in, soaked it in, drew it in.

In many ways, even subconsciously, she showed her age, her mate.

Even as a baby, she never woke her mother up screaming, to the jealousy of her mom’s friends. She was the model toddler, even through her terrible twos. She almost never cried and rarely threw temper tantrums. They called her a prodigy when she started speaking in full sentences before time doctors even expected her to be learning her first words, and they called her a genius when she learned to read full children’s books while other kids were still struggling through their first alphabet flashcards. Even though she ran around playing in the mud or splashing in puddles, somehow her clothes were always pristine. She taught herself faster than the teachers could and skipped two grades in elementary school alone. She was suspiciously charismatic for such a little girl and made, literally, hundreds of dollars off her lemonade stand. She listened to a family speaking another language in the store once and ran up to them to answer a question they had; when her parents asked her how she’d learned to understand or say that in another language, she had no idea what they were talking about and seemingly hadn’t even realized she’d done it.

And yet there were other things, darker things.

When she was born, the nurses didn’t question the little shock of static that jolted through them as they held her. No one commented how, in the right light, the baby’s eyes could look terrifyingly aware. She lied as easily as she breathed and almost never got caught. A girl made fun of her friend's hair once at school, and that night ended up being rushed to the hospital by her parents with all the signs of a heart attack in a five year old child. She liked having things her way, and even when her parents refused her, they always found themselves oddly compelled to do whatever it was anyways. She had an affinity for snakes that often found her letting them in the house. The pranks she pulled on her little brother sometimes got out of hand and often resulted in loud crashes and screams, though by the time any adult arrived nothing ever seemed broken. Her father used to joke that she must be some kind of shape shifter because he swore that, from day to day, her eye would change their color. Sometimes, when he looked in them, he swore they weren’t his daughters, but when he blinked and looked back they always returned to normal.

Most of it was written off as the simple oddities of a child or exaggerations of first time parents.

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Superheroes did not exist when (Y/n) was a child.

It would be another decade before Tony Stark would stand on a stage and proclaim before the world, “I am Iron Man.” It would be even longer still before Peter Parker would put on a red and blue jumpsuit and call himself, ‘Spiderman’. Bruce Banner hadn’t even begun his research into the serum that would be his ultimate undoing. Dr. Stephen Strange was finishing up med school. Thor hadn’t made his presence known. Wanda had just been born. Hawkeye and Black Widow were still assassins working in the shadows. No one outside Wakanda had ever heard of the Black Panther. Vision hadn’t been built yet, and Captain America had been dead for decades.

Even if they did exist, it wouldn’t have helped (Y/n). Most of them weren’t born super. Most of them became so by lab experiments or radioactive insects or training or technology.

In the world (Y/n) grew up in, there were no superheroes. And if there were no superheroes... then what was she?

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She was 12.

It was her big day.

Not her birthday, she didn’t particularly care about birthdays. Something about them just felt off to her. When she turned 11, she asked her mom if she could have two of those candles that were shaped like the actual numbers, and she’d put them pressed against each other on top of the cake. She ran around all day telling everyone she was 1,111. Some people laughed, but mostly to humor her.

That was why she hadn’t had a birthday party when she turned 12. She didn’t like people fake laughing. It felt like lying. She didn’t particularly mind lying herself, but she hated thinking that people were lying to her. Especially because she could always tell when they were.

No, instead, she had this. The Science Fair.

She’d won first prize the night before. She knew she had because one of the judges had told her she’d won.

That morning, they would be handing out the awards, and she was so excited for everyone else to know the secret, to know that she was the best, even better than the older kids in her class.

The judges were walking up on stage, and any moment, once they got past the category winners they were going to call her name.

“In third place we have Jesse Martin with his project in the biology category!”

A cheer went up that, judging by the pitch, absolutely must have been from Jesse’s mom. The other parents in the room clapped while Jesse ran towards the stage, turning red in the cheeks from his family’s overzealous encouragement.

“Congratulations, son,” the Dean smiled as he bent down to shake the boy’s hand. The mike picked up a small bit of Jesse’s anxious thanks before he ran to join the line of winners.

“And in second place we have, (Y/n)! With her wonderful….”

Second place.

But Mr. Sellers, the science teacher had told her she won.

Was he lying? Did he honestly think second place was winning? Was he just saying that to shut her up? Or was he being mean? Did he want to laugh at her when his real favorite won?

The parents were cheering her, including her own. Her father was nudging her towards the stage, but she didn’t at all appreciate the gesture.

No. They told her she was going to win.

Her face screwed up in pain, and she balled her hands into fists.

At the back of the room something exploded.

A scream went out.

“Fire!” Someone shouted. “Fire!”

The poster boards up and down the hall were catching fire. It jumped easily from paper to paper. It didn’t help that there was no smoke, for some odd reason. That the sprinklers, that the fire alarm, didn’t turn on.

Someone grabbed (Y/n) by the waist. Her father no doubt.

(Y/n) barely noticed. She was still upset staring at the trophy on the stage over his shoulder.

Slowly, before her eyes, it began to melt.

She smiled. Good. If she couldn’t have it, no one could.

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“She caused the fire.” He whispered, staring down at the floor in front of him with glassy eyes.

“Wayne, that’s crazy; you know it is.”

“I saw it with my own eyes, Elle. She clenched her first and suddenly Christina Danvers poster exploded. She gets second, and the first place project explodes the moment she throws a fit?”

“Our daughter doesn’t throw fits.”

“Not normally, but she did today. She was about to, and then everything caught fire.”

“Wayne, you can’t be serious about this right now.”

“She was smiling.” He whispered. “When everything burned down, she was smiling.”

(Y/n) listened silently from the hallway as her parents talked.

She loved to eavesdrop on her parents late night. They never knew she was there. It was another one of those odd coincidences of her life that (Y/n) was the only person in the house who never made the steps creak when she walked up and down the stairs.

She was old enough to know what they were saying, what they were implying. It should’ve bothered her more than it did.

(Y/n) walked back upstairs, silent as the grave, and opened her closet.

She needed the duffle bag her father kept tucked away in the top of her closet, but she was nowhere near tall enough to reach it. As the door slid open, the bag teetered on the edge of the wire shelf and fell to the floor.

“How convenient,” (Y/n) mumbled to herself.

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“Hey Kid,” The man shouted at her out the window of his semi-truck. “What’re you doin’ out here at night? It ain’t safe!”

(Y/n) shrugged. “Not safe at home either.”

The man gave her an understanding look.

(Y/n) watched him carefully as he opened the door of his rig and offered her a hand.

Her mother had always told her not to talk to strangers, but (Y/n) had found she could always tell what people wanted. Besides, she was pretty sure she was a greater danger to them than they were to her.

“Where ya’ headed?” The man asked.

“West.”

“I can take ya’ as far as Texas.” He offered.

