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honey-doc · 11 days

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Why I appreciate Kabru and Mithrun's relationship in the story (with pictures!)

I just want to express how much I loved reading through the chapter with the 6 days they spent together and how I think their relationship developed in a pretty sweet way.

I feel like a lot of people reduce their dynamic to "nurse and patient" and that makes me sad because I personally got a lot more from it than that.

I do wanna start off by saying I'm here appreciating their dynamic as it is in the text.

Read more (spoilers ofc):

The beginnings

When they first met, there was an air of intimidation surrounding Mithrun as the captain of the ominous Canaries. He demonstrates his proficiency as a fighter and leader which worried Kabru because he knew it would lead to the dungeon falling into elven hands once again. But this threatening aura begins to dim in Kabru's mind as they get to know each other.

Even before they fell down the hole, the both of them ended up relying on each other's abilities a number of times (when the underground governor turned out to be corrupted Mithrun defeated him and Mithrun needed Kabru's deduction skills during the battle on the first floor) which is already the beginning of a great dynamic

(Kabwu is scared but Mithrun just asks for his help)

After Cithis tasked him with "taking care of Mithrun's needs" for the time being, Kabru treated Mithrun with proper respect and doesn't take advantage of his disability, even using his title “Captain” when he knew Mithrun wouldn’t have cared either way after learning about how he lost his desires. This is in contrast to Cithis who immediately took advantage of her position to mess around with Mithrun when she was taking care of him.

(When Cithis was put in charge of taking care of Mithrun)

The whole time Kabru is with Mithrun, he treats him like a person and more than just someone to be taken care of, as also he relies on Mithrun's fighting skills, knowledge of the dungeon, and teleportation magic.

When you reduce their dynamic to just "caretaker and patient", you're ignoring Mithrun's own capabilities and making him seem totally helpless. It actually feels rather ableist. They have a more balanced relationship with what Mithrun brings to the table than you may think. Mithrun couldn't have survived down there on his own, but it's the same for Kabru (who famously dies every time he fights)!

Kabru doesn’t show signs of trying to manipulate Mithrun either, and he's no longer intimidated by him in the slightest once he learns he’s not a threat or after his life. Though he does instinctively revert to his "sparkly" persona to get Mithrun to eat the disgusting mushroom, it doesn’t work so Kabru just has him eat it normally and never tries it again. This is the beginning of Mithrun unintentionally encouraging Kabru to be more honest with others.

(Kabru realizing he can chill out)

(Kabru being unreserved and Mithrun being silly)

bonus funny moment:

Bonding

Throughout the journey they talked to each other, shared things with each other, and ate with each other. And Kabru expresses genuine concern about whether Mithrun is comfortable (which is something he could live without and wasn't something the Canaries told him to do).

(Kabru showing he wants to make him comfortable by making food for him which is a very important part of the narrative)

(Kabru sharing intimate memories with Mithrun)

(Kabru initiating conversation without hesitation or worry. This part also is referencing how Mithrun shared very important details of his life with Kabru. Kabru also ends up trusting Mithrun with information about Laios despite knowing he could possibly tell the other Canaries about him and impede his plans..which he does lol they do end up knowing about Laios before meeting him.)

For a bonus Lycion implies Kabru was taking better care of Mithrun than they had been which is interesting to me.

Mithrun also shows that he has come to trust Kabru's decisions over the Canaries' when he says he wants to stay in the dungeon after fulfilling the caretaker requirement. They did talk to each other a lot, during that time. I wonder what Mithrun's Shapeshifter double of Kabru would look like now?

Here, Kabru goes out of his way to make sure Mithrun doesn’t overexert himself by knocking him out after the demon leaves with Marcille (again, when his time taking care of him is already over), and I think that demonstrates an extra level of concern he holds for Mithrun.

(Kabru holding back a hellbent Mithrun)

(KNOCKOUT!)

He even managed to make Mithrun mad. It's probably because he "let the demon get away" but I think it's cute and funny because would he huff like that at anyone else? Lol

When the demon breaks through the surface

Kabru begins panicking after Laios turns into the giant monster because he's wondering if he made the right decisions etc. If Mithrun didn’t care about Kabru at least a little bit, he would’ve just left him alone when he started losing it (right after Marcille did the same thing and she is technically more to blame for empowering the demon than Kabru was for not allowing Mithrun to go after it), but he went out of his way to snap him out of it.

It also means a lot to me that Mithrun even says Kabru's name, because in Japanese you can go your entire life without referring to someone by name and it wouldn't sound wrong (just rude) and it's the first time Mithrun says Kabru's name on screen (I checked).

Though it was with a slap, I think it says a lot, because if Mithrun didn’t care at all he wouldn’t have done anything and left him alone. It's not like Kabru could've done anything to stop the demon. He didn't even to tell him to do anything even though Kabru looked ready for an order.

(To be honest I don't know exactly why Mithrun starts beating him up here but you can say it's another rare demonstration of emotion Kabru was able to evoke in him lol. Maybe it's payment for Kabru stopping him the first time. That can be interpreted as paying it back and/or paying it forward I think.)

The last few chapters

And in the end when Kabru’s motivating Mithrun to continue living his life, he speaks to him like they’re friends/have no rank between them despite using the Captain title for him the whole time. Even Lycion initially gets upset that he’s acting “too familiar” with Mithrun.

It feels like Mithrun changed so much in the short time he spent together with Kabru and before the final battle, and it’s thanks to Kabru that Mithrun finally starts to be able to move past his lingering obsession with the demon and begin to really heal.

This is despite the fact that he spent so much time with Milsril and the other elves who never managed to break through to him like that.

(Before Kabru) (After Kabru)

And even after his role as Mithrun's caretaker was loong complete, he still shows concern for Mithrun and tells him to take a break when he's using up all his magic to slice the Falin meat (lmao).

He didn't need to do that! But it shows how he at least slightly considers Mithrun some kind of friend.

It all culminates with Kabru helping Mithrun regain his wil to live and Mithrun confiding in Kabru. Their relationship is important. Kabru continuing to do things for Mithrun to me is more of a sign that he just plain cares about him. Isn't it normal when a friend needs medication for you to remind them to take it? I think it's like that.

Kabru is there with Mithrun when he comes out about his feelings of uselessness AND when Senshi helps him put a spin on the 'vegetable scraps' metaphor and he find meaning in his life again. He's the first one to see him cry :')

Along with the fact that it feels like Mithrun is the first person we see Kabru doesn't feel the need to change his personality with or put on airs for since Mithrun doesn't need buttering up and he won't get offended if someone were to say something socially awkward, I think they made a pretty good team!

BUT ALSO the REAL reason I became endeared to them is cute shit like this:

GOD I love them!!!!! There are so many funny sides to Mithrun Kabru was able to bring out, and really show his charm as a character. The true depths of their dynamic also grew on me over time :)

TLDR

All in all it’s so nice seeing how even though Mithrun is a really deadpan person, and Kabru is a really secretive and withheld person, they clearly seem to have developed some kind of bond with while they traveled together and even changed each other to an extent.

Doesn't Kabru feel more honest near the end? Maybe it's because of how much he talked to and shared with Mithrun during those 6 days so candidly...because they taaaalked a looooot like wow.

They mean so goddamn much to me. I don’t need them to be in a romantic relationship but I do want them to be together forever :'))) or like at least hang out when they have off time since they're still in the same country lol. Praying for Kui to make another side comic of them some time (crying).

Thanks for reading if you made it this far, I mostly arranged this because it makes me sad to see people reduce their dynamic to only one singular aspect.

Anyways ya...love 'em (heart hands)

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #mithrun #kabru #kabumisu #MITHRUN DESERVES MEANINGFUL RELATIONSHIPS TOO DAMMIT!!!!!#dunmeshi spoilers #i wasn't gonna ship tag it buuut w/e #omg i just came up w something #you can reduce their dynamic...but all you'd end up with...is a nice sauce #for like..steak..get it? reduction..cooking..no ok #also for an extra i think it's highly unlikely kabru met mithrun as a kid because he showed NO signs of recognizing him when they met #like KABRU of all people would remember lol

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bloodyshadow1 · 6 days

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rewatching the last stand for the 9th or so time, Adaine really was the mvp of the fight despite not doing the most damage. All the bad kids did fantastic, but her actions saved them

her portents to save gorgug played a huge role in keeping them alive. Imagine the fight where Gorgug was stone in the beginning, how they would have lost their tank, how gorgug practically 1v1ed the purple worm in ways no one else in the party could, if they had to fight the monsters without gorgug going crit city on them.

She used her other portent to have Fig almost 1 shot another flying monster and help her regain her confidence in her paladin levels.

Scatter helped them so much by getting Gavin, someone who is very vulnerable and in the middle of the battlefield and sending him as far away as possible while moving everyone else. Not to mention positioning everyone in the party to be optimal on the battlefield littered with enemies and corpses, getting fabian out of the roper

The dust mephits that add extra bodies on the field, have crowd control attacks, and of course the little bomb effects that not only blind a bunch of the rust monsters but the umberhulk, disabling it's most potent ability in it's magic eyes that can screw over adventurers, while also giving advantage with the help action or a body so Riz can get sneak attack

The mirror images and using true strike from the sword of sight to keep herself safe through most of the combat with being able to negate some attacks and always having the dodge action on

Bigby's hand to help gorgug out while he duked it out with the purple worm doing massive damage to the behemoth that would have screwed over the rest of the party

Not to mention Siobhan answering quite a few of those questions, including having the root of the elven question with her nerd knowledge, being able to compose a limerick with Emily in seconds,

Again, all the bad kids did phenomenal, but Adaine has been my favorite character since freshman year and it's great to see her shine

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #the last stand #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #adaine abernant

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echo-bleu · 8 months

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your veins are empty of dust

Nerdanel stays behind and sculpts. Also on AO3. Title from The Amazing Devil's King.

There is no need for statues to remember, in a world that doesn’t forget.

Nerdanel likes to carve birds and rabbits and flowers and leaves. Transitory wonders. When she is commissioned to sculpt people, she shapes new features, never before seen, or she captures the ever-changing fánas of barely-there Maiar.

She has hanged painted portraits and sketches of her children at various stages of growing all over the house, but no marble likeness.

They are right here to look at, after all.

After Alqualondë, Nerdanel retreats from the world.

The darkness and the absence permeate everything. Elves discover the grief of impermanence. In Tirion, there is no court left to appear at, no councils to lead, no strolls to take at the end of the day to admire the Mingling. No news from the ones who have left.

Anairë finds her late one day in her workshop, surrounded by slabs of stone larger than her. She is hammering forcefully at one of them, the barest hints of an elven shape already taking form in the marble. Bitter, stinging tears run down her cheeks and into her collar, and her arms ache with exhaustion.

The body is only barely sketched, but the face is already chiselled, smooth curves and angular cheekbones.

Fëanáro emerges out of the marble, looking like he’s about to take life.

(Across the sea, her sons lead a funeral.)

It’s Anairë again who comes to her, when Arien first sails across the sky. Nerdanel is rearranging her workshop to take advantage of the new light. The windows were designed for the glowing of the Trees.

Anairë nearly collapses as soon as she passes the door.

“Who?” Nerdanel asks her, supporting her to a chair. It’s covered in white stone dust, but neither of them cares.

Fëanáro’s finished statue looms in a corner of the workshop, just out of the light. He looks like he did when she first met him, young and passionate and determined, before the world shrunk around them and suffocated him.

“Arakáno,” her friend weeps.

“Oh, Anairë,” Nerdanel murmurs. “Your youngest.”

“Would you—”

Nerdanel had no intention of ever doing it again. “Of course,” she says.

It was overly optimistic of her, she supposes.

Arakáno looks painfully young and hopeful under her chisel’s tip.

For centuries, there are no news. Nerdanel’s art escapes toward the abstract, great shapes of wind and water and fire coming out of the stone in ways they never had before. Arafinwë crowns himself king, and Anairë busies herself with the day-to-day workings of the court and the administration.

Nerdanel doesn’t think about her sons across the water. She doesn’t wonder how Maitimo looks with a crown on his head. She doesn’t wonder which new instrument Makalaurë has taken up. She doesn’t wonder what new animal languages Tyelkormo has learned. She doesn’t wonder if Carnistir still wants to write his book, or if Atarinke is coming close to the skill of his father, or what little Tyelpë has grown into. She doesn’t imagine Ambarussa running into danger with every new day, so far away from her.

(Except on the days when she can’t think about anything else.)

Somehow, against all of her instincts, life goes on.

There is no twinge from the bonds in her fëa, no sign of any change. She’s almost ready to think them safe, over there, maybe even thriving.

And then Anairë comes back.

Little Irissë used to follow Tyelkormo around everywhere. Fëanáro would watch her childish infatuation with much more indulgence than he ever afforded Findekáno and his friendship with Maitimo, perhaps because neither of them were their fathers’ heirs.

Where is Tyelkormo now, with his little shadow gone? Is Maitimo free to live his love for all to see? Have any of her sons married? Atarinke’s wife didn’t go into exile either, though she wants nothing to do with Nerdanel. The others left unpledged to anyone but that oath they all took.

To the everlasting darkness.

What if they fail?

Nerdanel has never truly wondered what will happen then, too busy missing them and cursing Fëanáro for it all.

Irissë’s marble figure looks back at her accusingly. All the arrows in her quiver are fletched with Tyelkormo’s special technique.

It’s fifty more years before she carves another face, but the question haunts her.

(Ñolofinwë looks grander and colder in stone than he ever did in life.)

Eärwen didn’t come to her when she lost Angaráto and Aikanáro. Nerdanel heard it through Anairë and mourned, but she can’t blame her. Eärwen never forgave the murder of her brothers – how could she – and she avoids Nerdanel if she can help it. She has only recently moved back to Tirion and rejoined her husband.

Arafinwë doesn’t publicize the death of his sons. He could call for city-wide mourning, but he keeps their grief private and personal. Few can see the bags under his eyes as he holds court as normal in the wake of his loss.

But a few weeks after Findaráto’s death, Nerdanel finds Eärwen at the door of her workshop.

The news come with rumours of a great battle, of spouses and parents and children all over Tirion feeling the loss. Anairë’s shoulders are hunched over with the weight of grief.

The white marble makes Findekáno’s skin seem almost transparent, compared to the warm brown of her memories.

She grieves for Maitimo as much as she grieves for Anairë. Her son could never hide from her his devotion for Findekáno, the depth of his feelings. Did Findekáno ever forgive him for the burning of the ships? Did they find some happiness together?

She will never know.

She tried, long ago, at Fëanáro’s bequest, to sculpt Míriel’s likeness from the body resting in the Garden of Lórien. She could never make her look alive.

Arafinwë waited years to commission a statue of Finwë. He put it in his throne room. Nerdanel hasn’t stepped foot in it since.

10.

She feels the bounds snap, snap, snap, only minutes apart. She collapses in the street, and the paint buckets in her hands spill around her, yellow and blue flowing into her red hair like a painting.

She comes back to herself on a couch in Anairë’s bower. For days, she only has the strength to weep until she makes herself sick.

Tyelkormo. Carnistir. Atarinke.

