#silear seasheen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 6 months

Text

oc-tober 2023! 21 & 22, feat. lendrain & silear's families

21- storm (lithmar)

Lendrain has gone. That is all they can conclude given these signs. It does not seem forced and it wasn’t violent, he has broken no oaths and done no harm- not unless it be to their hearts. Lithmar asks Helegdir, but if his son revealed any of his heart then Helegdir keeps it in confidence.

Lithmar takes his brother and they set out in a small boat with a short plea to the Blue Lady born of old habit more than faith, but instead of speeding them on their way a great storm rises and drives them back to Tinnudir.

22- sun (silear's yet-unnamed brother)

He goes up the long, shallow hill to the dark stone arches before the Doomsman’s halls while the young sun still shines, and when she falls below the mountains and past the distant horizon he gathers his strength in the twilight and crosses the grey threshold.

Rínas waits there, as she has most every other day, and she greets him solemnly- warmly, for a hall-keeper.

“Has she come yet?” he asks, as he always does. “Is my sister somewhere in your halls?”

“These are not my halls,” Rínas says, as ever, but she does soften. “Sileär Seasheen is not here.”

#my stories #lendrain #sil & om #it is past midnight on the 22nd here lol

2 notes · View notes

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 3 years

Text

oc-tober 2021 day 11: truce with @oc-growth-and-development

sileär and omaruin (halthel, here) meet! well. they’ve seen each other before, but this is their first conversation

===

“We are too far upriver for my tastes,” her second says.

“One more day,” Sileär says. “If we have still found nothing, we turn back.” Helegthir lets out a long breath but nods and returns to the helm.

They find the survivors at the end of the day, as the stars begin to shine, battered and scared but defiant. Sileär crouches on the rail as her crew loads them, men and elves of all houses, onto the ship, watching the shadowed woods just beyond the riverbank, until she chances to look back and see the last of them still on the shore. She draws her sword.

“You!” Her crew jumps to alert, and the scattered soldiers of the Fifth Battle already aboard try to match them when they see Sileär’s blade at the last one’s throat. This is a face she knows, remembered beyond flames, though many others from that burning have since fallen in the long battles. “How many others of your lot are among these? I will not suffer them on the Imroval.”

“Sileär,” Helegthir starts. “What-”

“Quiet.” The last elf backs away from her, his hands raised. “How many?” His eyes search her face, her ship, the sails. He knows what she means.

“I am the only one,” he says. She presses her blade closer. “On my life, I am. I was separated from the last remnants of the garrison from Himring and joined this band. Please, I will stay without argument, but do not let it keep the others from safety.”

“I will decide that for myself,” Sileär snaps.

“Please, he says again. “ It is hardly more than tales to most of them.”

“Captain,” Helegthir whispers. “We cannot stay here.”

“Very well.” Dark is coming on fast, and with it many dangers this far north. “Raise the gangplank and bring us about!” Her sailors jump to order and the warriors they rescued cry out in protest.

“Surely you cannot mean to leave him here?” one shouts.

“He has fought for us for months!”

“We owe him our lives.”

“I do mean to,” Sileär says coldly. “I will not bring Kinslayers onto my ship, no matter their noble deeds since. Raise the sail!” Even her crew are giving her long looks now, in judgement but not without understanding. Let them. She remembers the flames.

Something howls in the trees and Sileär curses. “You have the wolves after you?”

“I thought we slew them all, Halthel!” one of the fighters cries, fear in her voice.

“We did,” says the Kinslayer from the shore. “This is a different pack.”

“If they were not after you before, they will be soon,” Sileär says. Halthel draws a shining greatsword and takes up a guard on the sand.

“Sail swiftly then, Seasheen. I will guard your rear.” Sileär almost pauses.

“May your blade find victory,” she says, and only begrudges it a little. She turns away as the howls rise over the protests.

She looks back as the Imroval comes about, and he still stands in guard. She finds Helegthir staring at her and groans.

“We will need every sword we can get in the coming days,” he says quietly.