(Y/n) hopped off the curb and grabbed the man’s offered hand, hauling herself up into the passenger seat.

She didn’t know where she was going or why she was going there. But something inside of her told her she had somewhere to be.

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Next Time On.... Part Two

Thank you very much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed. I have just come back from a hiatus and a great deal of why I went on said hiatus was the stress of managing ‘added features’ for lack of a better expression. I like writing. I don’t like formatting or managing the blog side of things.

As such, no taglists. Please don’t ask me to be on a taglist. Keeping track of it stresses me out too much. I don’t feel like doing it. I don’t appreciate being pressured into doing it. In the olden days of tumblr, people used to follow each other, and I promise you that feature still works. If you follow me you will see part two when it’s posted.

#loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki soulmate au #loki soulmate #soulmate loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x reader soulmate #marvel imagines #loki imagines #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #loki one shot #loki oneshot #mcu fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

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bloededhoine · 3 years

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world building cause twn doesn't part 12: the hen ichaer

i realize i've been mentioning the hen ichaer without really explaining it, and for that i apologize. but without further ado, let's go

colour code cause i fucking love colour codes - already happened/introduced, probably s2, important background info, stuff that might be in the prequel, extras

series masterpost

general

the hen ichaer is basically a magical gene that originated with the elven sorceress, scholar, and princess, lara dorren aep shiadhal

it can lie dormant or inactive for generations, but when someone is an activated carrier of the gene, they are called a source

sources have an insane capability for magic, it's so intense that without instruction they are a huge danger to themselves and/or others. remember pavetta's betrothal feast? hurricanes should not happen indoors

same thing with ciri's sonic scream.

obviously, the hen ichaer is highly weaponize-able, but it's difficult to put this into theory since the magic is so strong that it can easily kill the person who carries it

most important is that the hen ichaer can open ard gaeth, the gates between worlds. you may remember that the witcher is a multiverse, and the continent is just one of countless worlds

aen elle

the aen elle, elves who live in another world called tir ná lia, controlled at least one gate that they used to get slaves from other worlds

however, this was before the hen ichaer was seriously studied. unicorns are also capable of opening ard gaeth, and were present in tir ná lia, so the aen elle would kidnap them to be used as their world-hopping-genocide key. yeah, the aen elle are seriously fucked

the king of the aen elle was named auberon muircetach, and he was very well known for his wars with the unicorns, who weren't too keen on being enslaved for the purpose of conquering other worlds

the hen ichaer came into play when auberon noticed that his daughter, lara dorren, had pretty intense magical abilities. like, ard gaeth opening abilities.

auberon, lara, and a few other elves began studying the gene and trying to figure out how it works and how to use it.

through this study is how we got the title aen saevherne, which is used to distinguish an elven mage with extensive knowledge of history, science, magic, and, most importantly, the elder blood.

both lara and auberon were aen saevherne, as was lara's husband-to-be, avallac'h, and avallac'h's foster son, caranthir ar-feiniel

ithlinne's prophecy

ithlinne aegli aep aevenien was an elven prophet known for her incredibly dark prophecies that she delivered at totally random times. how dark were they? ithlinne's prophecies were almost exclusively about the death of all humanity and/or the end of the world. she was fun at parties.

anyway, when we talk about ithlinne we really only mean one specific prophecy, aen ithlinnespeath. to be confusing it's usually referred to as ithlinne's prophecy

here's the prophecy itself:

Verily I say unto you, the era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard. The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Tedd Deireádh, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be reborn of Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout but burst into flame. Ess'tuath esse! Thus it shall be! Watch for the signs! What signs these shall be, I say unto you: first the earth will flow with the blood of Aen Seidhe, the Blood of Elves...

what does that mean? well, the white chill (aka the white frost) is a massive ice age that has been approaching the continent for years. don't believe me? the white frost has destroyed countless worlds in the past, and it literally cannot be stopped. the only way to save the world is by the power of the hen ichaer.

here's a perfectly frightening visual of the white frost

ithlinne didn't elaborate on the how, but we now know that the only to survive the white frost is by finding a new world and massively evacuating the continent through ard gaeth, which can only be opened by the power of the hen ichaer.

genetics

clearly, the hen ichaer is important enough to literally save, or end, the world, but the aen elle did a famously terrible job of studying it. like, you'd think they'd be good at that, but no. to their credit, it is a bit complicated

first, there are multiple types of elder blood genes, the main gene, the latent gene, and the activator gene. to actually show the powers of the hen ichaer, someone would need to either have one latent and one activator, or the main gene.

let's go back to secondary school biology for a second, remember punnet squares? these fuckers

the letters in a punnet square represent a genotype, or the two alleles that are inherited from the parents. phenotypes, on the other hand, are what you see on the outside. for example, a genotype would be Aa but a phenotype would be brown eyes.

while the main gene is a simple dominant allele (shown by a capital letter on a punnet square), both the latent and activator genes are semi-dominant, meaning that when they meet they create a new phenotype: the innate magical ability that makes you a source.

it gets a little less scientific here so bear with me; this new phenotype is so powerful that it sometimes creates a whole new genotype. so instead of having one activator gene and one latent gene, the two would merge and you'd be left with only one (very powerful) main gene. this is the only single gene that actually has magic and it's a dominant gene, so you only need to have one to have the power.

but, the latent and activator genes don't always combine. you still have the full powers when they stay separate, but it is then less likely to pass the hen ichaer your children.

complicated? very much so. but in practice it's a lot easier.

for simplicity's sake i'll call the activator gene g/a, latent gene g/L, main gene g/m and a regular nonmutated gene g/r. to be a source, the genes you inherit would be g/a g/L, but they may combine to be just g/m. your average person would be g/r g/r and a carrier would be either g/a g/r or g/L g/r.

clearly, this makes tracking it pretty messy, since generations of people can be carriers without having a single source

tracking the hen ichaer

for now, let's do what those elven sages couldn't and track then hen ichaer, starting with lara dorren

eventually, lara met an exceptionally talented human mage, cregennan of lod, and they were lab partners (oh my god they were lab partners) in the study of the hen ichaer.

for all the studying, lara and cregennan's own genes have always been something of a mystery. elven mages don't tend to have any issues with using themselves as lab rats, so it's entirely possible that lara and cregennan, knowingly or not, mutated their own genes in their research.

ultimately, it doesn't matter what lara and cregennan's genes originally were. by some happy little accident, the two eventually ended up with at least one activator gene and at least one latent gene between them.

later, when lara and cregennan made their own happy little accident, riannon, she inherited one of each gene (g/a g/L), making her a source. however, riannon's genes did not combine as the elves expected, which made her a little harder to study.