She locks herself inside her workshop. It is no refuge, only pain aggrandized, only grief carved into her soul. She can’t stand it. She keeps going.

When she finally emerges, after her father, worried, has come himself to find her, there are three new statues at the back of her atelier.

It doesn’t feel like it’s enough. It never has.

She doesn’t step inside the workshop again for several years.

11.

When she does, it’s for Anairë, who has now lost everything.

12.

She sculpts her twins together, in each other’s arms, inseparable even in eternal stillness.

(She can barely stand to look at them.)

13.

She knows now what her sons did over the sea. From the young Sinda girl and her strange husband, she has heard how they died. She has wept for their deeds as she wept for their deaths, and she weeps still for the two who live now on borrowed time, hunted and haunted by their own hand and the terrible Oath her husband had them swear.

Arafinwë has gone to war. Nerdanel wonders if Eärwen will come to her, when he doesn’t come back.

14.

Maitimo is beautiful, towering over her, his half-braided hair cascading down his shoulder. She can almost see the colours in the white marble veins, her own bright red reflected in his, the delicate tones of his skin.

Like her husband, he burned bright until the fire engulfed him entirely.

She falls to her knees at his feet. She has no tears left to weep.

15.

“He didn’t look like this, any more.”

Nerdanel turns sharply, to find Findaráto leaning against the door of the workshop.

He doesn’t look like he did under the light of the Trees, either. His face is a study of scars and new lines that didn’t fade in Mandos, and his gaze is heavy with pain. Nerdanel wonders what Eärwen did with his statue.

“He lost his right hand during his rescue from Angband,” Findaráto says, nodding at Maitimo’s likeness. “And he was heavily scarred.”

Nerdanel swallows around the lump in her throat, and runs a dusty hand through her hair. Does she want to keep her son unmarred in memory, as he no longer is?

She takes a breath and hold out her chisel. “Show me.”

16.

There are six statues at the back of her atelier. It is now clear of anything else, clean and aired and unused, her chisels and hammers put away in their racks.

Between the second and the third statue, there is an empty space. And in the middle of the workshop, a single slab of stone, waiting.

17.

It stays untouched.

18.

“Ammë,” her son murmurs as he collapses into her arms, fresh off the ship that brings him over the sea, after two ages of wandering.

He looks nothing like she remembers. He’s so thin that he hardly weighs in her embrace, half-faded, his face marked with age as no elf’s should be. He barely has a grip on where he is on a good day, and he is lost in time more often than not.

She doesn’t care.

And if she finds him in her workshop sometimes, talking to the statues of his father and his brothers as if they are alive, well. People have said that her likenesses look more real than real people.

(Makalaurë, standing still in the empty space that long awaited him, makes a better marble than live body.)

19.

One day, maybe, they will come back to her from Mandos, alive and safe. One day, maybe, Makalaurë will live again in the present more than he is in the past. One day, maybe, she will no longer be surrounded by faces of stones, and she will be able to stop grieving.

For now, she will bask in the presence of her last son and her grandsons – Tyelpë, all grown and only just re-embodied, and Elrond, who brought her Makalaurë back.

And she will wait.

#nerdanel #silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #anaire #finrod #maglor #maedhros #feanor #celegorm #curufin #caranthir #ambarussa #echo's fanfiction

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epilogue-and-prologue · 8 months

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Holding On

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings Ship/Pairing: Haldir x Reader Trope: Best Friends to Lovers Note: Took advantage of the potentially invented elven tradition of gifting someone your most precious possession after your first kiss :D. Warnings: Angst/Miscommunication - damn you Haldir/Slight smut if you squint and zoom at the very end. Word count: 2 836 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

The gentle breeze brought a soft tune to your ears. Of course, he would be playing in the first hours of the night. What else could he do, before leaving for another long month of patrol? Certainly not seek you out. The bitter lingered.

Haldir was a dear and close friend of yours. He had drawn you in with his cheekiness and teasing words. You were lucky enough to know those sides of him, usually hidden. Unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of those same unruly sides, sometimes. It felt harder and harder with each joust of words to stop the ones you wanted to say from blurting out of your mouth. Today was about fixing that. Upon walking the narrow path, your eyes met his silhouette before he could see you. The length of his hair covered his face. His bow and arrows were left in the grass, carefully propped against a branch. His head rose, and he finally saw you. A flutter of wings came to life in your stomach. He smiled at you.

“What are you doing out this early, melon?”

You had no good answer for that. Knowing he was leaving was one thing. Seeing him do so, even in your dreams, was another. Every departure was a torment for you.

Your lips curled sadly with your next words.

“Why did you not say goodbye, Haldir?”

The underlying harshness of your tone startled him. He paled, his eyes growing wide. He did not expect that. Not from you. You who were gentle and kind. Soft-spoken and careful in all manners of life. He never wanted to disappoint you. Nor hurt you. After your first encounter, he knew very quickly your presence could never be replaced by anyone else. When he identified those feelings as more than friendship, he snuffed them out. The mere thought of losing you because of them was unbearable. Deep down, he knew you would not leave him so. Yet, he feared it all the same and kept himself quiet.

“I thought I did. What is happening to you?”

A heavy sigh. Again, your emotions had got the better of you. The loneliness he left behind was a most cruel sentiment to have. Or to hold on to. His hands had stopped playing, and he laid the instrument next to him.

“I am sorry. I fear my future loneliness at your departure is haunting me in advance.”

Haldir chuckled weakly. You always did have a way with words. Even more so since becoming a script here in the palace. Where he was the one leaving, you were always the one staying. It tore his heart in two to see you afflicted so. The Marchwarden did not know what to do to alleviate the sadness in your eyes. You stepped forward until he had to raise his head to look at you. Soon, you sat down in front of him. An itch went through him from his fingertips to his shoulder blade; how he wanted to touch you right now…

“And you woke up this early because of it? Have I altered your sleeping by my rudeness? — Do not flatter yourself that much, Haldir.”

Finally, a smile had made its way onto your face. You reckoned that being mad at him was not your best skill. Unwavering, he stared at you expectantly, wishing you would answer and share your troubles with him, as you always did. This time proved harder than the other ones.

“I have made a decision.”

His eyebrows rose.

“What kind of decision? — About… us.”

His heart skipped a beat, and his breath shortened. He frowned even more, at a loss for words.

“We have been friends for a long and appreciable time. — Yes, we have. — Please do not interrupt me, it is already so hard to do…”

You bit on your lip, your courage leaving as water out of its bed. His stare became more present, his fingers tapping an invisible rhythm against the earth. Could this be it? Or had he been a fool this whole time?

“As a token of my appreciation, I want you to have this.”

Out of your hand, a piece of paper neatly folded — just as you knew how to. He had had those notes before. When you wanted to see him but could not fetch him yourself. Or when you wanted to say anything to him while he was on patrol. He took the piece of paper, seemingly heavier than the lasts. It seemed to contain something. Before he could pry it open, you stopped him.

“I also want you to wait until you are at your post.”

He looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

“Humour me. — Oh, I will.”

You laughed with him this time, inclining your head on one side. He found it entirely too endearing.

“I will, I promise. — Thank you.”

The letter clutched in his hand, he found himself speechless again.

A loud sound announced his departure. A few of his comrades passed you by. They soon waited by the end of the path for him to follow.

“Goodbye, my friend.”

While saying the words, he grabbed what was his, placing your letter in an inside pocket close to his heart. You noticed. You smiled as brightly as you could.

“Safe travels, my friend.”

He smiled brightly back, always one to try to cheer you up. Before you could register what he had done, he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles. His steps were barely echoing around you anymore when you realised. The flutter in your stomach turned into a full storm.

The advanced post took them three whole days to reach. During those three days, Haldir could not help himself from touching and toying with the piece of paper you left him with. He was patient; you knew that. When it came to you, he could have waited another lifetime. Yet, this simple piece of paper and what it contained, almost weightless, made him more impatient and frustrated than the longest watch had ever done.

Finally, he reached his destination, and they relieved the others from their patrol. He waited the middle of the night to be alone and open the gift you had left him with. The paper unfolded easily enough. It almost toppled the thin ring left inside. The details were weaved around it, organised in rows of leaves and polished silver. It could not have belonged to you. The size was too big, and the ornaments were indicative of a skilled touch. He held the jewel in his palm for the longest time, almost losing track of what he was supposed to watch out for. Luckily, his brother had joined him and kept an extra eye out when he saw him entranced by what an object he could not see. Rúmil only hoped it would be a good thing. And made a mental note to ask about it later on.

On the paper, read the following.

“Dear friend,

I have known you for the longest time. I have cared for you for just as long. In truth, I have more than cared for you. My friendship was soon turned into affections and my affections turned into love. True unbearable, unbreakable love. This seems sudden, I know, and if you do not feel the same, I wish you would forget all about this affair and we will go back to the way things were. I promise not to bring it up again. In my heart, I know that no matter what, I will always be by your side. I believe you know in our tradition, a first show of affection is to be rewarded by that which is most precious to us. With the ring, I hope to offer a payment in advance. You see, this belonged to my father. Before him, my grandfather and before him, my great grandfather. It has seen better times. I hope it will see better times. He passed it onto me, as his only child. It is my most precious and meaningful possession. I want you to have it, for if you feel the way I do, there is no other way forward but to spend the rest of my life with you.

You have known me to be meek, but when I am with you, I become brave. I want to be brave with you.

Again, if you do not wish for me in those ways, I will understand. That ring, nevertheless, shall always be yours, for I will never love anyone else.

With love, Your friend.”

Haldir’s breath stopped. The shock must have shown on his face, for the comrade next to him shook his shoulder in the hopes of waking him up from his reverie. A wide smile had spread across his face, his heart beating anew.

“Are you alright? — I am. Now go back to your posts, please.”

Never before had he said please when giving orders. They figured this letter must have broken his skull, for he spent the rest of the month whistling and daydreaming, spending more time alone than with them. The oldest knew. The youngest were still asking questions. When they received no answers, they settled for quiet speculations.

None of them could have figured out what was happening in Haldir’s head the whole time.

You waited for an answer.

It never came.

Your days were spent writing and copying the history of your people, under a strict supervision. Celeborn would have no mistake be made, whereas Galadriel encouraged you in more positive ways. They were nervous, for those scrolls were to be sent to other countries for archiving. They were a testimony and inheritance of your people’s knowledge and myths. No room for errors.

Alas, you were distracted. On the first week, you were wondering if anything had happened to Haldir during his trip to his post. Then, news came that his group had safely arrived. The second week, you convinced yourself he did not return your attachment and cried yourself to sleep every night. It was cruel, but you had expected it. After all, he was a Marchwarden and you were a mere scribe. The third one, right before he was supposed to come back, you willed yourself to go back to the way it was. He was probably giving you the space to mourn and grieve for what would never be. You had to let things go, eventually.

On the day he did come back, Haldir made no specific announcement to you, nor did he arrive during daylight. Rúmil had warned him about showing up at this hour, himself having gone directly to bed. Of course, he did not listen to his brother. Especially when he was teasing him about the love-struck face, he had a hard time hiding, all the way back home. The first thing he did was seek you out. Despite his restlessness, the odd hour triumphed over him, and he could not find you anywhere. Straight away, he went to your room, which for this hour should not have been this cold, nor this lifeless. Your bed was undone, it was obvious you had trashed around in it, the sheets left in disarray. Your work clothes were scattered around the floor. The windows were open, a faint trace of flowers in the air. He did not recognise this to be you. His worry only grew when he found inks and quills, papers thrown about on the desk. All of them with his name, some angry, others drowned in tears. The library was empty, your usual meeting point by the pond too. No guard could tell him where you had gone. He almost snapped his bow under the pressure of his hands. A quick detour to his room and he dropped off his bags and weapon. It was his fault. All of it. Not knowing what you wanted him to do, he had tried to write letters, never sending them out. It was all his fault for not telling you, even in unwisely chosen words, how he truly felt. What an actual idiot he had been. Only then did he realise where you must have been and ran.

The scribes had all left their working space. And here you were, hunched over and scrapping paper after paper, in your usual measured manners. He halted his steps. From where he was, he could not see your face, nor your hands, yet he was sure they were covered in ink stains and sore from having been overused. His feet reached you rapidly. You were about to cry out when you turned around.

Haldir had been right. You were wearing a wrinkled nightdress, clinging onto your skin with the sweat, your eyes haggard, hands covered in small ink stains. You probably had touched your face too, for it had several spots of ink there too. One by your left eye, over your eyelid. Another on your cheek, spread in a wild sprawl. The last ones on both your temples, where you must have tried to erase a headache.

As well as tears. So much tears growing in your eyes dying on your lips, nesting in your throat, making your skin damp when he reached for your face. How could he had let this happen?

“Why are you here? — I love you.”

He figured that in the state you were in, brutality was the swiftest way of ripping this sadness away. He did not think far enough to predict the anger that would follow.

“And you’re only telling me now!”

You wanted to hit him. Badly. Even tried to slap him. If it were not for his stupid reflexes, you might have done so. He would have let you, if the need to embrace you had not been so overwhelming. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before securing his arms around you. You relented, too tired to fight with him. Without warning, he picked you up a hand under your knees and the other on your back. Your hands secured against his neck as he carried you out. Haldir did not bother looking out for onlookers. They would have no answer from him anyway, too focused as he was on seeing your face for the first time in a month. It was lucky this mission had been this short, otherwise… He did not want to imagine otherwise. Your room was the closest, and he reached it first, settling you in bed. You were the one to stop him. Those pleading eyes he could not resist, and a need to rest his bones close to the person he wanted to be with. He laid down with you, and you fell asleep safe and sound in his arms.

* The next morning, he woke up with a back pain, in the bed only made for one. You were nowhere in sight. He sighed. Maybe you had gone to wash and would come back soon. He waited a little while before deciding he probably had the time to wash and change too until you arrived. As he had been previously, he was wrong.

When you came back an hour later — the ink had washed away with difficulty and you needed clean clothes — your room was empty. No traces left behind. Frustration took root within you. Where could he be? Showing up in the middle of the night, no notes, no nothing announcing his return. Not directly from him, at least. You had hoped for a letter or a missive. Something, anything.

He did not have another mission yet, as far as you knew. The only logical places he could be were the bathhouse or his chambers. You chose the latter. You stomped into his bedroom with no warning.

“You did not say goodbye, Haldir.”

A chill ran down his spine. His undressed state did not seem to phase you. But then again, he thought he was the only one in love in this relationship and it had proved wrong. Deciding against his first instincts, he put a light shirt on and walked to you. You wanted to slap the smirk off of his face. Just as much as you wanted to take that shirt off of him right this instant.

“No, you did not this time. — I did not?! How… — Please…”

This time, he was the one pleading for mercy. You were looking precious, like this. A nymph or a divine being, freshly out of the water, droplets dragging against your skin. Haldir’s thumb touched your lips lightly, plump and warm against his fingertips. Your breath shortened, anger drowned by him. By his arm around your waist, by his breath fanning over your cheek, his hair caressing your collarbones, your throat, firm hands mapping your back. The fire within you could not be stopped this time.

