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greypetrel · 1 year

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[ Wait ] for Aisling but in the LOTR au and a character of your choice :3

HELLO THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME. *evil laugh*

It’s longer than I planned (with no one’s surprise), but I hope you’ll like it nevertheless! Tagging @transprincecaspian who asked if there was a fic. Well, there’s a ficlet now! xD

Cullen realized that’s not an elven lady, and that “Outside Rivendell” means actually many, many miles South-East.

Also don’t worry, Cupcake will be fine, we’re going back for him (in dued time, after a necessary existential crisis because it’s not Cullen if he’s not in a constant state of existential crisis). :< (I’d also like to let you all know that the litter is thus named: Beignet, Profiterole, Cupcake, Macaron, Meringue, Tiramisù and Cheesecake. They make their extremely evil mama very proud. u_u)

And there's a surprise in the end if you make it that far!

Tis the prompt list!

She of Many Names

[ WAIT ]: realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.

It was foretold that it had to come to this. He was bound to discover it, sooner or later, and as much as she had sincerely enjoyed their carefree time together, she knew it couldn’t last. Because nothing on this side of Arda ever did, she knew it, and she knew it well. She had avoided most of the humans for so many eras exactly because she knew. Her essence was for order and beauty and permanence, not for waste. And human lives were so short… It felt a waste.

And yet, she’d been surprised by this man. This young, fragile man -even if the crinkles beside his eyes when he laughed told her that for his race he wasn’t considered so young, all the calluses on his hands she saw the one time he took off his gloves confirmed it. So blinded by the idea that she was maybe not so young, because elves seldom where and he knew as much, but innocent and in need of protection.

She had been taken aback at being treated so politely by a person she barely knew, that was true. Probably that was the reason she had indulged so much, against all good reasons -and Dorian had told her all those good reasons, repeatedly. And yet… Eras passed since anyone cared for her that way, with simple gallantry, wanting nothing in return. It was something surprising that she hadn’t seen in long, long centuries. And for that, it was as precious as every bright jewel she ever created. Even more so, for the fragility, the impermanence of him.

And yet, the impermanence.

The man -ser Rutherford, or Cullen as he’d allowed her to call him- stood before her, as tall and proud as any being of much nobler birth than him, down the dais that led to her throne, fire in his eyes in spite of being tragically unnumbered, alone, in the very core of her tower, surrounded by her people and lieutenants, the latest litter of Wargs resting at her feet and around her tall throne.

So impermanent and so precious, that was exactly what Luthien had told her. Ironic, that she was starting to understand it now. Her heart clenched, as it hadn’t done in long, lonely and cold centuries.

“I never lied to you, ser Rutherford.” She didn’t think he would have welcomed her calling by his first name. Not now. “I never meant you any harm, and I told you over and over again that I needed no protection from Orcs.”

“And yet you had your filthy beasts dragging me here against my will.”

The pups -still little, but already bigger than most dogs by now- rose their heads. Beignet started to growl, showing her teeth. As per usual: she was the eldest and the fiercest, the more prone to defend the others and lead them. Men and elves alike had always underestimated how intelligent Wargs could be, if given enough attention and proper care. But Aisling didn’t want for them to attack. So, before the rest of the litter could follow their eldest sister, she placed her hand on her head, caressing the coarse fur lengthening just beside her ears. The Warg understood, and stopped growling, refusing tho to lower her head and stood watching at her side. Her big, fierce girl, she would have been the pride of her kennels in still some time.

“As I recall, you drew your sword first, and swung it.” She punctuated, calmly.

“Yes, because-”

“No threat has been done to you. You were simply asked to allow me to go back with my people, weren’t you? And still, you stood and threatened my second in command, his dragon, and Captain Shagrat.” Oh how she hated this. “You drew your sword first, which was excusable, and tried to draw first blood, thrice, even if you were told no one was a threat to you and no one else drew their weapon, is that correct?”