riannon eventually met king goidemar of temeria (g/r g/r), and they had two children named fiona and amavet. i'll start with fiona, who the aen elle managed to figure out had the latent gene, making her g/L r

fiona ended up having a baby with king coram II of cintra (g/r g/r), they named him corbett, and he inherited fiona's g/L and one of coram's g/r.

the aen elle lost track of the hen ichaer when they studied riannon's other kid amavet. see, amavet was kind of a whore. he had twins, muriel and crispin, with the married countess anna kameny. obviously, these children weren't legitimate, and when the angry count kameny murdered amavet a few months later, he was officially childless

the elves did, however, manage to figure out that amavet had riannon's g/a gene and goidemar's g/r gene. anna kameny was just g/r g/r, and crispin ended up being g/r g/r as well. destiny does favour the hen ichaer, but sometimes it's just not meant to be. muriel, on the other hand, did inherit her father's activator gene and was g/a g/r.

let's hop back to corbett, fiona and coram's g/L g/r son. he and princess elen of kaedwen (g/r g/r) had a son, dagorad, who got corbett's latent gene and one of elen's regular ones, meaning he was g/L g/r

muriel married robert of garramore (g/r g/r), and their daughter adalia, the dramatically posed lady right there, had the same genetic combination as her mother, g/a g/r

this is where it gets even weirder

the lovely adalia married dagorad. her second cousin. they shared riannon as their great grandmother. feel better in the fact that it was not intentional, adalia's mother, muriel, was not officially riannon's granddaughter. no one would have even known, but adalia's g/a met up with dagorad's g/L in their daughter, calanthe

for the first time since riannon, the hen ichaer was back, and calanthe's parents genes combined to give her g/m g/r

while it took generations of destiny and accidental incest to make the hen ichaer happen again, now that calanthe had the main gene there was a 50% chance she would pass it to her child, which, of course, she did

calanthe and her husband roegner (g/r g/r) had pavetta, who inherited the g/m from her mother. no one knew about this until pavetta literally created a source hurricane, and was already pregnant

pavetta and duny's (g/r g/r) daughter, ciri, inherited the main gene from her mother and was a source.

sources

it's important to note that a source is not necessarily an incredibly powerful sorcerer, merely a person who has the genetic predisposition required to channel very intense magic

sources, like anyone else, can be bad students, allergic to potions, or just generally averse to magic on all levels except heredity. there is also no way to guarantee that even the most willing source will be good at using magic, in fact it's far more common that they will be really really bad at it. sources are extra susceptible to the chaotic state of magic in the world, and many end up pretty seriously harmed by it.

magical talent tends to make itself known in very emotional situations, like the death of a parent or a war. the same applies for sources, but they have an extra rule: their full powers are off limits until they lose their virginities

now, netflix has not mentioned that rule to be true or false, but i'm going to think of it as strictly book/game/etc canon, because ciri is 10 years old when netflix shows her using her source powers for the first time

the virginity rule makes things even more complicated, as customs about premarital sex are pretty strict in the witcher world (well, among nobility), and the dudes didn't seem to have fast reflexes. what i'm saying is that getting pregnant the first time you had sex was not uncommon. sources couldn't even use, and likely weren't aware of, their powers until they were already passing them on to another generation.

and even still, there is no guarantee that someone who is a source will ever actually show their powers. calanthe had the genetics, but she wasn't a mage. what happened? we don't really know. after calanthe married, cintra was pretty peaceful; there were no invasions or massive upheavals that could put enough stress on her to show her powers. plus, her parents didn't know she had any magical powers, so they didn't give her the training that would develop them, and she was a very level headed person who would likely be unaffected by many of the things that would make another source lose their shit.

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whetstonefires · 6 years

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fictober prompt #8: “I know you do.”

There had not been elves openly in Minas Tirith in much longer than the city’s living memory, and their presence seemed to strike many of the people of Gondor as just as much a sign of the vanquishing of the Dark that had for so long seemed it must consume them all, as was the shattering of orcish armies, or the restoration of the monarchy.

Elrond’s people and especially Elrond himself had been very patient with them, of course—“let them have the joy of if while they may,” Erestor had told Aragorn when he sought to apologize for how ceaselessly the elves found themselves importuned on streetcorners by Men as guileless as Samwise Gamgee, and some a little less so. But today Elrond had been very little in evidence—he was not lord here, to have any role in making decisions and setting people to order, and Aragorn feared he might have little heart for the general festivity.

The wedding was today, and too soon after it Arwen’s father must depart to the West and never see her more, for the strength he had expended these last three thousand years had left him weary almost beyond recovering, with the waning-away of the Ring he had used to reach beyond what should have been his limits for so long.

Elladan and Elrohir meant to linger, but the first knowing sundering of the bride from all her kin forever still loomed, and leant a bittersweetness to the joy of the occasion.

It was only the same one that touched every joy of the new Age, every hope and new-built thing flavored at least a little with the passing-away of the world as it had been, but deeper and more personal because what was lost to the king and queen of Gondor was not simply the beauty and glory of a former time but the love and company of those dear to them. And there was no doubt in Aragorn’s mind that whatever pain it caused him could only be a flicker of what it was to Arwen, who had lived so long believing that she need never be wholly parted from those she loved, as long as the world should last.

The king of Gondor found Elrond in the library, standing near Faramir’s preferred chair and paging through a dusty history not a fraction his own age, that dealt with the affairs of his youth. It was less inaccurate than it might have been. The Dunedain did try their best to hold onto the past.

“Thank you for the copies of your library,” Aragorn said, lingering in the doorway—it was a princely gift, for Elrond was the greatest loremaster of Middle-Earth, and had been for some time. The new books had not yet been shelved, for a major expansion of the library was required to make space for them. Fortunately, this was precisely the sort of task he could entrust to his steward.

Elrond dismissed this reiteration. “I would have given you more of the originals,” he said. “But new copies should last longer.” The elvish skill at making things to last preserved their books for a very long time, but eventually ink would fade and parchment crack. That Elrond was concerned that his gifts would still be usable in two thousand years was a gesture of faith in the kingdom now being rebuilt.

Aragorn planned to have a great many more copies made, and circulated, of everything of value—the preservation of memory, though none remained who could tell the tales as they had lived them, was to be one of the foremost duties of the leaders of Men, he felt, in the Age to come when there would be no one else to rely upon, to remember for them.

Elrond set the book aside on the nearby lectern, still open, and Aragorn could see it dealt almost entirely with the founding of Numenor—a matter of great personal interest both to Gondor and to Elrond Peredhel, though for somewhat different reasons.

Tar-Minyatur, read the top of the page in heavily embellished script, and it was suddenly in his thought that Elrond had not been reading the book at all.

It was in silence the recently-crowned king came in, and closed the door behind, and crossed the stone floor to bring him closer to his foster-father. They knew one another well enough to have spent much time in silence together, for there was not always need for words.

Sometimes, however, there was.