“If you start this… — I know.”

His lips touched yours, and the world was ablaze. He brought your legs against his hips. You could feel his desire against your core. Never before had you willingly surrendered to your feelings like this.

You felt the edge of a silver ring you knew by heart around his finger. You bit your lips hard and kissed him again, even harder.

There was no letting go now.

Only holding on.

#one-shot #lotr imagine #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #haldir x reader #haldir x you #lothlorien

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kieiswrite · 6 months

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Yet another ficlet for the possession au by @elven-kisses, @tibby-art and me. Rendog has joined the party! The previous parts: Scar and Cub start the agency, Cleo and Joe help with a possession gone wrong - Ren and the King

Thunder rumbles. Ren is drenched and his hiking shoes get stuck in mud as he drudges up the hillside. Squelch. A flash of lightning gives the ruin on top a menacing look; the dilapidated historic landmark transforms to a setting straight out of a horror movie, a place of decay and darkness, wet glistening stone and broken walls and jagged towers black against the stormy sky.

“This is a bad idea, folks,” Ren mutters, to no one. Camera is off; filming in a weather like this, as cool as it might seem, is not feasible. He learned that the hard way (again) five minutes ago at the foot of the hill. “Your dog should not be putting a paw in there. This is madness! Madness, I say! But—” Another roll of thunder cuts him off, and another flash follows right after. He does need to find shelter.

He climbs over a pile of rubble and slips under the rope hanging loose in front of the gate. The massive doors are ajar. The big padlock has been broken. This defacement of property has been conducted either by the local teens or drifters, if Ren has to guess; unlawful behavior—despicable!—but he does not hesitate to take advantage of it. Needs must. It’s pouring.

The walls and roof of the castle keep are intact for the most part. There’s puddles of water and remains of campfires the previous intruders have lit on the floor. Some trash, beer cans and shards of glass. Cigarette butts. Ren explores the place with his phone’s flashlight. There’s dark corners the light doesn’t quite reach. Broken ornaments and stubs of stone high up. Shadows jump on the walls.

Ren breathes in slowly through his nose, then lets all the air out in a huff, drops his backpack on the floor and shakes his upper body like a wet canine. No other unlucky hikers in the house, so—Ren the Dog owns the place now! Your castle is his casa. It’s time to get naked, baby!

Or half naked, at least. Give the ghosts something to ogle at. Ren takes off his shirt and, shivering, wrings out the water. It’s still uncomfortably damp when he puts it back on. Wet in the places a man’s not supposed to be wet, but that can’t be helped. Ren flops on the cold stone floor, fishes out his actual flashlight from the backpack, attaches his phone to a handheld rig and begins recording.

“Ladies, gentlemen and everybody in between! Ren Diggidy Dog coming at you from an undisclosed location, my dudes! Yes, as you can see, I got caught up in a storm and I’m now holed up in a haunted castle! This is some—” The screen flickers. “What? What’s going on? Work, you piece of junk. As I was saying, some serious professional—what do you call urban exploration in the countryside? Rural exploration? That’s what we’re doing here, friends. Let me rejuvenate my body by chomping on some delicious snackage and I’ll tell you all about what’s been happening.”

Ren rummages through his bag for an energy bar, finds one and takes a bite. Chews. “Like I said, we’re in a castle right now. The lore of this place is, it was built by a warlord in medieval times—or I guess he didn’t build it himself, got some peasant folk to do it for him, I suppose, like any self-respecting warlord would—and he fashioned himself a king, but right at the eve of the battle he was betrayed and killed by his advisor who was also said to be his friend. Some historical interpretage say a very close friend, if you get what I’m saying. What the heck! Murdered by his lover. That’s freaking nuts, man. He—”

There’s a sound, like a clang of metal. Ren twists abruptly to look towards the far end of the hall. It’s dark. Nothing moves there.

The wind, he decides. “I’m getting jitters in my chest, my dudes,” he says to the camera. The crack of lightning makes him jump again; the storm is right on top of him. He laughs, nervously, and takes another bite of the energy bar. Chews, swallows it down. “My heart can’t take this! It’s ghastly in here, I’m telling you. Where was I? Right, the history lesson. So sometime in the eighties, they were going to renovate this place, believe it or not, take it back to the glory days. But there were so many workplace accidents and whatnot the county gave up. They just gave up on it! And ever since then, it’s been—”

His head snaps to the side again. Another clang. This time, he’s sure it’s coming from the inside of the hall. Did the storm break off a piece of the ceiling? Or—

“Is somebody there?” Ren asks. His voice shakes a little. “Hey!” He stands up. He’s still holding the phone, but his face is not fully on shot, and he has kicked the flashlight rolling to the floor so that the picture gets dark. There’s a shadow behind him.

Ren does not actually believe in ghosts. He has his superstitions, his little everyday rituals, but even though cold crawls up his spine and his skin prickles, he repeats over and over that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. The darkness seems to get thicker. He imagines he hears—

He hears breathing. Almost but not quite in the rhythm of his own heavy, increasingly unsteady breath.

“Listen,” he says. Too loud. Startled by his own voice! He stuffs the wrappings of the energy bar to his pocket and turns around slowly, gaze flickering from the dark around him to the screen of his phone and back. His heart races. Every hair on his body is standing up. “Listen, you got me, you scared the bejeebers out of me, I don’t need any more ghost action—”

The phone records a swirling mass of darkness and Ren’s mouth opening wide, a piercing scream, and then it falls to the floor.

Seconds tick by. There’s movement that is difficult to make sense of. Then, very slowly, Ren gets up. A thin rivulet of blood is running down his forehead. And—the recording shows it clearly. It shows Ren’s face as he bows down to look at his own picture on the screen.

Blood dripping down. And his eyes are red.

—

A few days later, the phone rings on the other side of the ocean.

Music cuts off. Hand with multiple colorful wristbands around it picks up the phone. A relaxed and somewhat slurred voice answers. “Flower Garage, Renbob speaking. What can I do you for?”

Silence.

“Hello, hello! Is anybody there? You’ve called Flower Garage, affordable service solutions for cars from any walk of life. It’s Renbob—”

“I—Renobob, thank goodness you picked up. It’s me. I need help!” Ren sounds breathless, frantic. “Something very strange is happening with me. In my head. I need you to help me!”

“Sure, sure. Chill out, man, alright? Renbob’s always here to help. What do you need?”

“Listen. Do you know anyone who knows anything about ghosts?”

Renbob makes a long humming sound. “I’m running a garage, cousin. What kind of ghosts are we talking about? Poltergeists or shades or vampires or—”

“Vampires aren’t ghosts, Renbob. Geeze!”

“They are in some parts of the world.” By the sounds of it, Renbob is finding a more comfortable position on his chair—or on a sofa. He’s got this obnoxious floral print monstrosity he recovered from trash in his office. Ren imagines him reclining on it.

“Okay, okay. Fine. I’m talking about the kind of ghosts that possess people! Do you hear me? I think I’m being possessed!”

Renbob is silent for a moment. Ren knows—accepts with despondent certainty—that the pause doesn’t mean shock, or any kind of normal reaction to news of that kind. Renbob just likes to take his time. “That’s wild, man,” he eventually says, with a tone that doesn’t much sound like he considers it wild at all. “Possession, huh? Never worry. I know just the people. You have to come to the States though.”

Now there is silence at Ren’s end. It stretches and stretches. And when Ren finally speaks, it’s not his own voice.

It’s deeper. It’s unearthly. It comes from beyond the veil.

“Thou shalt help thine Red King. Thou wilst assist me to recover mine crown.”

A pause.

“Sure thing, man,” says Renbob. “I’ll help you out alright. I’ll contact the people and send you tickets. Renbob will take care of it! All you need to do is step on the plane.”

“The plane of the dead?”

“Nah, man, just a regular old plane. A flying machine. Ren knows what it is.”

The owner of the sinister voice thinks for a moment. Then: “Dare thee not spew lies to thine king. I will put mine faith in you! If thou provest a traitor, I swear on the altar of the black heart that a curse shall befall thou and thines brethren.”

“What? No, no, you got wrong information, man, I don’t have children! Not that I know of at least. Don’t worry about it. It will all go nice and smooth. Joe’s friends will come and meet you at the airport. You can trust me. They will know how to help you out.

They’re professionals.”

#the possession au #rendog #renbob #the red king #hermitcraft fanfic #kiescribbles #cw possession #very mild creepy/horror vibes but really it's just humor

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thecryofthegulls · 11 months

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On Elwing's Bird Forms

In the educated opinion of me, a slightly wine-drunk semi-professional seabird specialist with a Tolkien hyperfixation, procrastinating from a work presentation I should be preparing let's gooooo.

Too many people think of Elwing in the form of a random bird thing, when there are so many interesting species!

First, the source text (emphasis by me):

"... they told that Elros and Elrond were taken captive, but Elwing with the Silmaril upon her breast had cast herself into the sea. Thus Maedhros and Maglor gained not the jewel; but it was not lost. For Ulmo bore up Elwing out of the waves, and he gave her the likeness of a great white bird, and upon her breast there shone as a star the Silmaril, as she flew over the water to seek Ëarendil her beloved. On a time of night Ëarendil at the helm of his ship saw her come towards him, as a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm. And it is sung that she fell from the air upon the timbers of Vingilot, in a swoon, nigh unto death for the urgency of her speed, and Ëarendil took her to his bosom; but in the morning with marvelling eyes he beheld his wife in her own form beside him with her hair upon his face, and she slept."

"On those journeys Elwing did not go, for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids, and she loved rather the earth and the sweet winds that blow on sea and hill. Therefore there was built for her a white tower northward upon the borders of the Sundering Seas; and thither at times all the sea-birds of the earth repaired. And it is said that Elwing learned the tongues of birds, who herself had once worn their shape; and they taught her the craft of flight, and her wings were of white and silver-grey. And at times, when Ëarendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea. Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven."

The Silmarillion CHAPTER 24 OF THE VOYAGE OF EARENDIL AND THE WAR OF WRATH

Mute Swan (Cygnus olor)

Right out of the gate, a swan is a popular choice for Elwing. Makes sense, they are beautiful, regal birds with a graceful baring on the water. There is a strong association between mute swans and England, they are indeed an old world bird and as part of Tolkien's worldview as oak trees. They are also vicious and brave defenders of their young. A tough bird, symbol of the Teleri Elwing's elven clan. However, not the best for Elwing. They are not sea birds, and while powerful fliers, do not fly particularly high or far. Mute swans are heavy, needing a lengthy run on the water to take off with a clacking of their wings. Not the ideal shape to fly across the ocean undetected to find your mariner husband, or meet said husband in the morning sky when he comes back from being a star.

Dalmatian Pelican (Pelecanus crispus)

No, not a Great White Pelican, but a Dalmatian Pelican. More silvery than its pale African cousin, the Dalmatian Pelican has the advantage of being present in more Mediterranean climes, which might be representative of what Sirion was like (thank you @outofangband). Pretty much the largest freshwater bird, this choice for Elwing suffers the same problem as the mute swan. Not a sea bird, doesn't really do long-distance flights. Though I could imagine this large silvery-grey bird being mistaken for a cloud in the night, and you KNOW that the Silmaril is tucked nice and safe in that big pouch!

Wandering Albatross (Diomedea exulans)

Now that's a sea bird! Another popular choice for Elwing, this graceful soaring beauty is essentially the biggest flying bird in the world by wingspan, with a sweeping 11 feet/3.5 meters. The older they are, the whiter they become, with only bit of dark plumage on the wing tips and tail. The wandering albatross is the textbook example of a great white bird. Albatross adore storms, and can use strong (storm) wings to carry them over vast distances very quickly. They nest on steep hills, because they need the sweet winds to give them lift to take off. All in all, like the others above, large enough to carry a Silmaril without affecting flight capabilities. Though I really can't imagine Ëarendil cradling an albatross to his bosom, long wings flopping down on both sides of him. (Elros and Elrond are definitely albatross chicks muppets, as per @swanmaids' point).

Black-legged Kittiwake (Rissa tridactyla)

A gull! Yes, of course, but which gull? There are 54 gull species, and so many of them are herring gulls. But for Elwing? Ulmo would transform her into a Black-legged Kittiwake. A graceful, almost dove-like gull, Kittiwakes are bright white with wings topped in silver-grey. They fly like they are playing in the wind, and spend most of their lives at sea. Gorgeous sea bird. Ëarendil would hug. Am I biased because I love them? Maybe.

Ross's Gull (Rhodostethia rosea)

You want a more white and daintier gull? I was going to write about the Ivory Gull (Pagophila eburnea) but if we are going with a rare Arctic species, there are many good things about the Ross's Gull. I mean look at it! White and silver-grey with a rosy blush like it is continuously bathed in sunset, a black collar like Elwing is still wearing the memory of the Nauglamír. I also prefer to go with Ross's gull because every time I have seen an ivory gull in the wild it was slightly blood-stained (they feed off polar bear kills) which has very unfortunate implications in Elwing's case really...

But really, if you want a pure-white dove that actually goes sea for your Elwing imagery, go with ivory gull instead!

Roseate Tern (Sterna dougallii)

Terns are gorgeous sea birds with impressive flight capacity, and pack an absolutely ridiculous amount of fight and spite in 100 g. I have a scar on the top of my head from a tern chasing me off a beach where it was nesting. That beak sure pinches. Roseate Tern are particularly pretty, and if you subscribed to raven-haired Elwing, that cap is an excellent match. The adults also gain a pink sunset stain on their underparts, so you get that poetic match again. Terns would absolutely yell at Manwë, and probably have.

Northern Gannet (Morus bassanus)

Now if you think Elwing was pale-haired and blue-eyed, a Northern Gannet would be more for you. Northern Gannets are sea birds of great size, swift and fearless. They quite literally launch themselves into the sea. They are powerful enough fliers to evoke thoughts of storm-wings and clouds under moon. Gannets also follow boats, which works nicely with the imagery of bird-Elwing meeting Vingilot.

White-tailed Tropicbird (Phaethon lepturus)

Look at this beautiful thing, is she not fitting of a daughter of Dior, of Lúthien's line? I hope I see one for real one day. These long-tailed sea birds are excellent, graceful in flight, easy to see at a distance due to their tail. More active in the morning and in the evening, more to catch the morning and evening star. White-tailed Tropicbirds also come in a spectacular 'golden' variety. Absolutely fitting for someone named Star-Spray.

Snow Petrel (Pagodroma nivea)

When I first read the Silmarillion years ago, and I read "... as a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm" I immediately imagined a glowing white creature that I eventually witness in real life: the gloriously beautiful snow petrel. And while Elwing might not endure the cold and pathless void like a snow petrel would around Antarctica, I think she would revel in the shining feathers, the swift, fleet wings, and, as a feature of being a petrel, the tube nose that would allow her to smell and find Ëarendil anywhere at sea or in the sky. They soar with such joy. Perfect hold-to-your-bosom sized. Snow petrels are one of my favourite sea birds, and you should know more about them!

Like how they have the most hilarious defence mechanism:

...

Rock Ptarmigan (Lagopus muta)

No absolutely not.