“Oh, fine!” She gathers a coil of rope and winds it around her. “Pull on my signal, and pray nothing goes wrong.” She thrusts the rope into his hands and leaps for the shore, landing in shallow water with a splash. The Kinslayer looks back.

“What-”

“Quiet. This truce is not for your sake.” She drags him back into the river by the straps of his pack until she has enough slack to grab him under the arms and shout for Helegthir.

She sees stars as the rope pulls tight around her and yanks her back, hitting the side of the Imroval hard and nearly losing her grip before they are dragged aboard and the ship gathers speed. Red eyes glint in the trees and she begs Ossë silently for speed. Halthel eyes the waters as if he expects creatures of Morgoth to rise up from the depths.

“Thank you,” the Kinslayer says, sheathing his sword. He unbuckles the whole thing and holds it out. “If it would ease your mind, take it.”

It would. She eyes the trees again, rubbing the soreness from her chest where the rope had dug. “Keep it. You may yet see a fight this night.”

#oc-tober #lotro #hmmm no not tagging it for silm #sil is entirely unable to not be dramatic about everything she does #(also funny: she's classed as a minstrel. oma's the captain)#should it be omaruin? omaruinë? i don't know! also he rarely ever goes by that name so.#est verse stuff #sil & om #silear seasheen #omaruin #my stories

12 notes · View notes

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 2 years

Text

oc-tober 2021, day 31: home with @oc-growth-and-development !

had a ton of fun with this again this year. thanks for running it friend!

(in which i once again go on about helf trio...)

===

At the waning of the Third Age, on the shores of the Great Sea, Sileär Seasheen builds a ship.

“I left the Western Shores on my own ship,” she says, “and that is how I will return.”

It is no white-timbered swan-ship like Falarië, nor the echo of them in Imroval, but she claims a corner of Mithlond with Círdan’s blessing (and no lack of amusement) and builds a small ship.

“Will you and Silmeniel sail alone?” Halthel asks once, watching her work.

“Even this ship would struggle with only two to man her,” Sileär says, lathing a board with long, smooth strokes.

“Who else will you take, then?”

“I thought to ask you.”

Halthel looks sharply her way. “Me?”

“Why the shock, oh captain mine?” she asks with an ill-hidden smile. Halthel looks to the harbor in the distance and the gulls above, and does not answer. The rasp of blade on wood stops and Sileär leans forward to find his gaze. “They have welcomed back worse than you,” she says softly.

“Are there so very many of those?” he murmurs.

“More than enough. I do not think you would be turned away, nor the ship that bore you consigned to the depths.” Halthel finally turns to her.

“You would test the love the Lords of the Waters hold for you against their hatred for me and my kind.” He wonders if Sileär can hear the strain in him, the echo of a long-made offer he still dares not accept.

“I would,” she says evenly.

“And Silmeniel?” he challenges. Noldorin she may be, but no Kinslayer. “Would you risk her, too?” Sileär’s brow bends.

“I do not believe their wrath will be turned on you, with or without my company. Silmeniel does not believe it a risk, either.” She returns to her work, and Halthel watches in silence.

“Do you not wish to sail?” she asks eventually.

Halthel breathes deeply. “It is not a matter of wanting, but of deserving.” Sileär and Silmeniel both have been true friends for two long Ages and more. They should not be denied this last homecoming.

“Deserve,” Sileär muses. “Now there is a curious thing, and one we could argue for a very long time. Silmeniel probably would. Deserving, and balance, and justice. I am asking you, as one friend to another, do you want to go home?”

Many places he has called home are lost forever. Even in the Undying Lands change came. “Yes,” he says. “I want that.”

“Then sail with us,” she says urgently. “Sail, and we will all go home together.” Halthel laughs weakly.

“All this time, and still you are trying your hardest to get me aboard your ship.” Sileär’s own laughter is bright.

“As I have been since the day we met,” she says.

“Only after everyone on the Imroval gave you terrible looks,” he points out.