“You still miss him, don’t you,” Aragorn asked, voice soft and all but penitent. They had never spoken of this so directly. “Even now. My ancestor—your brother, Elros.”

Elrond flicked his fingers as though he could chase the subject away. Drily, “It does neither of us good, I think, to remind me of the detail that my daughter is marrying my nephew.”

Somewhat surprisingly, Aragorn’s face gained a smile. “You can’t throw me off like that, Elrond! Your great-grandfather Turgon was Galadriel’s first cousin, and your great-great-grandfather Thingol Celeborn’s second, twice removed.”

Elrond laughed. “I should have expected you would know that!”

“You did set my childhood curriculum.”

“One rather has to know how everyone was related, to make any real sense of the histories of the First Age,” replied Elrond. “And yes, you’re quite right, by any reasonable measure Celebrían and I are much closer kin than you are to Arwen. Though I believe,” he added, dry again, “you sought out that information about Celeborn specifically. That he is a kinsman of Elu Thingol is relevant to his role in the world since the Second Age, but the precise degree…”

“I did consult a genealogy,” Aragorn admitted freely.

“The hobbits would approve.”

Aragorn Elessar grinned, because they would. There was something so comfortingly predictable about hobbits, once you had gotten to know them—for all they had been the unexpected arrow on whose shot had turned the whole War of the Ring, that was as much due to their general obscurity as their hidden virtues, and it was pleasant to be able to rely on things like the fact that nearly any hobbit would take a great, friendly, critical, and vaguely proprietary interest in anyone’s family tree.

He had spent several hours once with Bilbo Baggins, years ago, reviewing some of the complexities of his own, and come away feeling he possessed an honestly better understanding of his lineage than he had had before. Hobbits had a certain eye for detail that could breathe life into someone who was otherwise merely a name and collection of lines on a page.

His smile faded. “You do still grieve,” he said, though Elrond had deflected the question once already. He would hardly have another chance to ask, and for a moment his chest seemed it would burst with a lifetime of things left unsaid for another day. A day he had naively supposed would always come, as long as he lived.

Elrond let go a breath. He looked no older than he ever had, most of his venerable years conveyed only in a certain solemn majesty, and yet time seemed in some inexplicable way to have caught up with him, as it had with Bilbo when he let go the One. A weariness clung to him even as he laughed or sang, and not one untutored soul in Gondor had mistaken him for one of Arwen’s brothers, as used to happen from time to time with mortal guests at Imladris. “Always.”

Aragorn had always known this, it seemed, and yet it pressed upon him to hear it aloud as a fact. “That seems hard.” A hard fate to bear, a hard choice to have been faced with so long ago. Elves might expect to be reunited in the West, Men might hope to see their lost ones in whatever came to them beyond death, but for the peredhel there was the certain promise of parting, and nothing more. Not while Arda lasted.

“It was the price of my own choice as much as of his.” Elrond turned to face Aragorn fully at last, and said with an unearned kindness, “I have never blamed him for it.”

Aragorn’s chest weighed heavy with words he had not spoken. “I am sorry,” he said.

Elrond’s face was troubled, yet very still. “Are you?” he asked softly.

“Not…that I love, or am loved. I could never regret that,” Aragorn said, and some of the trouble faded from Elrond’s brow. “But that our happiness together should come at such pain to you, who have granted me such kindness always, and of whom I can say no ill and whom I would never wish sorrow…this grieves me. I wish there were any other path, where none I loved might bear a burden.”

“That is not a road a king may walk,” Elrond told his foster-son, and sighed. “Indeed I do not think it is a road one in ten thousand among the living may even hope to find. It is well, Estel. If it is forgiveness you seek, you have it. Arwen’s path was always her own to choose, and I can bear this. I am practiced at partings. Always there has been at least one whom I waited to see again, beyond the breaking of the world.”

Aragorn’s tears had begun to flow just after Elrond called him by his childhood name, and now at these final words he nearly leapt forward across the small space left between them, and drew Elrond close against his breast.

They were of a height, for Aragorn Elessar was in form very like his ancestor Elros Tar-Minyatur, but he had ducked his head as he embraced the only father he had ever known, and so Elrond’s tears fell into his dark hair as he returned the gesture in a whisper of silken sleeves.

“I am sorry,” repeated the young king, who was not so young—years older than Elros had been when he chose the same destiny, and old enough by the count of ordinary Men that his grandchildren might have children of their own.

But by the measure of elves he would be still a child, and he had spent enough of his life amongst elvenkind that he would probably count himself young until his hair grew white with time. “I do regret…”

“I know you do,” said Elrond. “You would not be the man my daughter loves if you did not. But do not let my grief be a shadow on your heart. I am glad for your happiness together, and that is a greater thing than my loss.

“Live wisely and in joy, and wring the fullest measure of sweetness from your count of days. That is all I would ask.” He hesitated over his next words, but then said softly, “I am not Gilraen. I have given those I loved to the Dúnedain before, and it did not break me. I will be well, and you must not fear for me.”

Aragorn’s grasp strengthened, so that it was briefly obvious that under the fine embroidered robes of his new office he had not yet lost the hard, lean shape of a Ranger, and then he withdrew to arm’s length, with only the least undignified catch to his breath. “If ever I am told there has ever been one greater among the Eldar,” he said, a hand still on Elrond’s shoulder, “I shall not believe it.”

Elrond laughed a little, though the tears were still upon his face, and patted the arm reaching out to him. “Some partiality is allowed to family.”

“I would argue it to the foot of Manwe’s throne if need be,” Aragorn said firmly, but his mouth was curling easily, and it was as much joke as oath in earnest.

“I certainly hope there never shall be!” replied Elrond, letting his hand fall, and Aragorn’s after it. “But come, you can waste no more time here in the dust, amongst the relics. Today you wed!”

#fictober 2018 #aragorn #elrond #tolkien #lotr #fic #my fic #family #gondor #hoc est meum

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grundyscribbling · 6 years

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@myinkandtrees replied to my earlier appeal for prompts with the following:

What about something having to do with Arwen? Maybe Arwen trying to "fit in" with the humans, and if not that Arwen + morality?

(Thank you again!)

Apparently, by ‘drabble or two’ I actually meant ‘short fic’, because despite me thinking it would be drabblish, it ended up at slightly more than 1000 words.

She had known it would not be easy. Arwen Undomiel is no daughter of the Edain to believe in ‘happily ever after’. She has lived long enough to know that being Queen was far more than just smiling prettily and bearing heirs, even when it did not involve sundering yourself from your family forever. Her choice had not been made lightly.

Estel had evidently never thought much about what she would do after wedding. He had thought on what he would need to do as king – he had had time enough to think on it, even if he likely hadn’t always envisioned it coming on the heels of a destructive war that had left not just Minas Tirith and Osgiliath but also Lebannin and Pelargir ravaged.