#honorable mention to snow goose northern fulmar white-bellied sea eagle and masked booby #dishonourable mention to all crane and heron species because it really doesn't make sense in so many ways to have Elwing become one #anyway this brought to you by my love of sea birds and my various bird guides strewn around me #gullcries #silmarillion #tolkien #ocean posting #elwing #earendil #silm meta #sea birds #really leaning into my handle here

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the-demons-writings · 1 year

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Hello! o/

Could I request a DreamSMP!Child!Reader being transported into Empires SMP and lands in Scott’s empire?

If not that’s completely fine ^-^

Have a lovely day! :)

Of course I can! Sorry it's a little rushed !

Just for you

Empires season 1 Scott x Dsmp child dragon reader

[Pt1]||Pt2

Running. That's all you could afford to do. Stopping meant wasting time and wasting time meant you'd get caught, and you can't get caught here. Not when all the adults are untrustworthy. You've made that mistake once, but never again.

Taking a quick glance behind you, you could see him . The Baron of the land Dream and he was gaining. With a small yelp leaving you you hurriedly tried to pick up pace to escape the once was bounty hunter. You couldn't go back with him, you absolutely refused. He was the one who messed up your wings. A sword right through the webbing of your wings , making it almost impossible for you to fly again.

Spotting a nether portal you hoped at least in the nether you'd be faster. You'd have the advantage compared to the bounty hunter behind you. A crossbow bolt whizzed past you as you ran your hope for the advantage you'd have in the nether only growing. You were only a foot away when you tripped rolling to a stop just outside the portal's boundaries. Dream stood In front of you the mask he wore seeming to contort into an inhumane smile. As he loaded a crossbow bolt you suddenly felt something clawed grab your hands and suddenly you were pulled through the portal harshly.

Now this certainly isn't the first time you've traveled by portal and usually you hold up just fine, but this time you felt sick. And as you were dragged out of the portal you rolled only to end up face first in snow. You sat up quickly, blinking hurriedly , there's no snow in the nether. Clearly toubaren where you thought.

Looking around it was gorgeous, a city built, into, around, and on a snow covered mountain. You were freezing. Your origin was from the nether, being in the over world was challenging enough without the cold , the cold makes it so much worse. Looking around you notice sheep. Certainly no one would mind if you just slaughtered a few and made yourself something cozy.

You moved to take a step but something caught your ear. Talking coming from above the portal entrance. You sucked in a breath aiming to keep yourself quiet as you reached for the enchanted iron sword on your hip. The moment footsteps crossed your path you pointed the sword at them.

At the end of your sword a blue haired bird hybrid (?). Honestly you weren't sure he had antlers and elven ears. You wouldn't know . Your sword was pointed up just below his chin aimed at the back . He looked bored as you did so .

Rolling his eyes he sighed. "Your stance is off if you're going to mug someone especially a king do it right

" he huffed, pulling out his own sword. Using his own sword he maneuvered your launching it from your grip and into the snow. As you stood baffled he looked you over, you couldn't be anymore than maybe ten. What were you doing here near the Portal?

Upon further inspection he noted your horns, wings, tail and the small patches of scales that littled your face. A dragons child? That certainly had to be a myth. The only person who'd even had the chance of hatching an egg was Gem and even then dragons can't seem to make it out of any kingdom except the Crystal Cliffs without being hunted into near extinction.

He stared and you stared back. When you finally deterred him as not a threat you brought your foot back and kicked him in the shins. No adult is trustworthy, certainly not one who puts a sword to you. He yelled, his sword suddenly disappearing as he dropped to assess his shins. "What the hell kid!" He shouts at you .

You huff turning to run before your picked up by the back of your shirt. Far too close to your wings for your liking "Let me go! I'll kill you, I'll do it! You bird brained bastard!" You shouted back struggling in the grasp.

Scott didn't like that, you're a dragon you're meant to be harder to pick up. He also hated the way your wings looked, tattered as if someone had run a blade through thin leather. "Calm down there's going to be a snow storm, I don't want you to freeze so you can stay in my castle." He states plane and simple. Thinking about it what's he gimg to tell Jimmy, better yet what is he going to tell his sibling Xornoth.

If anyone's better equipped to deal with a child from the Nether it's Xornoth. But he knows Xornoth is out late for the night. As he started to walk he picked up your sword only making you angrier. You hiss as your pulled along despite your struggles.

No adult is trustworthy.

Much to Scott's dismay he's able to carry you back with relative ease despite the struggling. Once he'd gotten you inside he set you down. Making the door was closed and locked behind him he didn't want snow getting in later.

The moment you were set down you distanced yourself heavily though the warmth of the room made you want to curl up. While warm it was still colder than temperatures you're used to honestly you could if given the chance, curl up and fall asleep on the floor.

Scott looked at you worriedly. He didn't like how frightened you looked , Much less how violent you seemed , he wanted to know what happened. Thinking about you seemed possibly as stubborn as his brother, maybe even as stubborn as Jimmy. Maybe he could offer you food? Slowly he walked towards the kitchen , the way you stared at him with murderous intent never seemed to leave.

"Hey, kid. You hungry? I've got soup, it's warm and you'll probably feel a little less sleepy "

You glared a growling building up in your throat. "Like hell I want food from a fuckin adult. You're probably out to poison me or I don't use me for some kind of gain!" You shout

"I'm not some adult, I'm Scott smajor, you can call me Scott if you like but the insults just won't do" Scott stares humming trying to figure out what you might eat, you've got to eat something preferably, something warm to keep your body temperature up. "Would you like to help me cook or just watch me cook so you can ensure that I haven't poisoned any of the food or anything of that manner?"

You look around then at the bird king himself. "If I don't know what it is you'll tell me what it is right ?" You asked, still opting to keep your distance the best you could. You were skeptical he hadn't done anything hostile towards you yet .

He nodded as he started pulling out a pan or two, due to your draconic nature he knew you'd prefer something with meat. His final decision was spaghetti. You both are in silence,you sat glaring at him the whole time.

After you finished you were tempted to ask for more though that would show how weak you were. Hesitantly you sighed looking over to him without malice for the first time. " Could I get some warmer clothes please" you huffed through strained teeth . The food warmed you up but it wasn't enough.

He nodded, walking over to you and offering you a hand , you don't take it but you filed him. "My sibling enjoyed wearing a plethora of clothes , if anything is to your liking please wear it, I'll be outside the room if you need anything. "

You looked at his as he left , he was just allowing you food, and clothes. What the hell is wrong with him? It made your heart all fuzzy. It was nice being actually taken care of .you found yourself a pain for warmer clothes folding your clothes and holding them to your chest.

As you exited the room Scott was there just he said he'd be. Scott raised a brow smiling at what you wore

"You look good in that, how about we find you a room?" He states and you nod hesitantly. His intentions are unknown to you and you don't know if they intend to get worse

He leads you to the spare room smiling " Could I know your name, little one? " He asks only to be met with another glare form you as you settle into the room. "Fair enough" he states closing the door and giving you time.

You sigh as the doors closed. You set your things on a dresser then flop onto the the bed, you've never laid in a cozier bed. You have the room to spread your wings and get comfortable . It's amazing. You get cozy and soon enough you're falling asleep. For the first time in a very long time, you're letting your guard down. As you start to fall asleep, Scott walks into the room. He's holding a plate of cookies. He doesn't seem to mind the fact that you're starting to fall asleep. In fact, he places the cookies on a nearby dresser and gently places a hand in your hair. "Rest easy kid"*

You huff a small churrimg noise escaping by our lisp as Scott ruffles your hair "Y/N." You correct Scott . He spares youba confused glance before it hits him that that's your name .. honestly if he were going to continue to be this nice this could be the only exception you make for an adult. Just for him .

#x reader #x child reader #x dragon reader #dragon reader #dragon #minecraft #platonic #empires season 1 Scott #child reader #empires x child reader #empires x dragon reader #empires x reader #empires x reader #empiresblr #dsmp fic #empires fic

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cloaksandcapes · 2 months

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Created this for another TTRPG creator\streamer on Threads\Twitch for their Birthday! If you ever have a chance, check out Myriad_X on both and let them know Cloaks & Capes sent you!

Dagger of the Myriad

Weapon (dagger), very rare

“A glass dagger created from the magic mirror of a half-elven queen. The hilt has four versions of the queens face decorating it. As this weapon is flourished in combat, one becomes many.”

You have a +3 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon.

Embrace the Myriad. You can use your action to activate this magic weapon summoning three illusionary versions of you. While these illusions are active you have the effects of the mirror image spell. If you avoid an attack due to this effect, you must choose one illusion that vanishes. You can control where your illusions go, but they can never be more than 10 feet away from you or they vanish. The illusions move on your turn. If one of your illusions is adjacent to a creature, you have advantage on your first attack roll this turn. If a creature targets an illusion with an attack, they use your AC and vanish if hit. Once you use this property it cannot be used again until you finish a long rest.

Join us on Twitch every Mon\Wed\Fri to create new Homebrews and check out our Patreon for 482+ magic items, tokens, maps, and more.

#D&D #DnD #Dungeons and Dragons #DnD5e #Homebrew #Magic Item #TTRPG #DnD Homebrew #TTRPG Homebrew #Homebrew Magic Items #DnDaDay #Dagger of the Myriad

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revoevokukil · 10 months

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Marriage & Sexual Politics among the Elves

I've been thinking -- we don't know if elven cultures have had a concept of marriage, right? Auberon remembers Shiadhal fondly but he doesn't call her his "wife" iirc, and Lara was supposed to "mate" with another Elder Blood elf, not to marry him.

Musings on the nature of elven desire and sexual politics (and nationalism, apparently); in response to a friend on Discord. As always, long; like your grandmother’s knitting.

I & II - Sapkowski's elves compared to Tolkien's. III - Elven biology & demographic predicament. IV - Elven nationalism as tied with their reproductive politics. V - Wild speculation on elven bonds & pacts.

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Would elven cultures in the Witcher have a concept of marriage? Probably. Marriage is a contractual agreement (with excellent PR) designed to achieve a particular end by way of the participant parties agreeing to terms advantageous of that end. As happens, everything in the Witcher ultimately comes down to sex and babies; especially as concerns the elves. Thus, enter: marriage.

Selective breeding, i.e. mating with someone particular as opposed to just anyone, entails at least temporary sexual exclusivity.[1] As a social construct, the primary function of marriage is usually to regulate sexual behaviour, encourage procreation while stipulating the concomitant economic and social responsibilities, and to pre-empt or solve various problems arising from the results of procreation (e.g. care duty, inheritance, kinship loyalties, tax and benefits).[2] So far, marriage fits the purpose.

Of course, marriage can also be – and is – a meaningful ritual between two (childless) lovers. More than that: in a species with a disperse procreation pattern a contractual agreement might also be struck for other reasons (e.g. political, ceremonial, benefactorial, amorous), for a fixed period, and between multiple parties (simultaneously or sequentially). There really is no reason to think nuclear family and perpetual monogamy must be the gold standard for Sapkowski’s elves. However, there might be cause to think that eternal love in the vein of Tolkien might be an ideal the elves in the Witcher’s universe cannot help but fall short of.

I entertain this thought as part of the difference between idealized and gritty fantasy. The difference, on average, seems like it comes down to attachment to a preconceived blueprint. For example, mixed-race marriages produce strange and tragic fates in both authors’ works, but only in Tolkien is the concept of marriage inherently necessary and sacred – and its sacrality affects the physical nature of an entire race – while in Sapkowski every kind of an affair, however mundane or ennobled, is treated seriously as a potential cause for conflict. Tolkien’s ideals feel more top-down and Sapkowski’s grit feels more emergent.

The most extensive documentation and interpretation of marriage between elves as we have come to know them comes from Tolkien. His influence might be felt in Sapkowski’s take on elves, though I dare say mostly by way of inciting a response rather than an imitation.

The most widely-known treatise on elven love life out there must be the Laws and Customs among the Eldar. Tolkien’s choices, while impossible to overlook in today’s fantasy canon, diverge from the majority of folklorish matter on fae spirits. He makes elves human again (in the vein of the semi-divine elves of the Anglo-Saxon and the Celtic Aos sí), but then he also makes them the poster children of Catholicism.[3]

For Tolkien, elves were the idealized humans before the Fall. Even after their own brand of Fall (war in paradise: the First Kinslaying, Fëanor’s Oath, and the resulting war for the Silmarils) the Eldar retain a certain idealized nobility in their very nature and bear a fate that makes it seem to mortal yokels as if the Firstborn are especially favoured by the gods. Indeed, perhaps it is the existence of a Creator God – the Great Demiurge – and his Plan in Tolkien’s cosmology that really sets his narrative apart from Sapkowski’s in the first place? Because while there is worship and many deity-like figures, faiths, and organized cults in The Witcher Saga, theism does not really manifest as a certain, fundamental feature of the ultimate order of things. Tolkien’s worldview is primarily providential; all acts of free will ultimately reinforce the Plan. Sapkowski’s take is distinctly suspect of there being any ultimate Plan, and Geralt rejects the notion of a Demiurge’s playground; acts of free will can and do alter things, though as often for the worse as for the better. And yet… Faith is real. Having faith – in a world full of mysteries.

The Witcher is secular in tone but pagan at heart.[4] Wicca is written all over the Saga; the worship of the (Triple) Goddess, Mother Nature and her cycles. Especially in respect to the elves. Indeed, it is hinted in Tower of the Swallow that elves believe themselves to have been created as opposed to having evolved like humans.[5] But we would be looking in vain for their Creator God. Elves are strangers in the worlds they occupy in the Saga, and even should we like to consider them Sapkowski’s equivalent for the Children of Danu (Tuatha Dé Danann), the Dana we encounter in The Edge of the World is either an independent being altogether or… an aspect of a diminished Goddess? As the Witcher elves themselves are in some sense diminished and diminishing; perhaps for this very reason not reluctant to perfect their divinely created selves through genetic engineering; to restore some of their once lost divinity.

Conceptually, The Witcher’s elves have gone through a Fall of their own – from idealized to gritty fantasy. If Tolkien sets an “elven ideal” and makes his Firstborn fit with it, then Sapkowski looks at cause and effect – in biology, material world, and history – and draws conclusions about his elves’ existence and outlook based on that. Not ruling out cause and effect in Tolkien’s imagination, of course, but I feel like the pivot of his work’s tone is somewhere different than Sapkowski’s. Both authors anthropomorphize elves, but Tolkien’s is one of idealization and Sapkowski’s is something of an attempt at “realistic” fantasy. Because depicting the truly alien is, indeed, very hard. Myth and folklore, however, do not aim at establishing unique differences; more often quite the opposite. They toy with the similarities they can draw between you and the “other”; to see which conclusions they can help you reach about yourself. And so, as concerns elven love life, Sapkowski’s elves resemble the creatures in fae folklore more than Tolkien’s. Just as folklore is more often concerned with magical cattle thieving than struggling with cosmological fate (but since The Witcher is still inspired by myths just the same – and myths allow for the grandiose – Sapkowski can involve major cosmological struggles in his work, only indirectly, in the backdrop to the folklorish focus on daily realities and emotions).