He stopped and considered, a challenge in his eyes as she waited, patiently, for an answer. She had tried for decades, now, to come to terms with human. It had gained her a war and a state of constant attack. But she knew how to behave. Politeness, logic and avoiding anything that could have been mistaken for a threat. That everyone mistook the appearance of Orcs as a threat per se wasn’t her fault. She took a smallest nod of his head as an affirmative, before continuing to speak.

“So tell me, Lieutenant, what would you have done in my place? A foreign soldier threatens the men under your responsibility, when none offense was caused. Maybe this is a huge misunderstanding, but if so help me understand. What’s the custom amongst your kind in this kind of situation?”

“The custom wouldn’t be defending monsters that plunders and sack innocent people, and burn the land they trample on.”

She heard a disgusted noise on her right, loud and echoing in the throne room, and casted a quick glance towards Cassandra, standing as per her usual on her right, arms crossed under her black cape. She just needed her to be so overly expressive of her disapproval, right now. Luckily, the woman -former so- knew her well enough to get the message. They exchanged a look, and she nodded, frowning heavily but avoiding any further word. She had been extremely clear that this matter was hers to solve. The Nine had been welcomed in the Throne Room, as well as the rest of her Council and the Orcs that wanted to assist, as it was custom. But she would have delivered justice herself, this time.

“Your definition of ‘monster’ may be outdated. Your people are just as good as moving war and plunder against each other without our help, ser. If my people are monsters because of that, so are yours.”

Dorian leaned towards her, at her left, the way he always did during councils and judgements, whispering in that way only she could hear, the faint trail of magic around his words so they were kept private and unintelligible for any other.

“It’s a dead end, honey. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll get anywhere any time soon.”

“What would you do?” She asked him, weaving the same spell in her words. He could wait for some minutes more: he seemed so stubbornly intent of playing the statue, that standing still and glowering at the very same Dark Lady of Mordor for a couple of minutes more wouldn’t make that much difference. She had to concede he had some guts.

“Send him on his way. Don’t stoke the fire of his prejudice, show mercy and send him back to his company. He won’t be able to say he had been unjustly treated, no one in Gondor would allow an Orc to stand to trial, let alone let him go.”

She smiled minutely.

Dorian had been, actually, the first human that approached her willingly, knowing who she was, interested in her research and willing to give her his two cents. He had some guts too, when he showed up and corrected what of her doings was known outside as if he could stand as tall as her. A human prince back then, heir to his throne, true, and a talented mage, with a mind as sharp as a blade. But still a human, facing a Maia as if they were peer. She had liked him from the start, and it was still soothing noticing that they still reasoned on the very same length.

But what Dorian didn’t know was that it wasn’t just a matter of insult. Not anymore. And that she owed Cullen an explanation. So, she sighed, scratched Beignet’s big head again, and talked again, so everyone could hear her.

“This human acted out of long-ingrained prejudice. The same we’ve been trying to dismantle. The same we will refuse to abide to. He’ll be free to go back to his company, if he so wishes, and a safe passage will be granted to him through our Lands, provided he won’t draw his sword and attack first.” She declared, voice calm but first. The audience started to mutter, but she stopped them raising her hand. “An insult was moved, tho, and I can’t ignore this. The next time you’ll threaten and attack any of my people without a direct cause that is not how they look, ser Rutherford, Lieutenant of Gondor, you’ll face a less lenient trial.”

She expected an answer that didn’t come.

“Is it clear, Lieutenant?” She prodded, more firmly.

“Clear, ma’am.”

Even in this, even still glaring at her as if he was trying to murder her with a look, he kept the honorifics. She smiled, despite herself, and stood.

“Well, now that it’s settled. The Court is adjourned. Please, you all, return to your duties, I’d wish to speak with our guest alone.”

More muttered around her, worried this time, and no one really moved.

“Please.” She had to repeat, kinder and with a smile and a nod of her head.

Everyone started to disperse, beside her usuals. The Nine crowded around her, some glaring at the human, some stepping up the dais to ask her if she was sure, and if it was the case. Adar and Cassandra, of course, were the most headstrong and worried, and she had to coax them that nothing was going to happen, and she was sure, they need not to worry about her, really.