“Yes, well, what can I say? They were right and I was wrong. But much has changed since then; what do you say?”

He breathes out and watches the sunlight dance on the bay. “Very well. Very well. I will sail with you.”

Sileär finishes her ship and they make their many farewells with those who cannot or will not leave the Hither Shore, and as Mithlond empties Halthel boards a ship willingly for the first time since the First Age, Sileär at the helm.

“Time to go at last,” she whispers to the waves. Halthel and Silmeniel push Cabhuin from the shore under Sileär’s direction, and as the wind fills the sail, Halthel catches the faintest of sounds- a harp, impossibly familiar and unheard by him since before the Nírnaeth. In another breath it is gone, and they leave Middle-earth behind them at last.

“Farewell,” Halthel whispers.

Days pass, and they have nothing but favorable winds and calm seas. They pass the mist-shrouded isles under the stars, and come with dawn in sight of the Lonely Isle. There is singing on the wind as they draw near Alqualondё, and Sileär and Silmeniel share a smile and take it up. Halthel knows the words well by now, but he has never dared to join. But we have come safely this far. He takes a breath and sings with them, of safe harbor and coming home at last.

#oc-tober #lotro #still having a great time #yknow i've been tagging all their stuff lotro but really. they've got a tangential relation to the game at best #oh fuck it we'll tag it for the last day #silmarillion #a falmarin sailor a noldorin scholar and one of maedhros's soldiers walk into a bar-#sil & om #silear seasheen #omaruin #silmeniel #(technically)#est verse stuff #my stories

9 notes · View notes

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 3 years

Text

oc-tober 2021, day 13: burn with @oc-growth-and-development

i’m still on about the high elves, unfortunately

===

They came to her in the starlight, in reverie aboard Falarië, shaking her urgently as they cleared the ship of what little store of supplies it still held.

“Lord Fëanor has ordered the ships burned,” they told her. “You must come to the shore.”

“I will not!” All else dear she had lost, her home now shut to her, and at the last they would take this, too? “I will burn with my ship.” They begged her, wishing still not to add her death to their crimes, but she would not be moved, and instead heaved alone at one of the long oars even as the fires were set in the timbers of the white ships, until Falarië drifted from shore on calm waters.

The fires burned too hot, and for all her efforts she could not douse them, and drifted ever farther from the shore. She looked up, but the smoke obscured the stars. When only the highest deck remained amid the ash of Falarië, Sileär at last cried out, to Uinen and to Ossë, and to the Lord of the Waters, and when the last of the ships of Alqualondë was ash, she was borne away south.

---

They took all that could be of use from the ships, and even if they thought ill of it they obeyed. He looked up, but his own lord stood aside, looking towards the far shore in horror and grief. They took their torches at his father’s command, though, and set them to white wood.

Omaruin watched, though many others could not or would not, and he saw, among those that floated, burning, back into the firth, one figure, alone, standing proudly on the deck of their ship, aflame. Their shadow was dark against bright fire, and at the last they were hidden by smoke and waves. He nearly pled mercy for them from the lords of the sea, but fearing any prayer from him would doom them instead, he at last turned away from the water.

---

She ran, like the rest, to see the great light on the horizon. The light of great fires, blazing beyond their reach.

“The ships, the ships,” the whisper spread all through their host, and they knew, they knew. Betrayal.

We should have expected no better, Melassë thought bitterly, and almost she returned then, to her library and her calligraphy and her beloved shining city, but when Fingolfin turned instead north, she found instead a curiosity and an anger too great to do anything but follow, towards the ice.

#oc-tober #lotro #you know. i've thought Entirely too much about these guys for as reluctant as i am to touch silm #alas #melasse is silmeniel. calantiriel is also silmeniel. she has too many #est verse stuff #sil & om #silear seasheen #omaruin #silmeniel #my stories #someone else's turn tomorrow

5 notes · View notes

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 3 years

Text

oc-tober 2021, day 12: garden with @oc-growth-and-development

this was supposed to be rani, but apparently the helf project is the one i actually want to work on next so. here’s silmeniel again

===

Silmeniel walks in the gardens beneath the golden trees, among flowers that do not bloom elsewhere in these days. The air is sweet and dusk is hazy beyond the lanterns’ soft light, and she sits in the quiet alone and in peace.