I will have to generalize a little bit now, though I do not wish to go on saying silly things about a faith I do not share even while being subconsciously influenced by it.

With some exceptions (e.g. Aredhel & Eöl or Luthien’s kidnapping by Celegorm & Curufin), Tolkien’s elven ideal amounted to a “monogamous, one true love = marriage for life.” On steroids. No casual sex, no premarital sex. No adultery. Intercourse = marriage = a bond of souls. Marriage (and sex) was for begetting children. To the point where Tolkien made his elves biologically unable to be anything but the icons of the aforementioned equation in body and spirit: if they married then they bonded for life and remained monogamously married for the entirety of their existence.

Sapkowski’s elves came out a little more based than that.

You might say that in devising the elves’ outlook Sapkowski took sex seriously, and plainly.

The notion that one of longevity’s snags is sex is actually shared by both authors, but Tolkien never really made a point of it. Sapkowski, meanwhile, set the idea under a microscope, letting it seep into the very essence of the Witcher’s plot and themes. Relations between men and women, procreation and familial ties, sexual freedom, bodily autonomy, and sexual politics – all questions of power on several levels – permeate the story. Not on the level of metaphor only either, but very straightforwardly.[6] By contrast, Tolkien ennobled the question of elven sex in footnotes, and then wrote it off.

‘By their very nature, they [elves] are “seldom swayed by the desires of the body” or influenced by lust.’ ‘Even when in after days... [when] many of the Eldar in Middle-Earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.’ - Laws and Customs among the Eldar

This is very much not the case in the Witcher.Lust pretty much capitalizes the elves’ demographic predicament; corrupted hearts or just plain hearts. Sapkowski did not prescribe a normative frame for what elves ought to be like, instead letting circumstances dictate what might make narrative sense. Both Tolkien’s and Sapkowski’s elves have few offspring. But Tolkien’s reasons for it were a little spiritual and a little conventional, whereas Sapkowski tried to be somewhat scientific about it; and definitely unconventionally specific.

“In the begetting, and still more in bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children. For these reasons it came to pass that the Eldar brought forth few children; and also that their time of generation was in their youth or earlier life, unless strange and hard fates befell them.” - Laws and Customs among the Eldar

Theoretically, the immortal Eldar have an eternity for procreation. Except they simply will not be interested in sex later in life because their author deemed their biological life cycle as such: they marry in their youth (when they are not yet world-weary), have a few children shortly after, and turn asexual as they age because their desires change and they carry on with the pursuit of artistic and cerebral pleasures instead. (Never mind the thought of sex as of a cerebral pleasure.) A scale-model of an idyllic married love idealized in the patriarchal, Christian world.

And just in case (though it is also written that the Eldar can be reincarnated as themselves):

"The Eldar dwell till the Great End unless they be slain or waste in grief (for to both of these deaths are they subject), nor doth eld subdue their strength, except it may be in ten thousand centuries; and dying they are reborn in their children, so that their number diminishes not, nor grows." - The Book of Lost Tales: Part 1

Tolkien’s elves are like a ready-made set of chess pieces, replenishing itself eternally, until Arda lasts.

Sapkowski’s elves on the other hand are not immortal, and what becomes of them after death is unknown. There is no One World (Arda) to which they are tied; their origin is unknown. They are travellers in a multiverse of realities. They do not have a millennia and reproduction is a real, time-sensitive issue. As is sex in general – an issue. If Tolkien’s elves simply lose interest in sex because they get nerd sniped (and because they are good Catholics), elves in the Witcher experience ordinary sexual frustration. Their longer life-span induces a craving for novelty, which becomes harder and harder to satisfy. Avallac’h’s lecture at Tir na Bea Arainne isn’t, in my opinion, to be taken as evidence of the elves’ biological inability to feel sexual desire after a while. As their history has shown, the opposite is relevant – where has their lust for novelty led them? (A graveyard at Tir na Bea Arainne?)

Sexually frustrated, elven men, just like elven women, begin bedding the newly arriving humans. Because it seems that humans are, well, easy.

‘”You multiply like rabbits.” The dwarf ground his teeth. “You’d do nothing but screw day in day out, without discrimination, with just anyone and anywhere. And it’s enough for your women to just sit on a man’s trousers and it makes their bellies swell…’

But Avallac’h – for self-evident reasons – downplays the role of elven men in the resultant demographic catastrophe. Because as it turns out, elven women, who have a normal ovulation window every 10-20 years with elven men, suddenly become induced ovulators with human men. And as in this gritty fantasy elves and humans are competitors in a race for survival, this gives human genes an advantage.

‘…the honest truth and faithful history of a world where he who shatters the skulls of others most efficiently and swells women’s bellies fastest, reigns.’ - Blood of Elves

III

Biology and demographics, then.

Elven women get the chance to have children only a handful of times in their youth. An average elf lives maybe half a millennia, maybe less. But a male elf of 600+ years is not considered too old to sire offspring, while the upper bound for female elves might arrive around 200-250 years.[7] Depending on when female elves are first considered mature for childbearing, this might result in 20-25 fertility windows (if ovulation every 10 years) or 10-12.5 chances if ovulation occurs every 20 years. The numbers are wholly speculative; we don’t know the age at which pregnancy becomes unlikely to impossible for elven women and we don’t know when elves are considered sexually mature both physically and culturally. However, if we bear in mind that individuals may also experience natural difficulties with conception on top of this diffuse ovulation cycle then elven children are, indeed, very rare.

The elves’ low fertility is compensated by their longevity; in peaceful circumstances their numbers don’t fluctuate drastically. But the circumstances of their existence in Sapkowki’s universe are not, by default, peaceful. Elves in the Witcher do not have their Aman (and even in Aman, if we recall, elf on elf violence still occurred). They exist in competition with other humanoids. Insofar, we must look at elven traits as their potential competitive advantage over likely aggressors: elves are resistant to disease, they are physically very fast and move unheard and unnoticed, they live long lives which enables them to become untouchable in most arts and crafts, and they have a special affinity to magic. Above all, elves have much more time to spread, refine, and maintain their memes. Elven fertility though is a nail in their coffin.[8] Even more so when one of the species they must compete with is able to inter-breed with them; and, to add insult to injury, does so more effectively than elves are able to amongst themselves.

Elven couples are disadvantaged in the numbers game. A human female ovulates approximately 300-450 eggs over the course of her fertile years and the wait between each ovulation is a matter of weeks. The wait for elven women in-between each potential pregnancy is decades. It is possible Sapkowski’s elves might also require a longer recuperation period after each successful pregnancy, mirroring Tolkien. Or, alternatively, they may be more resilient to disease and injury instead and the problems with pregnancies might lie in the conception phase rather than in carrying to term. I would not be surprised, however, if in our “realistic” fantasy at least the Aen Elle had not developed IVF or ovulation induction drugs to level the playing ground somewhat; potentially even independently of the need to compete with humans. We know fertility elixirs exist.

Effectively though, elven women’s reproductive sparseness means that for the majority of the time they do not have to worry about unwanted pregnancies resulting from relationships with elven men. The other side of that coin being that during their fertile phases, the social pressure to reproduce could be pretty immense. Particularly as concerns selective breeding. The period for which a male loses the opportunity to reproduce with a particular female is much longer than for human or mixed couples. This is pretty damning if trying to reproduce magically gifted individuals, and a nightmare for elven nationalists (more about that later). Consequently, absolutely any social construct (e.g. marriage, a pair-bond cementer) that helps ascertain a particular pair ends up conceiving should be very much in demand. Especially with humans added to the equation.

(For the funsies, you can speculate if a recurring period of heightened sexual proclivity in both males and females dovetails with she-elves’ menstrual cycle. Do elves experience something akin to a heat? Which, given how Sapkowski made elven women induced ovulators triggered by the orgasms human males give, I would not even be shocked about. Perhaps it’s his subversive response to Tolkien’s elves having tight control over their biology and being able to choose when they want children to happen. But seriously: ovulation with each powerful orgasm? So… if the orgasm was, let’s say, middling – or there was no orgasm at all; a depressingly realistic prospect – then no dice? An incentive for human men who are not keen on paternity to never-ever learn about the existence of an elven clitoris? I…)

“They want our blood!” howled Baron Vilibert. “And our land!” someone cried from the crowd of peasants. “And our women!” chimed in Sheldon Skaggs, with a ferocious glower. - Blood of Elves

Blood, land and women are often equated, and sexual jealousy features heavily in the elven narrative.[9]

The opening scene of the Blood of Elves under Bleobheris shows the racial and social divisions permeating the Northern Kingdoms, and includes commentary on mixing and women’s bodies. An elven maid in a beautiful toque hat enjoys the attention of human knights, students and goliards; playing into it. Under the gaze of her companions – male elves, who have nothing but antipathy toward the human admirers, proceeding to mate-guard (a tall, fair-haired male elf puts an arm around the beauty with the toque, dispelling any lingering doubts). Sapkowski may have had the folk under Bleobheris poke fun at dwarves for believing everyone desires their women.[10] In the Continent’s recent history though, it was in the war between elves and humans where women’s bodies fast became objects to guard and gatekeep; elves being exceptionally attractive to humans, while humans to elves – a curiosity, a novelty, and an easy (and perhaps useful) lay.

‘Elves, bored by she-elves, court the always-willing human females. Bored she-elves give themselves, out of perverse curiosity, to human males, always full of vigour and verve. And something happens that no one can explain … some hidden hormone, or combination of hormones, became active. She-elves suddenly understand they can, in practice, only have children with humans. So, owing to the she-elves, we didn’t exterminate you when we were still the more powerful race. And later you were more powerful and began to exterminate us. But you still had allies in the she-elves. For they were the advocates of coexistence and cooperation… and they didn’t want to admit that essentially it was about commingling.’ - Tower of the Swallow

There is a lot to unpack here.

Blood, land, women. Technically, the inter-group conflict in the Witcher is an inter-species one, but the surrounding discourse is patently nationalist. Among elves, this is compounded by the worship of Mother Nature. Because in Sapkowski’s Wicca-influenced take, nature is inherently female. Ergo, land is female. And in Baptism of Fire, Regis notes: “Land and territory is what integrates elves.” Adapting to the influx of humans was therefore all the more difficult for elves because their “land and territory” was shared with the invader. Their women were shared.

One of the most common features of fairy mythology is marriage or affair between a human being and a fairy.[11] The one particularly interesting feature of such marriages is that the fairy is almost invariably the female party. Equally, there is almost always either some reluctance involved on the part of the fairy or some suggestion of the use of force by the human; or, on the contrary, it’s the fairy who seduces the human male, which usually ends woefully for him (abduction, death, maiming). The human-elf marriage is strictly conditional (e.g. striking your fairy wife or reproaching her with her origin guarantees she will leave for the Otherworld) and should the wife vanish, she usually tries to take the children with her. The prehistoric theory about the origins of fairy folklore ascribes its existence to reminiscences of earlier inhabitants, crowded out by later immigrants. The colonisers mythologizing the colonized.[12] This fits within the narrative of the Witcher, which makes a point about the inter-group conflict between different waves of migrants being fought both on the battlefield and in bed. [13] In this light, the marriage of a fairy and a human effectively amounts to a narrativization of marriage by capture: the migrants driving the natives into the forests, marshes, and other inhospitable places, where their lifestyle could easily come to be regarded as deteriorating and wild, leading to seeing them as inferior and non-human, at length even as supernatural beings or spirits of nature (i.e. as beings which later, in our folklore, developed into fairies (elves)). The migrants drive the earlier inhabitants off, while breeding with their women and thus inserting themselves into the notional line of inheritance for the conquered land through the creation of common ancestry. A bloodline that inherits the earth it walks on. Something similar is happening between humans and the Aen Seidhe in the Continent. By the 1200s, it is hard to find a human who does not have a dash of Seidhe Ichaer, the blood of elves, flowing through their veins, and pure-blooded Aen Seidhe have become a de facto minority “ethnic group.”

In nationalist discourse, the connection between the land and the people is forged through common ancestry. Blood-ties derive from the land and nourish one’s roots in the land. Women reproduce the nation biologically and under patriarchal relations are also expected to do so ideologically; recreating boundaries between groups.[14] Genes and memes. Women’s role is made to hinge on motherhood, and in national mythologies the identification of the fertile, life-giving land as the nurturing mother and wife is set to mobilize and lend legitimacy to the protection of the land by the male against those who seek to defile it. The option to deal with the invading humans aggressively had been on the table; it’s the elves’ appreciation for new life that had stayed their hand. Sexual jealousy features so prominently in the elven narrative then because the conflict they are immersed in is not only an inter-species one over the proverbial life-giving territory. It is also a conflict between elven men and women.

How do elven women position in elven societies then, politically and personally? Nationalism entails the protection and re-forging of group affiliations through ensuring similarity in its members’ biological and cultural markers, but the power relations of reproduction hinge on the nature of gender politics. In contrast to humans, elves are ostensibly egalitarian. Elven children, for example, are brought up without reinforcing arbitrary distinctions between male and female skills and practices. Insofar as elves, unlike humans, don’t seek to dominate nature (that is “the female”) – and should this mindset carry over to their social relations – the status of elven women might be greater still; also considering the commensurately more precarious situation with reproduction. The ball is in the women’s court, though so, apparently, are the stakes. After all, it seems elven women, at the time when elves still held power over humans, were in a position to steer history and choose freely whether to procreate with them. They decided in favour of it – almost as a matter of policy? – because of their love of children. And if it was a calculated decision, did elven men – who also lay with human women – see this then as either a fad or a potential?

Going down the eugenics rabbit hole for a minute: theoretically, in a controlled mixing environment, inter-breeding with particular humans could have worked out beneficially for the elves by increasing their numbers and by introducing useful mutations into their gene pool. It’s not clear though if heterosis in any form would have really occurred as a result. But if selective breeding is, indeed, widespread among them then I would not rule out at least debate among their elite. (By the way, might it be that only half-elves born of elven women would have been admitted among pure-blooded elves? (With the one notable exception being Riannon.) Perhaps due to the perception of a mother being more tied to the child and more integrated into her own people’s culture, traditions, and values?)

As it turned out, cross-breeding did not encourage peaceful relations. And insofar as sex can be a political tool (just as sexual violence a weapon of war), the choices of elven women went from being a subject of cultural reflection and appreciation to an active political liability. If previously all motherhood would have been revered for its own sake, now not all motherhood would have been perceived to lead to positive outcomes. Especially not for the group, and especially not in the eyes of elven ultranationalists. If the symbolic elevation of (nature as) “the female” thanks to her ability to bring forth new life was a distinct and possibly positive feature of elven societies beforehand, now – in this new world of competition with another species – the placement of procreation at the heart of the turns of elven history rather shifts the narrative toward the sexist objectification we are used to seeing in human cultures. Except on the whole and on average, elves remain an egalitarian species, and the overall value of life for its own sake – of hope and of new beginnings – persists.