It took some convincing, but in the end, the doors of the throne room closed behind Dorian, the last to get out, and the last to give her a look. They need not to talk anymore to understand each other – not that they ever needed much wording from the start- and she just knew he may not have worded it much, but he wasn’t sure about this idea of hers. Knowing him, he’ll be right outside the door, just in case. She smiled at the idea, in spite of the situation being everything but something that should bring a smile.

And now, she was alone again with Cullen, this time in an environment that was more familiar to her than to him. And with an atmosphere between them that couldn’t have been more different. Because he was still glaring daggers at her where he stood for trial, hands clenched in fists and… Was that a tremble? She didn’t question it, stepping down the dais, the noise echoing in the tall ceilings. The Wargs rose their heads, attent to her movements, but none rose up to follow.

“I am sorry you had to discover it like this, I hope you’ll understand why I didn’t tell you much of my identity.”

“Your words are but lies and deceits, and you’re not sorry.”

Honestly, Cullen reminded Aisling so much of Cassandra that it was a little funny. Because she had, actually, told her the very same, when they met. And now…

“I only lied to you when I told you I was no one important. All the rest was true, I just omitted details.”

“Your name isn’t Aisling.”

At that, she frowned. She knew where he was going and it was a delicate spot, and she owed him no explanation on that matter.

“My name isn’t Sauron either, if that’s what you’re thinking. If elves and humans can forget my real name and give me a new one and refuse to call me anything else, I can choose one of my own. Aisling is how I’d like to be called. It’s just a name.”

“It is for you.” He sneered, snapping back a couple of steps. “Names are important where I come from. My name is important, it’s all I got and I’ll ever have one. And for you it’s something you can just… Shed and retake!”

That was it. The stubbornness. That was why with the few exceptions that now bore the rings and sat in council with her, she never really cared about humans. So quick to walk this earth, so quick to judge. And she had thought that… It was true what Melkor used to tell her, after all. She was stupid.

“We are saying the very same thing, but my name is the exact thing that prevents you from seeing it.” She said, frowning right back.

She could be patient. But this was her tower, this was her court, she just stood up and went against her council to save him, and he was still stubbornly ignoring all the clues. And forgetting six months of walks and talks and laughing together as if they had been nothing at all. Something trivial that can be discarded so easily.

“I am aware I’m not an innocent flower, ser, and I never claimed otherwise, if I recall correctly. But don’t blame me if you are so afraid of second-guessing what you were taught, after two seasons spending time alone with me, whatever my name may be, and after being brought here with all due care, and judged by a court that I think your Stewart wouldn’t concede to any of us here if Manwe himself told him to.”

She kept on, straightening her spine and stepping towards him with all the pride she had. Cullen flinched, his right hand ran to the hilt of his sword, and that was how Aisling knew the spell over her eyes has dwindled out of her control. It was a flimsy, delicate one, and the first to fall whenever she grew emotional, one way or the other. She blinked over eyes of thunder and light, shining bright and jolting tendrils of electricity outside. She didn’t care to bring them back to a “normal” state, for now.

“You are free to go as per my word, but please, consider if the country you serve, the civilized, morally impeccable, noble Gondor, the last remnant of brilliant Nùmenor, would judge an orc in the same way I judged you today, and if he could walk back to our borders unscathed.”

“You caused the downfall of Nùmenor.”

“You should hear that story from a person who was actually there. My point still stands.”

They stood there looking at each other, and to Cullen’s good name, he didn’t back or flinched back one inch. He stood there, face to face with one he considered to be evil incarnated, and stared right back into her eyes. His hand was slightly trembling, and it was weird how it wasn’t fear that made it so. Or at least, no fear that Aisling could read into his face. But at this point, it wasn’t for her to ask, not anymore.

“You will lower your hand from your sword.” She demands, gently enough, but still firm.

“You can order your lackeys, not me.”