A bird is singing when something stirs, away among the cobwebs of that corner of her mind that has lain silent for three thousand years. Silmeniel’s breath catches. It has been so long since she felt anything there, even when she still had hope for it. She closes her eyes and casts herself in, to the door where Sileär once lay.

Silmeniel sits long in the garden, waiting as bit by bit her wife wakes, miles away from her. Silmeniel pulled away, when the cold and the dark rolled off Sileär from the terrible blade, and though it preserved her own heart, she has often wondered if Sileär would have woken earlier if she had pushed closer instead. It has been so terribly long. But she has waited this long. She can be patient a little while longer.

Her sense of Sileär grows stronger, bright like starlight on the water. She waits, hardly daring to reach out for fear that Sileär is not strong enough, not yet, only just waking, but as the stars wheel past, Sileär reaches instead for her. She isn’t strong, and Silmeniel wonders if she is entirely awake, groping clumsily for Silmeniel, but she is there.

Good morning, beloved.

There is confusion, but warmth, too, and recognition and maybe a distant pain, but that may only be Silmeniel’s fears. Sileär says nothing, but Silmeniel can feel her holding their connection, only slowly turning her attention outwards to take stock of herself. Silmeniel stays, turned inwards, as dawn breaks slowly above the great trees.

Silmeniel. There is memory wound around just the name, pale hair turned silver and radiant in the moonlight when they came at last to safe harbor, the last notes of an old song, safety that she had not known since fleeing the city. Silmeniel hums to herself in the gardens.

Yes. For two Ages now. There is faint satisfaction from Sileär, and something like a yawn. Silmeniel laughs aloud. Rest. You have slept long. I will see you soon. Grumbling, Sileär retreats, and soon Silmeniel can feel her asleep again, like an ember in the back of her mind, brighter than it has been since the days of the Alliance.

“Ah, I could never have taken another name while you slept,” Silmeniel says to the trees above her. “And I rather like the one you gave me.” She rises, stretching, and wonders what it would take to make the journey to Imladris now.

#oc-tober #lotro #me? writing anything romantic on purpose? what's the world coming to man #anyway i do want to write for the helf trio next i think #just have to iron out rani's load-bearing timeline first #hmm #est verse stuff #sil & om #silmeniel #silear seasheen #my stories #silmeniel has by far the most names :/#she's used silmeniel since silear gave it to her tho

4 notes · View notes

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 3 years

Text

oc-tober 2021, day 20: tear with @oc-growth-and-development

‘i’m gonna split prompts up equally between my characters :)’ i say, picking the helf trio for a full third of them

===

He should have taken Sileär’s offer, he thinks, as the Havens fill up with the last remnants of Beleriand. He draws attention here by his speech, especially from the survivors of Doriath, but he his suffered to carry his blade here, and was before they arrived, and so none have raised a hand against him. Yet.

Silmeniel takes his arm, that day, pulling him through the markets beside her and smiling pleasantly at those they pass while hissing que4stions at him under her breath.

“Yes,” Halthel says quietly. “You heard aright. They demanded the gem.”

“And were refused.” Silmeniel’s grip on his arm tightens. “You know what will come next.”

“Better than many here, I suspect.” Silmeniel glances at him.

“You may at that.” She looks around the market. Halthel can feel the unease, the anticipation of ruin repeated. “I wish Sileär were here still,” Silmeniel murmurs. “She left to return to Balar already.” Halthel looks back towards the bay, where only a handful of ships sit moored. A chill runs through him.

“What is it?” Silmeniel asks.