It begs the question then if the changes in ideology that elven societies went through were wholly negative to elven women in a similar vein as they are usually negative to humans. An aureole of semi-religious significance does not necessarily result in a gilded existence – the Saga hammers this home with Ciri’s entire life – but motherhood seems to be a sought-after experience among elven women regardless. Their faces are noted to reflect boundless odium and surprise at Ciri’s disgust over the prospect of pregnancy and motherhood.[15] The gendering particulars of elven nationalism remain up for debate then: in which direction is their script askew – patriarchal, matriarchal, or some secret third thing? To what extent did it shift from one perspective toward another? If the objectification of the female body post-humans intensified commensurately with the elves’ increased procreative predicament, then an elven maid’s choice, while remaining still a choice, might have become culturally encouraged, traditionally supported, strongly recommended. But still a choice.

Let’s leave humans out of the equation. Let’s speculate.

There are three things Sapkowski’s elves value above all else, as far as I can tell: beauty, novelty, and the preservation of life in its particularity. The number of truly novel experiences decreases fast and nothing truly lasts in the material world. Worse, the virgin feeling of any experience loses its shine in memory. To be perpetually nostalgic then for the mental state reminiscent of a newborn for whom every new thing encountered seems permanent and never-ending – such seems the fate of elves who have no guarantees of a paradise of their own or of eternal life.

Insofar as putting a label on it goes, I suspect elven relationships are quite intricate but precisely defined per the time they intend for them to last, even if they may seem messy and opaque to the human eye. The majority of folklore depicts fae spirits as sexually liberal[16]. A mix of serial monogamy intersected with polyamory? Patch-work families and age differences also seem all but assured. Neither would I rule out the ideal of eternal, monogamous love, which rings precisely of the kind of experience that remains elusive, unreachable, and yet, desirable for these a-Tolkinesque elves. They have the time, and love has many faces. Since novelty and the particularity of experiences matters though, the general population may be tempted to maximize for variety, and their social structure and socialisation may well have had to develop to accommodate the different bonding-configurations desire and time can birth.

There is a catch, though – the fine print.

A prolonged lifespan implies every stage of elven life and their every decision – every action and non-action – will stretch in its impact; on themselves, on their society, on history. Either great foresight or a plethora of little balancing devices seem necessary in order to guard against civilizational, interpersonal, and individual breakdown. Ida Emean would not describe elven race’s strength as arising out of excessive rationality, and truly, an oath, a promise or an action that is born as a result of irrational desire, momentary impulse, or chance opportunity can be a weighty and dangerous thing for an elf. Consequently, negotiations of terms are to be expected whenever a contract is to be entered into; both before and after the bond has come into effect. But a contract is in the interests of everyone involved. Reliance on formal agreements and debts is likely as normalised as being shockingly straightforward in delineating one’s wants and expectations. Even in sensitive matters that benefit from illusions, such as love. The flipside of the coin – the catch – is that elves are incentivized to allow for and find ambiguity in the wording of their own terms, and, provided they are not ideal beings, are wont to try and re-define the precise manner of the satisfaction of the terms in their contracts.

Marriage is, first and foremost, a bargain.

Depending on the specifics of the relationship, the length and nature of a marriage may differ wildly. The notion of the immutability of sacred vows may not be quite as idealized among ordinary elves as it is among humans; in fact, it might be quite a frightening concept. If we allow for the fallen nature of the Witcher’s elves – from an idealized to a gritty depiction – then marriage as an eternal commitment is much like an impossible bind; in a universe where nothing is by virtue of design guaranteed to last, where the notion of fate itself is dubious. Moreover, not all love or lust necessitates marriage; not even real romantic love. If marriage is first and foremost a bargain, a social construct for (temporarily) regulating sexual behaviour, and a social safeguard of procreation, then I imagine elves may be quite a bit less deluded about its function; which is practical first and idealized second. Unless you belong among elven mystics (though I don’t know if they too get tax benefits).

Generally though, the ball is in an elf-maid’s court. If children are the aim, and unless subject to a selective breeding programme, she can be picky in who to mate with as her time-sensitive choices carry that much more weight. It’s up to the groom to be up to par, really. Being up to par, however, can mean many things. Is love part of the bargain? Moreover, is it “lasting” love that is being promised or sought, or a seasonal one, or something entirely, wonderfully specific and different? Tricky. No elven maid would enter into a marriage contract without first considering the terms carefully; in order not to over-promise or to be extorted of more than was seemingly agreed upon. And should true, lasting love be baked into the ideal of marriage then there would be plenty to be wary of as The Witcher’s elves maintain only the veneer of the Tolkinesque ideal and not a nature that would necessarily be able to live up to the idealization. To be tricked into performing the impossible – whether by your own feelings or by another’s – can be dire.

I think marriage is a very real concept among elves, but also a quite de-mystified one, except for a few special cases.

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[1] Naturally this begs the question if all elves (amongst themselves) practice selective breeding, or only some? We don’t know, and the topic is a little too broad to broach here, but we do know that at least the elven elite among the Aen Elle does selectively breed the magically gifted (who also happen to belong to the upper strata of their society).

[2] An interesting question in its own right would be about the nature of inheritance laws in a species that lives half a millennia a piece.

[3] The incorporation of fae spirits and their associated folklore into Christian cosmology in sub-Roman Britain is a topic of ideologically-motivated revisionism in its own right.

[4] In an interview to Stanisław Bereś (Historia i fantastyka), AS mentions his worldview is pagan: ‘Yes. Even the term "agnostic" is too weak for me. My worldview is not agnostic, atheistic or secular. This is pure paganism. I really am a pagan in the textbook sense of the word.’

[5] AS mentions creationist elves in The Manuscript.

[6] One of the metaphors being: sex -> rebirth -> hope (hopefully). Or: Grail = Woman; leading to hopeful new beginnings or the opposite, death and destruction (either by not “realising its hope” or by giving new life to what will invariably have a high chance of causing more evil). As I said, Wicca is everywhere.

[7] This is probably a generous estimate. We don’t really know the details about elven life span.

[8] No wonder elves are hell-bent on controlling Ard Gaeth; if they cannot outcompete their co-habitants or negotiate favorably for themselves, they can at least find a new universe to thrive in.

[9] In other examples, the burning of Birka – the later Jealousy – occurred in consequence of a human girl not reciprocating an elf’s feelings and, as the people say, mocking his feelings on top of it by sleeping around. Or in yet another pivotal occasion, the semi-mythical love triangle between Crevan, Lara, and Cragen gives the Witcher’s plot one of its major catalysts.

[10] ‘Several people started to laugh – as quietly and furtively as they could. Even though the idea that anyone other than another dwarf would desire one of the exceptionally unattractive dwarf-women was highly amusing, it was not a safe subject for teasing or jests… the dwarves, for some unknown reason, were entirely convinced that the rest of the world was lecherously lying in wait for their wives and daughters, and were extremely touchy about it.’ – Blood of Elves

[11] H. N. Gibson (1955) The Human-Fairy Marriage, Folklore, 66:3, pp. 357-360

[12] In case of the Witcher, the colonized Aen Seidhe were obviously technologically more advanced than the colonizing humans. A case is to be made then that infantilization plays an important part in the narrative the colonizers create against the colonized (equally to narratives emphasizing the elves’ cruelty or Otherness).

[13] It is noteworthy though, that Sapkowski’s elves are both the colonizers and the colonized, which is true to real life in many places and times; even if in particular AS drew on the several waves of migration that saw various peoples landing in Ireland and the British Isles, fighting and driving out the earlier inhabitants on each occasion. Aen Elle’s position to their human servants is diametrically opposite to that of humans’ to Aen Seidhe; possibly also in terms of reproducing with them. All servants Ciri saw at Tir na Lia were female.

[14] Yuval-Davis, N. 1988.

[15] To some extent it begs the question, do elven women on average even mind their politically and symbolically-vested position, deriving from their unique ability to create life? In ancient Celtic societies, motherhood and nurturing were considered sacred feminine qualities. There is only a small step from holding this view kindly to holding it as espoused in various patriarchal, traditionalist and nationalist discourses, though.

[16] While depicted as sexually liberal among their own, they are notably stringent with the humans they elope with.

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aria-ashryver · 2 months

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Woven Threads and Winding Roads (Pt 1&2)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Raine) Words: 2.2K Ratings/Warnings: General; mention of (Nesper) pregnancy

Summary: Five times Tyril attempts to braid Raine’s hair; and one time those threads begin to come together again as they should.

A/N: Written as a gift for @thosehallowedhalls as a part of the Choices Secret Admirer event! It was such a delight to write for BOLAS again. Also participating in Choices February 2024 with the prompts Eros, Philia, and Pragma. Thank you Caro for letting me borrow your lovely Raine! 🌷🎀

Raine bit down on a laugh as Tyril strode into their bedroom, a scowl biting deep into the angular lines of his face. She rose to meet him, settling a hand against his cheek.

‘There’s the frown I fell in love with,’ she teased, laughter bubbling out of her as his brow furrowed further at her words. ‘We’ve had so little to trouble us these past few weeks — I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten how to brood.’

‘I am not brooding,’ Tyril brooded.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist, closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss she pressed to his jaw.

‘Thank the stars Adrina has the stomach for these tiresome nobles and their courtly swill. The entire Venesterium seems determined to vex me. The sooner we escape this evening’s ball, the better.’

Raine grinned. ‘Mal and Imtura have been rubbing off on you.’

Tyril’s eyes snapped open. ‘How dare you.’

‘They have!’

‘I… forgive me.’ Tyril paused, stepping back to take in the sweep of silver-blue silk swathing Raine from head to toe. His face softened. ‘Here I am complaining about the nobility, when I should be telling you how utterly radiant you look. You are dazzling spring water beneath the noonday sun, a pure vision of Bakshi come to life. You are the very stars themselves, beloved.’

Raine’s chest glowed. She tangled her fingers with his, swishing her shoulders back and forth.

‘Look,’ she said proudly. ‘My dress has a cape!’

Tyril chuckled.

They were still getting used to life in Undermount. To peace.

To not being woken by Imtura’s snores, or the quiet cadence of Nia’s morning prayers; to the soft bed linens they’d traded up from hard-packed earth; to days that held no more danger than social faux pas and politics, instead of threats to their lives, to their friends, to the realm itself.

Well. Realms, plural, Raine thought.

All that time running back and forth across not one but two different planes hadn’t exactly left much time for updating her wardrobe — that, at least, was one aspect of their new life together that Raine had quickly adapted to. Every last seamstress and tailor in Undermount was vying for House Starfury’s patronage. Raine had wasted no time taking advantage.

‘You’re looking rather handsome yourself,’ she told Tyril, running her fingers over the ornate metalwork embellishing his robes. ‘What’s all this?’

Tyril’s face flattened into a frown again.

‘Adrina’s doing,’ he groused. ‘House Starfury has been steadily regaining our former standing. Our coffers are stable, our contracts are shoring up, Father has been able to rehire the staff he let go with considerable bonuses. My dear sister, in all her brilliance, has decided that means I needed to look suitably ludicrous for our re-entry into elven courtly society.’

‘I think you look lovely.’

Tyril’s face pinched in distaste. ‘Have you seen the size of this ring? It’s a House Starfury heirloom.’

Tyril flapped his hand before Raine’s face — rather unnecessarily, in all honesty; there was little chance she’d have missed seeing the ring, given that it was the size of a small continent. There, on his left pointer finger, was a sparkling affair of curlicued silver and diamond, set with a sapphire so immense, its sale could have supported the entire population of Riverbend for a solid year or more.

‘Can you imagine what our roguish friend would say if he took one look at me in this get—up?’

‘Mal would call you a prissy elf boy and probably wet himself from laughter, yes.’ Raine pursed her lips, trying not to grin. ‘I take it Undermount’s finery and flattery isn’t to your liking any more, then?’

‘The flattery never was,’ Tyril said, his eyes trained on Raine as she slipped into a seat at the vanity and finished applying a kohl liner to her eyes. ‘The fineries?’ He hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’ll admit, the novelty of clean sheets and dry boots is wearing off faster than I’d expected.’

He stepped up behind her to run a brush through the silken gold of her hair.

Raine closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, remembering for a moment the mornings Nia had done the same. She had no problem braiding her own hair, of course, but sometimes she and Nia had helped each other tease away the tangles and road-dirt, fixing one another’s hair in readiness for travel and combat.

It had grounded them both. Anchored them in the present, in the living pulse of their Light. Soothed them on the days when the darkness was too heavy to speak through.

Raine met Tyril’s piercing, blue gaze in the mirror over her shoulder. He raised a brow in silent question.

‘Would… would you braid my hair for me?’

A soft smile lit his face.

‘Whatever you would have of me, I would give to you.’

The minutes passed in silence as Raine gave herself over to the gentle touch of her lover’s hands. He’d almost finished a passable —if slightly uneven— braid, when his ring snagged on her hair, pulling a section loose at the front.

‘Drat! Apologies, this ring is impossible. I’ve never seen a piece of jewellery so cumbersome — Gods forbid it’s wearer deign to lift a finger to do anything for themselves. Though, I suppose that’s rather the point, isn’t it?’ Tyril clicked his tongue. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea how I am supposed to hold a sword with this monstrosity on my finger.’

‘Tyril…’ Raine caught his hand, holding his gaze for a long moment. ‘You don’t need to anymore.’

‘Oh.’ His eyes grew round, unguarded. ‘I suppose you are right. Yes, I don’t… right.’

Standing, Raine fixed the end of the braid with a simple leather band.

‘You’ve no wish to fix the snag?’

‘No, it’s fine. I rather like it.’ Raine glanced at the fall of hair that had tugged loose. ‘We don’t want to be too put together for the smarmy nobles, do we?’

‘We do not.’ Tyril cupped Raine’s face, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone, sighing fondly. ‘You are exquisite, Raine. Do you know that? You are perfect. Celestial. I almost want to keep you all for myself. You know… we could just stay here, tonight.’

Laughing, Raine swatted at Tyril as his gaze grew hooded.

‘Tyril!’

She was rewarded with the sight of one of his rare and dazzling smiles. A secret sight, just for the two of them. It still caught her stomach up in swooping knots every time Tyril smiled.

‘Fine,’ he said, warmly, ‘let us away. But we are leaving as soon as the dessert courses are over.’

Raine’s hand found his.

‘Deal.’

‘Why do you get a cool half-cape?’ Raine grumbled, as they wound their way through the cool expanse of the public gardens. ‘I want a cool half-cape. Instead I get idiotic, too-long sleeves.’

Tyril’s face remained impassive as he nodded at a passing head of house; the gardens were bustling this morning, the lush greenery offering a cool respite from the late-spring sun. Raine greeted the elf in kind with a cordial wave —or, she tried to— the gesture botched by the yards of gauzy fabric tangling about her hands.

‘I hate everything!’ she shrieked under her breath. ‘I am this close’ —Raine raised a hand, snarled when her sleeves got in the way again, flailed her arms about until her hands were free, and pinched her thumb and forefinger before Tyril’s nose— ‘to ripping these awful sleeves off and shoving them into that fountain.’

Tyril smiled, tucking his hand against the small of her back and steering her neatly away from the aforementioned fountain. They walked instead toward a cluster of chatting nobles whom Tyril would rather have avoided, but knew he ought to greet.