The last six months had been amusing. Very amusing. Cullen Rutherford was interesting, for a human: strong and proud, like a stone in a storm. She had admired him for that, and she could see the same strength in him, preventing him to back up against all odds, against every good reason that should have told him that he couldn’t win against her. It was, in the moment, irritating and saddening, knowing that but one of her names was enough to have him forget everything and act so hostile. As she didn’t back up and just frowned calling on her magic, seeing him closing his fist more firmly on the hilt, she heard a loud whine from behind her.

The Lady turned, knowing what that whine was for and whom it belonged to, to see Cupcake trotting down his place on the dais, nails ticking on the stone floor and coarse fur all up, ears plastered backwards.

To her great surprise, and to Cullen’s too, the Warg placed himself at the side of the man, puffing up his fur and not growling, but looking at the Maia with a glower.

She had bred many, many Wargs now, she knew the breed well, and could interpret the gesture from what it was. She heard Beignet growling faintly behind her, and her heart broke more at the waste of this whole charade. She looked at the Warg and nodded, stepping back and directing what magic she called through to disguise her eyes again. When she opened them, at a major and proper distance that brought the animal to relax, they were green again.

“Take the Warg with you, when you go.”

“He doesn’t belong to me.” Cullen told her, shifting his eyes between her and the canine at his side, still standing protectively. He reached his hip, by now, it was a little early, but not unheard of.

“He does. Wargs choose their companions, Lieutenant. It looks like Cupcake had chosen you. You can leave him here, but the poor creature will feel abandoned. Take him with you, it’s not any different than caring for the dogs you told me you liked.”

She moved her hand with her palm open and backwards, hearing another set of paws trotting her way, just to feel Beignet’s wet nose hitting her palm, before she begrudgingly pushed her brow on her palm for a caress. She obliged, scratching absent-mindedly the ridge in the middle of her brow and back where the longer, coarser mane started to grow. It wasn’t probably good to tell the man that she was reacting to a stressful situation, and would have led the rest of the litter -which she knew was now totally awake and attentive on them- to defend her.

Cullen seemed to consider Cupcake, his anger finally melting some as he looked at the Warg, the pup looked back and opened his mouth in a smile, tongue lolling out of his muzzle, tail wiggling on his back so much his whole butt moved.

“I…”

Maybe…

“I- Ah, I have to go. Keep your… Keep Cupcake. Minas Tirith is no place for a creature from the Black Land.”

Aisling closed her eyes, sighing. He just turned and went, abruptly, walking briskly to the door. Cupcake turned with him, not understanding what was happening. He looked between Cullen and her and his sister, whining.

And so he was going. As he came into her life, without notice and without a proper greeting. Just turned his shoulders and that was it.

But Maira, Annatar, Aisling or any of her many names she hadn’t hated to guts, had always been one for order and beauty, and for what heart was there to be put into arts and acts. And so, she let out a single “Cupcake.” That stopped the pup on his track, and followed the first Gondor soldier that hadn’t tried to kill her on sight, hadn’t known her for who she was known in his land on sight, had treated her with respect and care and kindness for what she was, not for her title.

She reached him faster than any human could have, and he wasn’t expecting her to be quick, or do what she did: reaching out with her hand to grasp his wrist, gently stopping him as he closed his other hand on the door handle.

“Wait.”

He turned to her, a frown back on his face. Less angry and outraged, this time, that was something.

“I’m…” What? What are you, Aisling? Enthralled by a human at your age? Interested? He hates you. But… “Consider getting back for Cupcake, please. An imprinting can’t be undone and… He’s yours if you want him and promise he’ll live a good life and be fed and loved.”

There was a pause, he hesitated. She has seen him petting the Warg and playing with him – she brought him with her one day exactly for that, after he told her he liked dog and missed having one. He had found him ugly at the start -she could hardly fault him, they were intelligent animals, and loyal to a fault, but they were bred for character and capacities, not for beauty-, but warmed up considerably and quickly. She saw him thinking about it, and swallowing as his eyes darted to the side. Following his stare, there he was: Cupcake, sitting down and looking expectantly.

“I…”

Yes?