“You should stay near the harbor,” he says softly, and hears the faintest echo in his own words. He sighs, and unbuckles a long dagger from its hidden place between sleeve and forearm. “Take this. I know,” he says, forestalling her protest. “But it is better than nothing.” Silmeniel stares long at the dagger, with the bright star set proudly in the crossguard, but she takes it.

“I hope you are wrong.”

He isn’t.

He knows, when the shouting begins, what has finally come- or rather, who. He leaves off all that remains of his armour, blazoned too brightly with their star. His sword at least he can bear without fear, had in trade from Azaghâl’s folk, no trace of elven heraldry to be found.

He is not the only one who fights, but these are the ones who held the front against Angband; craftsmen and fisherman hold little hope against the last of the sons of Fëanor. But then, if this had ever been about hope for true victory, we would have laid down our swords after Bragollach if not before.

He knows some of those who fight, both against him and beside him. It gives some of them pause, seeing him here, but he has made this his home for years now, and he will do what he can to protect it.

His resolve nearly fails him, on the road to the docks and the Lady’s tower, as his onetime lord strides towards him, towering over him, hair blazing to match the flames around them.

“Omaruin?” he says, lowering his sword only slightly. “We thought you were lost in the Fifth Battle. What are you doing here?”

Halthel raises his sword. “I know why you are here, my lord, but I cannot let you pass.” Something flickers in his face. It almost seems like approval, but it is lost in the fierce light of the fey fire in his eyes, too much like his father’s.

“Then you know what must come next.”

Halthel steps into a guard. He doesn’t hold long.

---

“Halthel. Halthel!”

He gasps himself awake under smoke-choked skies with Sileär kneeling over him. He coughs, and his right side screams in protest.

“Sileär,” he gasps. “What-”

“Hush,” she says, quiet but firm. “Save your breath.” She fusses at his side, peeling away his bloody tunic with a grimace.

“I have had worse,” he says. Sileär raises a skeptical brow and he smiles weakly. “It is the truth.” She sighs.

“Well, this is not like to kill you, if it hasn’t already,” she says brusquely. “But it will not be pleasant.” She heaves him upright without warning and he barely strangles a scream.

“Wait- wait. Sword,” he pants as Sileär tries to haul him away. She grumbles, but he can see the hilt sticking out beneath a pile of still-smoking timbers. “Why let a good blade… go to waste.” Sileär only grunts and pulls more of his weight onto her shoulders.

“Will they return?” Halthel asks between painful, lurching steps. “What happened?” Sileär is silent. “Sileär?”

“They did not claim their prize,” she says eventually. “I- we returned too late. We saw the smoke and sailed as quickly as we could, but… Eärendil has still not returned from his last voyage, and the little princes were captured.” Her mouth works silently.

“And Lady Elwing?”

“She leapt. We saw her, from her tower, like a falling star.”

His mind spins (though it may be his injuries), trying to fit the pieces together. “She took the Silmaril with her.” Sileär nods. “They cannot have their jewel. They will not come back.” Sileär snorts. “They will not.” He blames his weak and weary body for what comes next, said aloud rather than kept safe in his mind. “The twins will be safe.”

Sileär stops. “What?”

“Ah-”

“They were kidnapped, and by the Fëanorions no less!”

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing.” Her grip is painful on his arms. “I have half a mind to leave you here, you know.”

Then why come back at all? “Which ones? Which of the brothers?”

Sileär spits. “The two eldest. The younger two were slain.” Halthel sighs a little.

“With no Silmaril to chase, they will do right by the twins,” he says quietly.

“Like they did by Elwing’s brothers?” He stays silent and Sileär shakes her head. “You have a great deal of faith in them, even after all of this.”

“I know them a far sight better than you,” he says, an edge in his voice. They are good people, he thinks. He had been happy to follow them in Himring. They are. When they can be.

“Where are we going?” he asks after too long a silence.

“Balar, for the time being,” she says shortly, hailing Helegthir on the beach. Halthel drags his feet. “Quit that,” Sileär snaps. “No one will stay here, and you will only find trouble alone.”