Elessar Telcontar was rebuilding his realm brick by brick, farm by farm, and quay by quay, striving to make the Reunited Kingdom a reality rather than just a name. His people, Gondor and Arnor alike, already spoke hopefully of a prosperous peace such as they have not known in their lifetimes, or even their grandparents’ lifetimes.

But Estel had not thought on what the achievement of their shared dream might mean for his bride. In the third year of the new Age, Arwen found herself increasingly…lonely. It was an odd idea, to be lonely when she was surrounded by people so constantly. Yet, even in a room full of her ladies, she often felt as though she stood alone.

For all her wisdom, she had not known what it would mean to be the only one of her kind here. Nor had she thought to ask any of the ladies of Imladris if they would consider postponing their departure to the West to serve as her companions, for it had seemed advisable that such prestigious positions should be given to girls of Gondor and Arnor, to consolidate support for the new royal house.

Her brothers would visit, she knew, as often as they were able. Elladan and Elrohir had delayed sailing for her – a blessing for which she daily thanked the Valar and the One. Their presence, even at a distance, helped. And her grandfather would not sail before she departed the world, no matter what the Galadhrim might decide. But they could not spend all their time in Minas Tirith.

Grandfather had responsibilities in Lorien, all the heavier now without Grandmother to share them. Her brothers led the remaining folk of Imladris, and would see to it that the valley would still be in good order when they departed, to be left as an inheritance for her children. Her family write as often as there are messengers to carry their letters, but it is not the same as other times when they have lived apart. This time there is no expectation that she will eventually rejoin them.

Legolas spoke of bringing some of his father’s folk to help heal Ithilien, but she knew Wood-Elves would visit the White City but rarely. Any visits she might make to wherever they choose to establish themselves will be limited by mannish ideas of time and propriety, not elvish ones.

She glanced at the cradle. Her firstborn slept peacefully, untroubled by his mother’s thoughts. Eldarion would not understand this feeling of otherness. He would never know anything but mortality.

For all the Edain she had known over the years, it had not prepared her to live among them – and only them – for all the years that remained to her. She had not realized that there would be so many subtle things that would mark her as different. She does her best to cover, but she sees the gaps between them, even if they don’t. (And sometimes they do. Occasionally the gap is so unexpected that her surprise shows.)

It was things like not knowing intimately the ways they marked births or deaths – for though Men had died at Imladris over the years, they had not had all their kin or community around them to observe their customs. (Even if they had, the customs of early to mid Third Age Arnor were not those of present-day Gondor.)

But more than that, it was not knowing the true meanings behind polite euphemisms. It was not having heard the same songs and tales as a child. (Her childhood was so remote to her new people, and even to Estel, that it was best not to raise the subject.) It was a completely different set of expectations of what a Queen was and did. It was the curious looks at her torso and subtle questions about why she is not yet with child again, when they are still several months away from celebrating Eldarion’s second name day. (Obviously she cannot wait the best part of a yen between children as her parents had, but she felt certain she would need several more years before begetting another child.)

It was also in the little things, like the dishes she misses but does not know the recipes for (she could cook, but she had not mastered every dish served in Imladris, for her talents did not lie in that direction). It was not having someone else who remembered her mother, or another elvish parent at hand to talk to about Eldarion. (She may be mortal now, but her body was still elvish, and her son is not entirely Edain in his growth and development.)

She does not doubt her choice, painful though it had been. She is certain of her love for Estel, and she will not let this feeling of not fitting in among his people come between them, not when they have so few years together. But she does sometimes wonder if he understands how difficult it is for her some days, when she looks around and sees grandparents playing with their grandchildren, or at holidays that had been celebrated in Imladris but were not in Minas Tirith.

Occasionally, she wonders what it would have been like had she been the one able to demand that her beloved accompany her to live among her people, and had Estel go West with her as Tuor had with Idril. It helped, in her lonelier moments, to imagine their positions reversed, with him the fish out of water, even more so than he had been in his childhood in her father’s house. She liked to picture her great-grandfather commiserating with him about what it was like to be the only Man surrounded by Elves, and to be sundered from one’s own kindred.

And then she carries on, being the Queen the Reunited Kingdom needs, with all the grace and serenity her husband’s people expect from her.

#fic #prompts #myinkandtrees #not on ao3 yet #arwen #fitting in with humans #maybe a little bit about mortality if you squint #not part of the Daughters of Celebrian 'verse - pure Tolkien

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rowanthekitsune · 6 years

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Vesni, the Royal Elf part one

Vesni, the Royal Elf

I am not going to start off with talking of Vesni, instead, I shall talk of her home first. Vesni was born in and lived in the country of Noul, a rather small country towards the northern part of the world in which Vesni came from. The country mostly kept away from any others near itself, leaving almost none knowing of the type of people who lived there, or even customs of said people. The country had a mountain range as its border with states south of it, making sure only the brave or foolish would even attempt to get to Noul. These mountains were particularly terrifying, as the entire area tended to have many earthquakes often, and monsters were said to live within the caves, and hunt along the mountainsides. Towards the north of the small country, the Northern, Eastern, and most of the Western borders were the ocean. Due to the cold temperatures of the area, the ocean was filled with ice, so much so that no ships could enter or exit through these waters. evidence of attempts could be found underwater, where many sunken ships can be found. The land of the country itself was not quite as dangerous as its borders, but it still would leave anyone who did not know the area quite well lost. Most of the country was covered in forests, large trees leaving the sun hidden and most animals frozen. The only non covered areas would be the few plains towards the western side of Noul, and the beaches along the borders. The only animals able to survive are the small ones who dig themselves homes in the snow, and other places, and the larger ones that have enough fur to keep warm. This included wolves, bears, and larger, more dangerous things. Of course, the people of this land survived as well. Building cities in the fields usually, or learning to copy the small animals. The people here had also adapted after long enough to fit the area quite well, they were regular elves originally, but their environment changed them.

The elves now had lighter colored skin, not quite pale, but it was enough for them to blend in with the snow. Their bodies were commonly a bit smaller, and and they became lighter. Their hair generally became lighter, even more so than their skin. These elves used to barely survive in Noul, but a certain clan of them had worked to make it easier. This clan was the Ruo clan, and as they built cities, they were often decided to be the rulers. Of course, the cities of these elves made the traits which let them hide useless, but the elves liked them still. As time went along, the royal Ruo clan was recognized as the true royalty of this land, and the decision on who was made king or queen was soon no longer votable. The Country grew to be a monarchy. The Ruo clan was separated through each of the cities, and over time, most forgot that each royal family was ever a part of the Ruo clan. There was one trait that every member of the bloodline, every generation had it and it marked them as royalty. Every single one had a birthmark in the shape of a crown somewhere on their body. It was generally dark in color, allowing it to be easily seen. Nobody knows for sure on if it is natural, or if the original Ruo clan used magic to allow such a thing to happen, but it was a closely guarded secret as it could be easily copied by some mage. Another thing every member of the royal bloodline had was incredible magic talent. If a city had two children, the next one to inherit the crown would be whichever had the best magical abilities. Siblings would dual, and the victor would be promised the crown, unless the other challenged the winner later on and one.