“… I don’t think it would be possible. I- I…” He stopped, to sigh. “… I couldn’t walk here again, on my own.”

“The Black Gate is open. I’ll leave words to let you in and bring you to me directly. You’ll be fed if I’ll be away, and-”

Wishful thinking had been her undoing, after all, and this time it made no exception. He schooled himself and faced the door.

“I don’t think it will be possible.” He concluded, and from his tone it was final.

Aisling let go, dragging her fingers on the hem of his vambrace for a little more than necessary, before stepping back to Cupcake and placing her hand on his, scratching behind his ear the way he liked. The Warg leaned his big head on her thigh, in response.

“I’m sorry.” Cullen said, begrudgingly enough, as he pushed on the door and opened it, with a cacophonic clang.

Aisling should leave word to oil the hinges. Or she could substitute them, they never turned smoothly.

She told nothing, as he grimaced at the noise and made one step out. Two. She clenched her hand on Cupcake’s collar, stopping him from jumping up and follow. The Warg whined, not understanding why he couldn’t go. Aisling never leashed him, after all.

“Ser Rutherford.” She called, when he was out.

He stopped to look at her, before closing the door behind him.

“My name is Maira.”

She just told him, without another word. She stood in the throne room, he was outside, they exchanged a look that wasn’t hostile for the first time ever since he realized “Aisling” was no simple elven lady. In a moment of stillness, he could have stayed. He could have backtracked, asked her for explanations, for more... Things could have been mended, or started to mend.

But he lowered his eyes, nodded to signal he understood, and bid her goodbye.

“Farewell, ma’am.”

All so polite, even in the very heart of what for him was enemy land, at this point. He let the door close behind her, ignoring the loud whines of poor Cupcake, who was striving hard from running after him. Aisling held him tight, switching the hand that held him in place with the prosthetic, imbued in magic and more resistant, so she could pet him and sooth him with the real one. She crouched down and started to whisper to the Warg sweet words, words of peace and calm, of soothing and comfort. Beignet trotted to his side and whined, bumping her head against his shoulder and doing her best as well.

In a minute there were the other five pups around them as well, huddled in a pile and trying to comfort their brother, now sitting back down and whining pitifully.

Another mistake in a long, long series of many. Maybe Aule was, in the end, right in insisting she shouldn’t run so much and to set boundaries over her experiments and magic. Maybe he was, ultimately, right, and she did all that she’d done – and she couldn’t lie to herself, she did horrible things or allowed horrible things to happen that countless lifetimes of trying to fix it and put an end to the circle could not undone – was in the end for naught. Vain glory and ill-placed pride, coming back at her and looming over her as she looked at yet another pair of lives she hurt. Maybe Dorian, Cassandra, Sera, Bull and the other would have been happier if they never met her. All it took was yet another human who stared at her and just saw what her name brought with her.

That one, single, hateful nickname that she couldn’t outrun, no matter how fast she flew.

But she had many names, she always had, and she chose some of them for herself. Adar and his orcs looked up to her, because there really was no one else out there who listened to them and cared for them enough to add mistake over mistake to give them one chance at peace.

“Patience, child.” Lady Yavanna had told her, one time she had slipped out of the smithy and followed her around her gardens, curious of her art as well and on how could she make with vines and greenery what she did with metal and jewels. “All it takes is a little patience. Living things need delicate hands and careful indications, they can’t be molded and melted and shaped as gold. Plant your seeds and watch them grow.”

She leaned over Cupcake, cupping his big head in her hands and resting her forehead against his. She allowed herself to cry.

“I don’t know where to plant my seeds so they can grow, tho.”

But she could have patience. She could. She, in the end, had as time as she had names.

✨Vibes.✨ (or: the occupation of the Dark Lady for the evening, picture her eating ice cream and singing in playback.)

#aisling the dark lady au #lotr #dragon age #crossover #fic #writing petrel #aisling lavellan #cullavellan #THIS WAS SO FUN AAAAAAAH #Thank you for enabling me #If you read this and you like this #check that prompt list and asked me some more

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