“I can manage,” he grinds out.

“Be quiet and get on the ship.” He still eyes the waves of the bay distrustfully. “You crossed swords with Maedhros and lived,” she says dryly. “Get on the ship and go find Silmeniel.” Reluctantly he obeys, and soon Imroval is underway, tearing through the waves like- like a sword through an unarmoured body, he finishes sourly, letting Silmeniel tend to him, his dagger on her hip.

#oc-tober #lotro #or #in which oma tries to insist that the feanorions aren't *all* bad actually #to his teleri best friend #ongoing [screams in silm] etc etc #est verse stuff #sil & om #silear seasheen #silmeniel #omaruin

3 notes · View notes

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 3 years

Text

oc-tober 2021, day 5: throne with @oc-growth-and-development

i had too many ideas for this one so they got all smushed together into one lol

===

In the City of the Moon half-retaken they walk with little fear. She knows these streets; it feels like merely decades that last she walked here. The bound-spirit watchers have been shattered and the doors to the old halls stand open for any who wish to enter.

The ancient throne room floor is stained dark and dull where once it had reflected pale lanterns in brilliant patterns, but the throne itself has been well-kept. She stands long before it, lost in thought.

“Sileär,” Omaruin calls. It sounds as if it comes from a great distance. She takes a deep breath. Not all the foulness has been cleansed from the city, and here it lingers thick at the back of her throat.

“I meant to see the Naldassar,” she says. “But perhaps another day. There is still much to be done here.” She turns her back on the throne that had once belonged to a friend.

---

In the City of the Kings rebuilt they walk with hard-earned joy. She smiles with fierce pride for what her friends have done, everything they have remade. The lake has retreated, the paving stones have been relaid, the gardens flower. You might hardly recognize it.

She knows that street, though, and the ward to which it leads, the tower above. Barad Tironn. The hall of the Annúminas-stone. That those last days with Laerdan are long past does not ease the tension at the back of her neck nor the memory of the heavy stone clutched tight to her chest.

She slows, and does not answer the others’ questions. They would not understand it, though she would have their sympathy. Only Calenglad was there when she returned, running, and he too has been gone for many years now.

“Esterín, we will be late!” She shakes herself and hurries on, after her friends to present themselves in the brilliance of the restored throne room in Ost Elendil above the deep waters.

---

In the Golden Hall she stands a shift at guard. It is terribly boring, especially too far from the throne to overhear anything at all. You earned this, a voice irritatingly like her brother’s says. She did, but that hardly means she has to enjoy it. At least she will be spared Déorna’s not-quite-lecture on the whole sorry situation. Brigild’s will be harder to avoid, though. Maybe if she can find Burnoth and allow herself to get sidetracked helping him and his men for the evening…

“Isena, stand straight!” She almost fumbles her spear and pulls herself upright.

“I am!”

---

In Rushdurinul they have driven out the remnants of Mazog’s Pûlpum, but the scholars and stonecarvers are not left without guards. The ancient throne of Durin is still a sight, and steals his breath even after many trips along Zurr-thurkh to escort those who know better than he what all the adornments and runes mean.

Loose pebbles shiver against the ground over the low voices of the dwarves at the foot of the throne. The shadows stir, reaching from the heights of the cavern where torches alone will not reach and from behind great falls of stone. Are those… footsteps? Drums? He has never seen a troll big enough to make that sound.

“Glainyn, what is it?”

“I think we should leave.” Something crashes in the depths of the first delvings of Khazad-dûm and even Durin’s throne-room shudders. “Now! Run!”

#oc-tober #lotro #sil is vaguely a month or so after black book #est and isena are a few years into the fourth age #and glainyn is during the dwarf allegiance quests #having a great time with these this year :D #est verse stuff #my stories #est #sil & om #i&i #glainyn #hmm gotta separate those into individual character tags too #i'll get to that. someday #isena #silear seasheen #the dwarf politics brigade

3 notes · View notes

aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 2 years

Text

oc-tober day 30: soothe with @oc-growth-and-development

kinda similar to ‘truce’ (11). silear must be dramatic at all times

===

The city is days and miles behind them now but she can still smell the smoke. This is not the first time she has left all her work behind her. She was no more able to stop it this time.