‘Adrina is close to closing a significant contract with House Moonchaser,’ Tyril said quietly as they neared. ‘It would be a shame to offend their head of house by destroying the gift she bestowed upon you. Damaging such a gift would be perceived as a deliberate snub.’

‘Godsdamn it all to the blackest reaches of the Three Hel— ah, that is— hello, Lord Frostcrow! Yes, the gardens are looking splendid this morning, you are quite right.’

Their welcome ball had been pleasant enough. Raine had bewitched the gathered masses with her effortless radiance —not that Tyril was surprised; his lover stole his breath with every passing heartbeat— though none had been more taken with her beauty than the Lady of House Moonchaser. The elven matriarch had insisted on gifting Raine a custom-made dress from her personal seamstress as a show of welcome from their House.

It had been delivered late that morning — a heavy concoction of lurid pink velvet and silver embellishments, complete with decorative pearls, ribbons, and something Raine had described as “a headache masquerading as fashion” to be woven into her hair to match.

Raine had thought the whole thing garish… but, it would do well to be seen wearing the garment publicly at least once, so here they were.

Tyril had tried his hand at braiding her hair again that morning. Raine had humoured his attempts —there was something intimate and tender in their stolen moments of quiet together as he worked the ribbons through her hair— and for a time, he’d been rather proud of his efforts.

At least, until they’d made the journey from their small manor in the hills and into Undermount proper, and the whole thing had begun to unravel under all the weight. The imperfection irked him. Damn it all, he wouldn’t stop until he was the single most talented personal hair stylist in all of Undermount!

‘Stupid elven politics,’ Raine muttered, blowing a strand of hair from her face as they continued on with their stroll. ‘I look ridiculous. I’ve slept in war tents with less fabric than this dress. How am I supposed to defend myself in a swordfight with these sleeves?’

‘Were you not the one reprimanding me for my obstinate refusal to relax?’ Smiling, Tyril dropped a gentle kiss to the top of Raine’s head. The braid sagged a little further. ‘Perhaps you might take your own advice. We are safe, beloved. There aren’t any agents from the Ash Empire hiding under the magnolias, waiting to ambush us the moment we—’

‘A MISSIVE! A MISSIVE FOR YOU, LORD STARFURY!’

Heart in his throat, Tyril spun on instinct to find the point of his dagger hovering mere inches from the face of a wide-eyed courier. Beside him, Light crackled in Raine’s palms, her stance poised to strike, her expression nothing short of thunderous.

‘Apologies!’ The courier squeaked. He pinched an envelope between his trembling fingers, prodding it meekly toward them as the colour drained from his face.

Sighing, Tyril flicked his wrist in a practised motion; the dagger slid smoothly from his palm to tuck itself inconspicuously in his shirtsleeve.

He really ought to thank Mal for showing him that particular trick, Tyril thought. He wouldn’t, of course, on account of that would mean actually thanking Mal for something, but the gratitude was there all the same.

He tugged the letter from the courier’s hand. The shiny, wax seal bore a small paw-print in the centre.

‘An urgent missive from the most humble Threep Percivacurus Pompedorfin and the magnanimous Loola Coriandropolis Dupopodolis, dispatched via high-speed drake-courier service out of Whitetower,’ the courier recited breathlessly. He swayed on his feet.

‘I think you should go and sit down for a minute or two, buddy,’ Raine told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. ‘Drink some water, catch your breath. Maybe have a think about whether or not it’s a good idea to sneak up behind people who were recently involved in the harrowing trauma of saving the entire Godsdamned realm from certain doom and yelling at them, you know. Turn that one over in your head a couple times.’

‘That— I— yes. Sound advice, my lady.’

Bowing stiffly, the courier departed, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

‘By the Light,’ Raine muttered. She sounded as tired as Tyril felt.

‘Every day I think to myself, “the general populace couldn’t possibly grow any more dense”,’ Tyril murmured, watching the terrified courier wobble away, ‘and every day, they find new and fascinating ways to prove me wrong.’

‘Um… Tyril?’

Caught by the horror in her tone, Tyril turned to see a sheepish Raine inspecting her hands. Two smoking, fist-sized holes burned clean through the trailing sleeves of her dress.

She winced. ‘Just how important was that contract with House Moonchaser, again?’

Feeling a headache coming on, Tyril scanned Threep’s letter. His mouth dropped open.

‘Oh! Never mind that — Raine! Threep and Loola are expecting!’

Raine clutched at his hands, giddiness sparkling in her eyes. She squealed.

‘You’re joking. Baby nespers?! How adorable!’ Her eyes bugged in her head. ‘Oh, Gods, wait. An army of Threeps…’

The budding warmth in Tyril’s chest flipped to alarm. ‘Oh no… Oh, we need to start stocking the larder, yesterday.’

Stricken, Raine nodded. ‘I’ll place an order for a few bushels of dried anchovies.’

‘Whatever number you are thinking,’ Tyril said, ‘double it.’

Click here for: [Next - Pt. 3&4]

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesfebruary2024 @choicesfandomappreciation @thosehallowedhalls @lilyoffandoms @stars-are-within-me @jerzwriter

#blades of light and shadow #choices blades #tyril starfury #tyril x raine #tyril x mc #playchoices fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choicessecretadmirer2024

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thetravelerwrites · 3 months

Text

Ynghadin Pt. 4

Rating: Mature Relationship: Female Elf/Male Minotaur Content Warning: Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Kidnapping Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Interspecies Romance, Reader Insert, Minotaur, Manhwa Tropes, Reader-Insert, Second Person Perspective Words: 5439

The reader learns why she was engaged to Elyngar, and his origins. Please reblog and leave feedback!

Every ounce of drowsiness left your body as you sat up. “Fiance?”

The duchess held up her hands to placate you. “I know that sounds strange, seeing as you only just arrived, but it wasn’t a decision we made arbitrarily. There are many reasons why this engagement is necessary, for you and for Elyngar. Plus, the engagement is not set in stone. We’d never make you marry anyone if you didn’t want to. It’s just on paper as of right now and it’s been announced, sure, but we haven’t even filed the engagement papers with the imperial palace yet. It can be broken with a single word, if that’s what you wish.”

You sat in your sea of bed linens and frowned. “Why do we need to be engaged?”

“When we decided against having more children and chose to adopt a successor instead, there were many amongst the nobility who wanted us to take their children as adoptees. For us, watching those parents take advantage of our tragedy and try to sell us their children in exchange for power… it made us sick. It was like they were trampling all over our anguish. So we chose to extend our hand to a child who was close to the family, but had lost his own parents and was in need.”

“Elyngar,” You replied.

She nodded. “Yes. He came to us years ago, desperate and alone. We took him in and made him our successor, much to the dismay of others attempting to curry favor with us. Even still, there were many among the nobles who looked down on him, as he isn’t elven.” She sighed, though you weren’t sure why. “Are you aware that most of the nobility in this country are elves?”

You shook your head. “Why?”

“Several reasons, but the main one is that we are a long-lived race, the longest lived race of all the mortals, so we’re capable of outliving most of our opposition if we merely wait long enough. However, there are a number of noble houses that are not elven, and Elyngar’s family is one such house. Since Elyngar’s a distant relation to the current head of his household and had nothing to do with them before becoming orphaned, there was little chance that his family could use him to get closer to us. It was one of the main reasons we chose him over everyone else.”

“Is that why you chose engagement?”

“Yes,” She confirmed. “There are many who would refuse to recognize Elyngar’s legitimacy as our successor, regardless of what powers we were to afford him. In order to solidify his position, it was better for him to become your fiance than merely our son, since your right to inherit is more concrete than his.”

“Why is it good for me, then?”

“Ah,” She sighed again. “Your father and I were concerned about what would happen to you if anything happened to us, so we wanted to ensure there would be someone strong and capable to look after you if we were unfortunate enough to not be here when you returned. Someone who was in your debt as well as ours, and therefore couldn’t betray us without great detriment to himself. Elyngar is just such a child.”

“So you engaged me to him for my protection?” You asked.

“Yes. You’re still our main successor, but we wanted to make sure there was someone who could take care of that until you felt prepared to inherit, even if it takes decades. We wouldn’t expect you to take over the duchy right after returning, so Elyngar is the interim successor, to take charge until you decide to do so or until your child inherits, should you have any. We wanted you to be safe no matter what. Having a husband who’s sworn to support you and protect you is the best way, and Elyngar agrees, though it took him a while to wrap his head around the idea. He was just a boy when this union was first proposed, after all. Of course, there were conditions.”

“What conditions?”

“Several, but there were three main ones. Number one: he must find you alive. Engagement would serve him no purpose if you were never found, and we would never step down if that were the case, therefore we would no longer need a successor. At least, not for a long while yet.”

“He’s fulfilled that condition, then.”

“Indeed,” Elythuin said with a smile, stroking the peach-fuzz on your head. “The second condition was that he must prove himself capable of leading the duchy. The Leonidas duchy is the largest in the country, and indeed on the continent. Elyngar has to prove to us that we would leave the duchy in capable hands when we decided to step down. Up to now, he’s proven himself more than competent.”

“What’s the third condition?”

“Well, it’s the most important. He must earn your consent.”

“My consent?”

“Oh, yes. Despite our arranging this engagement, your father and I would never force you to marry anyone against your will, not in a million years. Elyngar must prove himself worthy of you, not just in our eyes, but in yours as well.”

“How will he do that?”

She laughed. “I haven’t the foggiest, my love. That’ll be completely up to him.” She stroked your cheek softly. “I’m sorry that we didn’t mention it before, but we were worried about overwhelming you on your first day. We’d always planned to sit down with you as a family and explain it properly, so we had told Elyngar not to mention it until your return. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I hope you’re not too upset.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s alright, I understand. I feel better now that I know it’s a decision I can make and not one that’ll be made for me.”

“Of course, darling, of course” She assured you, pulling you into a gentle hug. “All we’ve ever wanted is your happiness.”

You returned the hug hesitantly, still not familiar with physical contact, but you enjoyed the feeling of the warmth of her arms around your shoulders. So much so that you relaxed to the point of stifling a yawn.

“Oh, darling, you must be terribly exhausted,” Elythuin said, releasing you slowly. “It’s been quite a day. Lie down and get some rest.”

She tucked you back in and bent to kiss your forehead. The gesture felt… strangely familiar. It didn’t bring back any sort of memory, just the shadow of a feeling that came to your mind of something from a long time ago, some vague sensation that slipped through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to hold on to it. It was a comforting feeling, and you felt safe and at ease. All of the day’s anxiety washed out of you, and your eyes closed on their own.

“Sleep well, my beautiful baby girl. I love you so much.”

Immediately after you heard those words, you were asleep.

The next morning, Clara helped you dress in a pale pink gown with a pretty peony pattern and a satin veil to match that had peony lace along the edge. Apparently, Elyngar had ordered matching veils to fit all of the dresses he had bought for you on the day you returned, and you were grateful. You’d had a shaved head since before you could remember and it hadn’t been something you thought too much about, since you’d been more concerned about survival. However, now that you were home with your parents, who were the loveliest two people you’d ever seen in your life, and Elyngar, who was handsome in a far more rugged way, it made you extremely self-conscious of your own appearance.

You met your parents and Elyngar at the family dining table for breakfast. According to Clara, it was the first time the family had sat down to breakfast together since you first went missing. Both your mother and father usually began their work day quite early and took their breakfasts in their respective offices, and Elyngar spent most of his mornings training with the family’s knights and often skipped breakfast altogether.

Now that you knew that Elyngar was your fiance and the heir to the duchy, you felt a little awkward around him. He had been unfailingly kind to you, but how much of that was genuine care for you and how much of it was his desire to inherit the duchy? Was any of the kindness he had shown you real? You wanted to believe it was, but you didn’t know anymore.

Although, just as you shrunk in on yourself, he put a plate of almond cookies, the kind he had given you on the first day of your acquaintance, next to your plate of eggs and sausage, smiling gently at you. You returned his smile shyly. If his kindness was false, he was certainly a very good actor.

“So, my dear,” Your father began. “I hear you are unable to read and write, is that correct?”

“Ah… y-yes. I apologize for not being up to standard.”

“No, no, not at all! It’s no surprise that those bastards neglected your education, so I was merely going to suggest that you begin taking lessons soon, when you’re ready. What do you think, my child?”

“Oh,” You said, perking up. “Oh, yes, I would like that.”

“I know you might be quite overwhelmed at first, but you’ll take the first of your lessons with your mother and I, since I hesitate to leave you in the hands of strangers quite so soon. Your mother will teach you reading, mathematics, art, music, and sciences, and I will be instructing you in economics, business, and politics. Elyngar will also be helping you recover your strength and stamina as well as teaching you basic self-defense, when you’re more healthy. You’re far too frail to even attempt it now, my poor girl.”

“Dr. Reenav recommends at least a full month of rest and recuperation before you begin any sort of physically strenuous activity,” Your mother said, buttering a scone for you. “Trying to force yourself into it too fast could have the opposite effect and cause you further damage.”

“Quite right,” Said Larongar. “You can start all that when you feel ready and Dr. Reenav clears you for physical exercise, so just rest easy for a while. I’ll have you begin introductory magic lessons with the family’s magician, as well. Your other lessons will be taught by Lady Laudmoor, including dance and court etiquette.”

You flinched unintentionally, but said nothing. You didn’t like the idea of being left alone with her. She gave you a bad feeling that you couldn’t explain.

“Is something amiss, my Lady?” Elyngar asked, noticing your silence. “If you feel uncomfortable with the idea of studying alone with a stranger, I’d be happy to accompany you to those lessons.”

You were sure he was remembering the question you posed to him the day before about Lady Laudmoor, judging from his expression. You thought you had done a good job of asking casually, but perhaps he was just very perceptive.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” You said. “You’re already a busy person.”

“I’m not so busy that I can’t make time for you, my Lady,” He said, smiling. “Besides, I could always use a brush-up on etiquette. Mother is constantly admonishing me for being too brusque with the court ladies.”

“Just because you are already engaged, there's no reason to ignore every other woman who so much as speaks to you,” Elythuin said, laughing fondly.

“Mother…” Elyngar hissed, cutting his eyes to you quickly. “We haven’t—”

“No, it’s alright,” She assured him. “She asked me last night about why you kept calling us Mother and Father, so I explained it to her. She understands.”

Elygnar and Larongar shared a look of concern between them before returning their gaze to you.

“You’re not upset, I hope,” Your father said fretfully.

You shook your head. “No, I’m alright.”

“I apologize, my Lady,” Elyngar said, worried. “I didn’t keep it from you intentionally; I was instructed to keep quiet about everything until you returned and the four of us could discuss it together.”

“I know, the duchess told me,” You said. “It’s alright, really. I understand.”

“Well,” Your father said slowly, frowning. “It’s not something we’ll need to worry about for a while. A long while. And if you decide not to marry, that’s… also fine. Completely, absolutely fine.”

“Darling, really,” Elythuin said with a sardonic smile.

“I’m just… saying…” Larongar said, avoiding her eye. “She doesn’t have to get married. Elyngar can be her… I don’t know… her personal escort knight when she inherits. He doesn’t have to be her husband, if she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t have to get married at all. Ever.”