There were four of five cities in the country of Noul, and while all were great and gained respect in some form or another, one was the the capital, and that city was Delin. Rather terrible name, but the people there liked it, and were willing to fight for the honor of the city. It was definitely the largest of the cities in Noul, and possibly the one with the largest population. It was in a large field near the northern border, despite this location, it had the most roads built from it’s gates to other cities or places. It has a rather large market in the front of the city, filled with goods from blacksmiths, enchanters, hunters, and gardeners. There were even a few taverns in this area, for others to buy cheap rooms in. The general currency was usually just trading, but these was a type of money within Noul. If you could manage to find any sort of metal, it was highly valued. It was rare to come across any sort of material from the ground, but despite this, due to the high prices for any sort of material, many mines were dotted along the country. Those desperate enough even dug straight down sometimes, within their homes if it was too cold. Back to the city of Delin, beyond the market, there was a housing district. This was where.. Well, everyone bought or made homes. This made up most of Delin, and due to the amount of people living in this city, the homes were generally built closer together and had two or three stories to it. Some families would even share homes if one couldn’t afford their own. People were generally kind, and liked to help out others. Towards the center of the city, there was the royal property. Very few were allowed in, and if they were allowed in, it was only to work or deliver to any of the Royal family. There was magic placed throughout the area, leaving it warmer than most of the country was. It allowed gardens to be planted in the outskirts of the royal property, where some of the citizens were allowed to go to plant and harvest crops. There was also the castle of the Ilo family, the descendants of the Ruo clan. They changed their name to avoid confusion with the other cities.

The castle was huge, several stories tall, and filled with rooms not only for the royal family, but also for every servant. The rooms of the Ilo family were often huge, with closets bigger than any person should ever need. Of the current royal family, the only guy was the king, who was often sick. Of the two living daughters, both loved their clothes, so these closets were quite often filled with new clothes from the various cities in Noul. The master room, for the King and Queen, was even larger than the rooms of their daughters. It had way too much space, and several furniture sets covered in dust. Of course, whenever other royal families came by it was cleaned, but that was rare and had not happened for some time. The royal family had not always had only four members, once there were a few sons, and more daughters too. A tragedy had come around soon after the queen had given birth to a daughter, one she had named Vesni. This little girl had been special, her magical abilities were high even for a descendant of the Rou family, and she hardly ever cried, even for a baby. She was being predicted to eventually be the ruler of Delin, until the tragedy happened. A group of rouge elves, from another city, had attacked Delin. They used magically tamed animals to their advantage, took out walls of the city, and even broke into the royal grounds. The number of them had been too much for most of the royal children, and despite their ability, many were killed. The intruders had even killed the baby Vesni. The queen had gone into a rage once that had been found out, and the people had once again become grateful to her. She had completely destroyed the raiding group, quite literally having cooked them alive. The rebuilding process, with the aid of magic, was very fast. And the dead were soon buried. However, something had bothered the Queen, and her two remaining daughters. Her youngest girl’s body had not been found, and the Queen could figure out why. She had taken special care to not melt anything in her rage, so the body should’ve been found. Little did she know, her baby had never been killed. A random servant had found the baby in the destroyed castle, and had taken her home. The raiders only said they killed her, never having given proof, so this had gone by quite easily. The servant, and her family, had no clue that the girl was of royalty. They figured she was just another dead families child, and they ultimately decided to take her in. The name Vesni had been sewn into the girl’s clothings, so the servant’s family figured that was her name. They gave the girl their own last name, and treated her as their own.

18 years later

Vesni was waking up for the morning, the smell of breakfast forcing her out of bed. She yawned softly, and mentally complained about having to get out of bed. With a small sigh, she sat up, her thick blankets falling down into her lap. She pushed them off, and slowly stood up, and out of bed. Her mother yelled to her from the kitchen, “Vesni! Get down here before the food freezes, you know how quick it can happen.” Vesni gave a short repl, “Coming!” and with that, she began walking down to the kitchen. She walked rather fast, the smell of what had been made becoming more clear as she approached the table. Once she sat, her mother set a plate in front of her, and patted her head. “Eat my daughter, you have a busy day. The queen’s annual feast is tonight. You got a invite due to your school grades, right? She only invites a few non royal people, you’re luck.” Vesni had trouble following along with her mother’s words, she was too focused on eating. She did remember about her invitation to the feast, she had been the lucky one to get it. She had only done so good in school because magic came naturally to her. She was easily at the top of her class, she could even rival her teacher’s strengths. She finally gave her mother a nod, and asked a question. “Why does the Queen have a feast at this time every year?” her mother would frown, before answering her, “The queen has the feast for her dead children, and for all of those who died on the attack 18 years ago. The queen would be angered if you did not know why, so I am glad you asked. Now, finish eating, and go get dressed. I heard that the Queen lets people enter early, and spend time in the Royal property.” With that, Vesni’s mother went back to cooking for the other two people of the house, ones who hardly got up early. Vesni’s older sister, who worked as a servant, and her father. Vesni still wondered why her sister was allowed to live at home, and why she didn’t live in the castle. She imagined it was because they lived close to the royal property. Vesni shook her head, and brought her thoughts back to the topic of today. She did not know what she would do, if she wanted to leave early, or what she would wear. She finished her breakfast, and went to her room so she could answer one or two of those questions.

Once Vesni got into her room, she walked to her closet, and looked at herself in the mirror she had on the closet door. She was around 4’8, short, especially for elves. She didn’t mind it though, as it allowed her to get through crowds quickly. Starting from the legs, she was a rather impressive girl. Her feet were small and dainty, and kept in perfection. Her legs were long, and had a bit of extra weight in all the right places. Her thighs in specific. They weren’t big enough to touch, but they rubbed against each other every once in a while. Her hips were big enough to catch other’s eyes, but it was her ass that was really impressive. It could be considered hand filling, if the hands that were holding it belonged to a 8’ tall amazon. Her waist was rather small, and her belly was flat as a board. It was even slightly toned. Her breasts were not too large, they barely reached C. Her arms were also quite delicate, and ended in soft hands. Her face was partially rounded, with very soft features. Her lips were pouty, and she had a button nose. Her eyes were odd though. They were pure, milky white, as if she was blind. Yet, she could see perfectly, perhaps better than others. She did not know why, and her parent’s could not give her answers. Her hair was a light blond, it was kept in a ponytail, and it reached her waist. Her skin, like most Noul elves, was a greyish color. It was very light, and looked nice near dark colors. Her skin was also perfectly smooth, except for her birthmark. She had two marks on her skin, one was a birthmark, another was a tattoo. The birthmark was a crown just below her right breast, it was black in color, she loved how it looked. The tattoo was a black heart she had gotten just below her right eye. She loved it simply because her parents hated it, they wouldn’t let her get any tattoo, even a hidden one. So she had snuck out and gotten that one a year back, it had gotten her quite the punishment, but she thought it was worth it. She smiled softly at the memory, before finally walking into her closet. She looked through different clothing options, wondering if she even had anything that would work for something such as this. She would eventually decide on a white dress, one made of lace that nearly matched her hair color. This dress she had previously sewn a row of black into, towards the bottom, but she thought it would be fine. She wished she had a black dress, but her parent’s disliked the color.