They found the river two days ago and have been following it south ever since, hoping against hope that they will make it as far as the distant havens on the sea. Late in the afternoon, word comes from the front of their band of sails on the horizon, and on swift winds the white ship approaches, and they gasp at the sight of it, the vision of the swan-ships stolen and burned beyond the ice.

Sileär Seasheen, captain of the Imroval, stands dark-haired and tall and bright-eyed as any of the Noldor. She hurries the small group of survivors onto her ship while her crew armed with bows watch for attack from the shores as if they know this routine well. Theirs is not the first group Sileär has rescued; even in Tumladen, and even now, separated from other survivors and scattered along the river, Calantiriel has heard stories of the Imroval’s daring rescues these last forty-odd years. She leans gratefully against her kin now as the ship turns for its port and allows herself a moment of rest.

They land near dawn, daring to risk a brief hunt, their supplies long since dwindled as Sileär pushed farther in search of survivors of the devastation in the north. They are forced back to shore by evening as the river becomes choked with the wreckage of another ship that crashes into the hull of the Imroval with enough force to startle the refugees of Gondolin and send the sailors scrambling to find damage before the light fails.

It’s then that they are attacked, in the dimness before night, arrows falling among them as the Imroval’s sailors rush to push the ship back into the current and pull their passengers aboard. Sileär is the last off the shore, smallshield flashing in the starlight as she cries out in challenge. Her words echo and the waters of the river swell behind her. For a moment, the arrows stop.

“Captain, we are ready!”

Sileär runs and leaps to the rail as dark shapes crowd the banks, armed with torches and bows.

“Through the wreck!” Sileär calls. “Before we join them.” Dark oars cut the water but the sail is only half-full in the fitful breeze. “Calros, Linhalwen, watch the sides.” She takes a place in the bow and beats a steady rhythm from a dark drum as the Imroval speeds away from the ambush.

They are followed for three days down the river, given no rest or respite from the pursuit until the fourth night brings them in sight of the Havens and the dark servants fall back beyond the reach of Círdan’s patrols. The oars are stowed and the sail lowered against the oncoming wind, and they all fall to the deck, exhausted, as the Imroval drifts with the current the last few miles to safety.

Sileär stands at the helm and watches them, her shoulders slumped as she leans against the rail. She catches Calantiriel’s eye where she sits against the mast and shrugs. Calantiriel sighs and lets her head fall back against the mast. They are nearly there. Despite the hour, she can hear gulls nearby and the faint laughter of the sailors in answer.

Someone begins to sing. Calantiriel opens her eyes at the sound. Sileär stands where she has been, her shoulders thrown back proudly now as she sings. Her sailors look at her and smile even in their weariness, but some among their charges wear expressions that mirror Calantiriel’s, shock and recognition and realization all together.

Calantiriel first heard this song while visiting a friend in Alqualondë but never in the years since, not even from those who had some of the Sea-folk in them. It’s a song for safe harbors, a welcome home and a send-off with the hope of swift return.

But there’s a second part to it- more than one, really, but the second is the most important. She only half remembers it, but she can feel the gaps in the music that even Sileär’s sailors aren’t filling, and at last she takes a breath and sings the reply to Sileär’s call. Sileär turns in surprise, but she doesn’t stop, and slowly the ship relaxes, old music soothing frayed nerves under the bright starlight.

#oc-tober #lotro #melasse is silmeniel. calantiriel is also silmeniel. she has too many #sil loves to jump dramatically onto her ship idk #[vague timeline noises] it's yknow. sometime between fall of gondolin and kinslaying 3 #sil & om #silmeniel #est verse stuff #my stories #call of orome/earendil reflavored for ulmo & friends for boat-elf minstrel?

3 notes · View notes