Both Elythuin and Elyngar chuckled. Clara and Reice covered their mouths in an effort to hide their smiles.

“Anyhow,” Larongar said, clearing his throat. “I’d like to have you see our family mage today, dear, if you’re up for it. I would be interested to determine if it would be possible to restore your ears magically.”

“Would that make you happy?” You asked him.

“Oh, my dear,” He said with a sad frown, patting your hand. “It’s… not that it would make me happy or unhappy, I just don’t want anyone doubting you or making things difficult for you because of them. Court life is already a minefield, even for nobles who haven’t been through the awful things you have. My only concern is making things a bit easier for you.” His eyes narrowed. “Although, if anyone does give you a hard time, you be sure to let your father know and he’ll fix it for you, alright, my dear?”

You smiled a little. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I hope to see you restored before we begin the trial for Marcus, at any rate,” Your father said. “I want the satisfaction of watching him see you at your strongest.”

You dropped your fork in shock. “Is… is Marcus here?”

“Oh,” Your father said, blanching. “Yes… he’s in our dungeon.”

“Here on the estate?”

“Yes.”

You felt your blood run cold and you were unable to breathe, your head spinning. You heard all of them stand up and flock to you, but you couldn’t understand what they were saying because of the rushing in your ears. You could feel yourself shaking and crying, but you couldn’t speak or control your body. You felt as if you were falling into a deep, deep well, pitch black and all-consuming.

You felt someone press their fingers to your forehead, and you felt a sudden rush of warmth in your body, calming your reeling brain and allowing your body to ease out of its intense rigidity.

“Breathe, My Lady,” You heard Elyngar say. “Just breathe. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

You struggled to slow your breathing and your heart rate. While Elyngar worked to calm you, your mother wiped the tears from your cheeks, and your father had removed your veil and was softly stroking your head. They both had stricken, anxious looks on their pale faces. Clara and Reice were absent, strangely. They’d been there only a moment before.

“I’m sorry,” You wept, trying and failing to gather yourself and sit up straight. You had shrunk in on yourself and slumped down in your chair, unable to keep your composure. “Forgive me… I ruined breakfast, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, my precious girl,” Your father said, kneeling next to you. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have mentioned that bastard. But, I assure you, he’s locked up tight and guarded by at least four men at all times. It’s only until an imperial trial can begin, as it’s a formality that must be observed when crimes are committed against royalty by a noble.”

“Marcus is a noble?” You asked, shocked out of your fetal position.

Your father nodded. “He was. He used to belong to the only Orc noble family in the country, the Smeltbourne Marquesate. He was disowned by his family after he committed a number of crimes against fellow nobles, such as theft, lewd conduct, assault, and the like. He seemed to be under the impression that nobles are above the law and should do whatever they like without worrying about the consequences, which is sadly a notion shared by many nobles, but his family had been imperial knights for generations and couldn’t tolerate that type of dishonor. We believe that’s why he began hating nobles and started this campaign to destabilize and demolish as many households as possible. He’s succeeded a number of times, in fact. Your abduction wasn’t the first, but it was certainly the most ambitious.”

“Why does he need to be prosecuted if he was expelled?”

“Because despite being disinherited, he still has noble blood, which means the rules are different for him than they would be for a simple commoner. That fact alone means he can’t be summarily executed without due process, as much as I would delight in the idea. But once that’s over, you’ll never see or hear of him ever again, I swear. Alright, my love?”

You nodded.

Clara and Reice returned, both towing someone behind them by their sleeves. One was Dr. Reenav, looking worried, and the second was a person who you hadn’t met before, since they hadn’t been present when you were introduced to the household staff. They appeared bored and disinterested, clearly being dragged against their will, and wore dark, hooded robes with inscriptions in various languages embroidered into them rather than normal clothing, though your family’s crest was emblazoned on the breast of them. Even someone as sheltered as you knew this person was a magician of some kind, likely the family mage your father had mentioned.

“What’s happened?” Dr. Reenav asked. “Some sort of fit, Clara mentioned?”

“I just… panicked for a moment,” You assured him. “I’m alright, really.”

“What brought this on?” He asked, using his fingers to widen your eyes a little, looking at your pupils.

“The fault lies with me, I mentioned that bastard’s name in my daughter’s presence,” Larongar said. “I should have minded my tongue.”

“Ah, I see,” Dr. Reenav said. “It’s no surprise. Trauma has a lasting effect on the mind of its victim. I will give Clara a tea for anxiety.”

“If I’m not needed, may I leave?” The mage said in a bored voice.

“A moment, and remove your hood so that she may see your face,” Larongar said to the mage before turning back to you. “My darling, this is our family’s mage, Kirin.”

Kirin removed their hood, and you saw a person whose gender was difficult to determine at a glance, but their long ears and glittering eyes told you they weren’t mortal. They seemed to have the long-lived grace of an elf, but their general disinterest in their surroundings spoke of someone who existed outside of the same reality as the people around them.

Fae.

They were the first fae creature you’d ever met, but they couldn’t have been anything else. Their skin was a pale pearlescent blue, their eyes black and deep and seemed like they weren’t there at all if not for the strange glittering. Their limbs were just slightly too long to look natural. Their unkempt hair, longer in the front than it was in the back, was an empty, inky blackness that didn’t reflect the sunlight or move in time with their body.

“Pleasure,” They said flatly. “Can I go now?”

Larongar sighed. “I suppose.”

They snapped their fingers and disappeared in a flurry of feathers that dissolved when they touched the ground.

“Don’t mind them, my dear,” Your father said. “They’re always like that. The nature of their kind, I assume.”

“Well,” Elythuin said. “Come now, let’s finish our meal. Afterward, I’ll show you our library. Perhaps we can have a small lesson on letters, if you feel up to it. Would you like that, darling?”

You nodded and sat up straight in your chair, trying to finish your food and put Marcus far out of your mind. It was difficult.

In the afternoon, Elyngar took the time to show you the in and outs of the training hall and knights quarters, telling you to come here if you ever found yourself in trouble, as every single person in the barracks had sworn an oath to protect you. The knights were all eager to meet you, since many of them had heard about your disappearance even before joining the knighthood. You found their interest a little overwhelming, and Elyngar was careful to keep them all at arms length, but they all strangely reminded you of over-eager puppies, so you didn’t mind their attention as long as they kept their distance.

“My Lady, those men have been members of the duchy’s knights for nearly thirty years.” He gestured to three older men standing at attention, almost expectantly, at the mouth of the outdoor hallway leading back toward the main building. One was human, one was a tiefling, and one was a lynx-faced tabaxi. “They’re the oldest serving members of the knights corps at present. I brought you here partially because they submitted a formal request to meet with you.”

“Me?” You asked in surprise. “Why?”

“Why not ask them, my Lady?” He said. “Would that be alright?”

You nodded.

As you approached, all three of them bowed deeply at the waist, nearly folding themselves in half, and shouted: “Please forgive us, Young Miss!”

You made a squeak of surprise and stopped in your tracks, anxious.

“That’s enough, stand up straight. You’ve startled her,” Elyngar said.

They stood straight again, their heads bowed and they’re hands behind their back, as if they were prisoners. You dared to venture from behind Elyngar and address them.

“Why do you want me to forgive you?”

“We failed to protect you, Young Miss,” The tabaxi said. “For that, we sincerely apologize. We have never forgiven ourselves for letting you or your parents down.”

You thought about that for a moment. So many people had apologized for the exact same thing since you arrived, and it made you think… if someone had come in and abducted you with all these people looking after you, then they must have been close to the family. It wasn’t just you they had betrayed: it was everyone. They didn’t need to apologize, you thought, since they were victims, too.

“May I ask something?”

“Of course, Young Miss, ask us anything you please,” The tiefling said.

“Was it my fault that I was abducted?”

Their jaws dropped in unison, looking distressed at the very idea that you might think so.

“Of course not, Young Miss!” The tabaxi insisted.

“Why?”

“You were just a child! How could it be your fault?”

“Well, who’s fault was it?”

The human man grimaced. “That wench who tricked us.”

“So, it’s her fault and not mine, then?”

“Of course!”

“Then that means it’s not your fault, either. You said so, you were tricked. Nobody, not even my parents, knew what kind of person she really was, so you couldn’t have known, either. Besides, you’ve apologized, so you should forgive yourselves now. I already have.”

They looked conflicted and emotional, but they nodded.

“You’re too kind, Young Miss,” The human man said. “I’m Derek. My colleagues are Break of Dawn,” He pointed at the tabaxi. “And Reilly.” He gestured at the tiefling. “Please come to us if you need anything, My Lady,” Derek said. “We have rooms in the knight’s bunkhouse and we’re almost always somewhere on the estate.”

You smiled as best you could through your nerves. “It’s nice to see you again.”

They gave you watery smiles and bowed again. You smiled shyly in return. Elyngar dismissed them and led you back to the main building.

“My Lady,” Elygar said diffidently. “You must have been quite surprised to learn you were engaged.”

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a shock,” You replied. “But Her Grace explained it to me. I understand.”

“Did she tell you about the conditions?”

“Yes. You have to find me alive and prove you can lead the duchy in my stead.”

“And the last one?”

You couldn’t help but flush. “You have to earn my consent.”

“Exactly. And I don’t want you to agree just because I asked or because we’re already engaged or because you feel like you owe me anything. I want you to choose me because it’s what you want.”

“Shouldn’t it also be what you want?” You asked him.

“It is what I want,” He said simply.

“Why?” You asked him in confusion. “Is it because you feel like you owe my parents? You’ve only met me a few weeks ago, and we haven’t spoken enough or spent enough time with each other for you to feel anything more for me than pity or protectiveness. I don’t mean to sound mean or ungrateful, I just don’t understand why you decided that it’s alright to spend your entire life with a woman before you’d even met her, other than because it’s what my parents decided. That’s not fair to you.”

Elyngar was quiet for a moment, and you looked up to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression.

“My lady,” Elyngar said slowly, holding out his hand. “There’s something I’d like to show you. It’s something that means a lot to me, and I want to share it with you. It’s… my most precious treasure.”

“Alright,” You said, taking his hand. He led you to a set of double doors at the end of the second floor and opened them.

“Where are we?” You asked.

“My chambers,” He said.

You hesitated, unsure.

He laughed softly. “I understand this is an improper request. I can call Clara to be here as a chaperone, if that would reassure you.”

You frowned, but shook your head. “It’s alright. I trust you.”

His smile widened greatly when he heard those words.

“Come,” He said, holding out his hand, and you retook it. He led you to a case in his sitting parlor that displayed different pieces of masculine jewelry, cape brooches and cravat pins, but instead of opening it, he reached underneath it and fiddled with something you couldn’t see. You heard a click, and the entire top of the case lifted away, revealing that the cushion holding the ornate jewelry was simply a facade. Elyngar removed the top of the case, peering down into it.

Inside lay a jagged piece of rusted metal, the tip of a sword, about four to five inches long. It lay there as if it were a precious jewel or some holy artifact that needed to be locked away from the eyes of others. As if it were priceless.

“Do you recognize this?” He asked you.

For a moment, you were unsure what he was asking, but after a second closer look, all at once you realized and gasped, your hands against your mouth. Ynghadin! You had given this piece of metal to him on the final day when he was meant to be killed! It’s what cost Marcus his eye!

“Did he live?” You asked him, turning and bouncing on your heel in excitement. You grabbed the front of his shirt anxiously with both hands, momentarily forgetting both noble propriety and your timid nature. Whatever residual anxiety you felt with Elyngar dissolved in an instant. “Ynghadin? Do you know where he is? Is he alright? Can I see him?”

Elyngar laughed and shook his head, a little disbelieving, and took your face in his hands.

“I told you I’d come back for you, didn’t I? I promised,” He said softly, whispering reverently, pressing his forehead against your own.

Your jaw dropped in shock, and tears filled your eyes. “It’s you?”

He nodded and covered your hands, which still clutched his shirt, with his. “It’s me.”

You fell into his arms, sobbing with joy. Of course. How hadn’t you realized? It was so obvious . The hints were all there: him being a child of a family friend, losing his family ten years ago, knowing who you were and what you were like the day he pulled you out of the chest. He never ate anything made of wheat. He knew your nature and that you’d been trained not to speak. He knew you so intimately, despite only having known you for just a few weeks. You always believed that he’d forgotten you after running away, but he hadn’t. He’d remembered everything. And he never stopped looking.

“Come and sit, My Lady. Let me pour you a cup of tea.”

You nodded through your tears and he put his arm around you, leading you to the parlor area of his quarters and setting you on a couch. He called his attendant to bring a tea set and some light snacks.

“Your coloring is different from before. That’s why I didn’t realize,” You told him.

“I figured as much. My kind of minotaur is born pale in color, which then darkens as we reach adulthood. My full color didn’t come in until I was fifteen, long after we had last seen each other. I was wondering if you’d realize on your own… I guess I got impatient.”

“Why do you go by Elyngar and not Ynghadin?”

“I took the name when I was officially brought into the house. Elves have strict naming conventions, especially noble houses, so I decided on a combination of your mother and father’s names. It was important to jump through the appropriate hoops if I wanted to be of use to you.”

“Why did you want to be of use to me?”

“When I was young,” He began, sitting next to you on the couch. “My father would tell me tales of his childhood best friend, your father, and often spoke of a little girl he was desperate to find. Seeing how distraught your father was after losing you made my father a man obsessed with finding you, if only to relieve his friend’s suffering. After my mother died, he devoted nearly all of his time to searching for you, and I often assisted him in various ways. In a sense, I had been looking for you before I even knew who you were.

“When we met in the guildhouse, I didn’t know you were the little girl my father had been so desperate to find. If I had known, I’d have never left you there. I already felt bad leaving you in the first place, but once I realized who you actually were, I felt like I had disappointed you, your parents, and my own father.”

“How did you figure out how I was?”

“It was after I came here to the capitol to meet with the duke, which is what my father told me to do if anything ever happened to him. The moment I saw your parents, I realized the mistake I had made. I led them back to the guildhouse, but it had been burned to the ground and abandoned, and you were gone. Ever since, I have done as my father did and devoted my entire life to your rescue, hoping beyond hope that you’d still be alive.”

He took your hands in his and kissed them.

“You saved my life that day, ten years ago. If not for you, I’d be lying dead in that hole they made you dig until your fingers bled, and no one would have been looking for me. I owe all that I am to you. Your parents adopted me partly because they were friends with my father and felt an obligation to help me considering how my father died, but they also realized that I wasn’t in it for their status. They chose me because I was almost as desperate to find you as they were, if for no other reason than to thank you. The duchy, the title, the money; none of it means anything to me. It was all a means to an end, to find you. You’re my savior. Nothing means more to me than you.”

You felt yourself blush at this bold declaration.

“Do you understand now?” He asked.

You nodded shyly. “Yes.”

“Good,” He caressed your cheek and urged you to look at him. "Take your time, My Lady. I will wait for you forever, if need be. We have all the time in the world.”

You smiled shakily at him and nodded.

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