After picking out the dress, she also got a pair of white stockings, and black shoes. She hoped this would be alright enough, and though the clothes felt odd, they were possibly the best she had. She then began mentally debating on if she should go early, or wait until later. After a five minute long wait, she eventually flipped a coin, and it was decided that she should leave early. She gave a quick goodbye to her family, who were just now eating breakfast, and she left the house. She made sure she had her pass, which would let her into the feast, before continuing on her walk. To speed up her time to get there, she cut corners by going through alleys. Once she finally got to the gates that would let her into the Royal property, she presented her pass to a guard, and the gates were opened. She gasped as she felt the incredibly warm air hit her, and she already knew she liked the area. She had gotten cold due to the snowstorm that had started, but this was amazing, and made her very okay with her clothing choice. A guard would pat her shoulder, and begin to lead her through the royal grounds. Vesni looked about as they walked, amazed at all the gardens and other things throughout the property, but she was hardly given enough time, as she was soon at the castle doors. The guard would open it, and motion for Vesni to enter. Vesni would slowly step in, the door closing behind her. The front room was currently empty, except for a single maid who was working. As the maid noticed Vesni, she spoke softly, “One moment miss, i’ll go get the queen, tell her the first guest of the feast has arrived.” The maid then walked off through a hall, leaving Vesni alone. Vesni looked about in amazement, before her mind urgently told her she was about to meet the queen. She shook her head, and tried to ready herself, but nothing could get her ready for what she saw when the queen entered.

The queen was absolutely stunning. The elf stood at 5’6, and she wore a beautiful white dress, one that made Vesni’s look like a rag. The queen’s body was amazing as well, curves in all the right places, and with a surprisingly large chest. The queen’s face was similar to Vesni’s, soft features, and with pouty lips and a button nose. The queen was smiling happily, and staring right back at Vesni. The queen spoke softly, “What a cute little elf.. I am so glad someone like you won the invitation.” Stunned, Vesni could hardly reply to the queen. She managed to get out a very basic reply, “T-thank you, Queen Len..” Vesni also found her arms shaking softly, so she had to hold them against her stomach. Her nervousness was really showing, and the queen was finding it adorable. The queen spoke again, as she approached Vesni, “Young one.. Could you tell me your name please? After, I will lead you to the library.” Vesni nodded quickly to her question, and after gulping, she spoke, “My name is V-Vesni..” the girl mentally cursed herself for stumbling over a word again, and hoped the queen did not mind. Of course, the queen only smiled softly, and shook her head. “What a lovely name. That is what I had named my youngest, before she had been killed. You remind me of her.” Vesni had been about to reply, but the queen pulled her into a soft hug, holding the girl’s face against her chest. Vesni’s cheeks quickly turned a rose color, and the queen pulled away, leaving a stunned Vesni behind. The queen gave her excuse a few moments later, “Sorry Vesni.. I could not help myself. Now i'll lead you to the library, where we can sit and talk..”

#short story #short writing #elf

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gurguliare · 6 years

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omg, huor/rian? -vardasvapors

It was sometimes difficult to know that his brother was angry. Happily, Huor put an end to all doubts by flinging himself on the hearthrug with a cry.

“Ha!” went the cry.

“Ha,” agreed Húrin. He set down his penknife, and after a little thought his pen. Huor was drawing moon-letters in the ashes. “I was right, you look better in blue. Did she make that for you?”—meaning the wreath around Huor’s neck.

“Yes, she was all posies today,” Huor said, slowly. He removed his hat, which had irises tucked in the chin-band, and set about abusing it. There were wildflowers clinging to his beard. “She could do nothing but pick flowers and plant them.”

“You’re not good for much.”

“If I’m not, I lay it at her door…” He caught Húrin’s eye and frowned, dogged by his own unfairness, and launched on a long explanation: her mother thought them young to wed; she wouldn’t say so, for respect of Húrin, but she thought it, and they were. And Rían said, yes, of course, and spent a day dismantling turf…

Húrin had heard as much before, though never, it was true, from Rían’s mother. Morwen behind the portiere had neither changed nor lost the limping rhythm of the loom; but she was listening, anyway, for he was listening.

He had married her the autumn after his father died, and he had been four years younger than Huor now, and lord of Dor-lómin. Neither he nor his young wife had parents to give warnings. “Why is Rían in haste?”

The tail of Huor’s braid lay coiled on his back from many heartsore shrugs. “I don’t know.”

So saying, he folded his hat in two and let it flop back to its proper shape. The brim stayed pinned beneath one palm, like a dog submitting to have its paw held. He had a tender way with hounds and birds, but Húrin thought this had made him rather proud; he could be impatient, not with the animals, but with beast-tamers less patient than he. At times he turned the same unkindness on himself: why can I not be gentle, and bring my blood to heel? And so on. Húrin understood better, now he was father to two children, one living. Still such stern sight had no place in his brother.

“Let us say that she loves you, and waiting’s a grief to her. I can just conceive of it. But you wait out of love for her which warns you to feign wisdom, like an old man. I see no harm in that. Shall I speak to Rían?”

“Showing me for a youth, unfit to court her?”

“Isn’t that the object?”

“Yes!” A glare. Huor looked afraid to laugh, as if it might do his lady dishonor; his lip did tremble. “She’s young,” he said to himself, “and it falls to me to practice wisdom, if she must be so brave.” Very soft, he said, “I think of them, and their ladies who made a game of the mountain’s face… from green to red, and sparkling with frost. For them it was never wrong to wait.”

“Never and never. I hope that in a hundred years, when we are dead, our enemy all crushed beneath our weight, they may descend and gaze around. A new untarnished land, with green things growing.” He smiled at Huor, saying to himself that the future wasn’t so far off: but their sunlight was less than this sunlight, and the white cities they might raise less gorgeous than this low-timbered hall. “Is that what you have in mind for Rían?”

“It sounds as if you’d have me marry.”

“Brother, I must thrust you from my house. All means else failing—”

“What would you do with me gone?” said Huor, seriously. Then: “I have her lute. I forgot it was still on my horse when I rode off, I’m afraid in a hurry.” If he heard Húrin’s hand strike his brow, he gave no sign of it, except to stiffen a little. “Will you bring it back to her? Tell Rían we have your blessing. It makes no matter, but maybe she’ll taste the bitter less.”

Through spread fingers, Húrin considered his poor inventory—more often abandoned than taken up—and the ink now drying on the reed.

Rían’s mother greeted him warmly and, after he spoke her fair, tasted her beer and let her exclaim over his handsome mule, directed him to the creek bottom that dipped between the homestead and the fields. If she had asked why he had come in place of a servant, he would have said, the men are dead of weariness from threshing-season, or if not from the harvest then the raids; I of all of them can best be spared. But she was circumspect in everything.

Rían sat in a ring of toppled cups, and she was writing something down. At the sight of her, stylus in hand, he felt a jolt of guilt, having thrown over his own clerk-work for a leisure-errand—although it was his business to pay calls to malcontents. With her back to a birch slenderer than her back—with knees drawn up, feet planted, and hair curling from its net—while her maid lay snoring on a bead-fringed sheepskin, she rather than he had the air of a lady holding court; but her head snapped up at his coming, and she stared straight ahead, and almost past him, so that he felt he headed a host. “At ease, cousin,” he tried. Then her eyes found his. She nodded and rose in a bow before he could prevent her, and smiled broadly when she left it, remembering her charm.

Pretty Rían, a child in long skirts; he could guess what his brother meant, that she had begun some work and not finished it yet.

“‘Mistress cousin,’” she quoted, and showed him where to set down the lute. “‘Lady sister.’ But name me sister, if we must choose degrees.”

“You’ve disowned Morwen?”

She was losing interest. “Why come tonight? Huor—”

“Huor is hale,” he said lightly, dismayed by her insistence. “I thought I had better return the thief’s spoils for him.”

“Ha! foes!” snapped the serving-girl, and rolled over; it was no serving-girl at all, but his kinswoman Aerin. She must have crept late from Indor’s house for a drinking party, although, as Húrin had cause to know, she was not much charmed by songs of old. She narrowed her eyes, shook the sandy hair from her face, tugged the veil from her hair, and thrust a plump finger at him: then lay back down, doubtless to gather strength. Not yet dusk, but in a sky like fallen clouds, the leaves on the bough had lost color, and patterned themselves after the fox’s gray beard; the gurgling from the creek should have drowned all frogs and nightjars, but that their singing carried, bounded higher on the stream. His daughter’s laughter never sounded louder than near water; but already he had forgotten the laws that made her life.

Because he had no better plan, he lay down beside Aerin, on his back. “But do I have a case to judge between you and sir thief?”

Rían knelt in the heather and said, “Please forgive me if I am churlish, which I must be, to have driven off everyone but Aerin.” (“Thank you!”) “I’ve had evil dreams.”

Húrin bit his tongue. “Of Huor?” he said after a time, trying to be grave, and to restrain the bitter feeling, so common since Lalaith, that all this was a waste; her terror like his cheer, poured out on stone, because neither of them knew what would come.

“Huor! No, god forbid! Of you.” She touched her brow, kneaded the skin, and bent her head. Had she been his sister in truth, he would have pinched her. And she was right that it was wearisome and hurt to hold off from things which were needful; he was glad at some hour or another every day, but it was hard, to go from his house to his friends’, his house to his brother’s, from Dor-lómin to the fortress of the elves, and back again to make friends with his son.

“That’s strange,” he began. “Though I were the fondest of brothers, I couldn’t begrudge him to you. I wish you every happiness. When your mother consents, we will set a day in spring, when the trees vie with the flowers of the earth, and there are showers enough to dress the thatch with jewels. If it should snow, we’ll hold the dancing indoors, and burn the great hall down.”

Rían nodded. As he talked on she grew thoughtful: she tapped her stylus to the tablet, and said, “In my dream, you sit in a great chair.”

“There. I am presiding at the feast. Sador is carving me the very chair. If I seem grave, he has left me a long splinter.”

“I’ll marry Rían,” Aerin announced. “All the unwedded maids of Dor-lómin; I’ll marry them and keep them, when you ride off to war.” She spoke almost without moving her lips, her chest rising and falling in starts, her cold fair face impassive. “What do you say?”

Rían whispered something in her ear; Aerin convulsed in laughter. Húrin pretended to avert his eyes and said, “Now, tell me. Is there something my brother should know?”

“That I beg his pardon,” said Rían; “I am sorry for him. Every year he must fight, facing what I know nothing of, though he has you and God, my lord, bespeaking him. I think of him often—I hope he’s not too afraid. I don’t remember a moment of my journey here, from Ladros. So maybe it’s the same for him, that he goes to fight and doesn’t remember. I wish he were younger! Then indeed I could wait happily, while we would play at being children.” She bit her knuckle.

If he could only see all, from sea to sea, and rule over a land that answered him: he thought he would have ordered it better. That would have been best, to know that wherever his kin went, he could follow them in mind, and understand their passing. Here she was before him, and he strove to follow her. Did she think she wasn’t a child, or that the girl had died in the wastes, driven forth from her home? She sounded, it was true, older than her years, not like a woman grown but like a daughter of elves, clear-spoken before the milky eyes could see.

“He pities you as well,” Húrin said. He got up in a crouch, for the dew was creeping down his back, and he wished too to take her hands.

Rían gave him a glad mistrustful look: face red in the cheeks from talk of Huor, and teeth bared by her drawn-up lip. She put her hands on his, saying, “Feel how cold. I have drunk too much, even with Aerin here to warn me. If I sleep early, will I still have a headache tomorrow? Will you tell Huor not to expect me before noon? My turn to visit, but alas—”

“I’ll tell him.” He might have said, grandly: Don’t punish him too much for loving your mother, but she had nothing of the kind in view. Without knowing it she took a step back and another. She was drunk, and proud enough after her fashion, and had grown used to the new wealth of time, now that Huor was home; that she feared Huor’s death in war had little to do with how they spent their days together. She picked up the lute and put together a bare chord; she played just well enough to scaffold her towering voice. If he had had the sense to bring his harp, they might have made music together, although his mount would have been overburdened, and his knees ached from bending in the cold.

“You may as well escort me home,” Aerin said, standing more steadily, by leaning on his back. “If you have what you came for, lord?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Anyway I’m the better for having come; for it’s not every day I hear a song from Rían, bard of Dor-lómin.”

#Anonymous #no one expects the fannish inquisition #vardasvapors #silmarillion #hurin #huor #rian #aerin #does huor just live in their house or something idk #i started thinking about the logistics of this for one (1) second and got a headache #anyway this is thin sorry i have a semi-solid huor headcanon but rian is Hard To Picture #this is also my first time considering dirtbag aerin. she just. happened

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