sfg >->
Ada~
yes~
Luff your bby, Ada!! â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
YOU ARE THE REASON
trying on a metaphor
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@cohithiel
sfg >->
Ada~
yes~
Luff your bby, Ada!! â¤ď¸â¤ď¸

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sfg >->
Ada~
((I keep reblogging things to the wrong blog!! Please forgive me. >w<))
And in the End of the Years of Trees, the Last Child of Fingolfin & AnairĂŤ was born...
About that same amount of time was all he needed to realise the little one was upsetâŚand a bit dishevelled. He stepped further out to set more distance between himself and the doorway and less between CĂ´hithiel and himself, but let her come to him and drifted back within sway as he reached for her shoulders when she grabbed for him to lessen the impact should she have dropped a little too low.
Luckily for them both a nose against his knee wasnât made into an additional topic of conversation in the very near future. He hushed her twice over as his hands worked free a stray petal from the girlâs hair, âWhat is it?â Before he could ask if sheâd fallen the cause of her tears was made known and all he could find in himself to do was smile.
âOh, my star, I know,â Slowly ĂolofinwĂŤ crouched closer to her height, pretending to be more interested in the depressing bouquet in place of whether she had hurt herself. He stroked softly a wet cheek and brought his free hand beneath hers and though he looked her over he made sure to inspect the flowers as well. âThose flowers will grow more buds in place of these and they will only be more beautiful than the last,â he offered, lifting her chin. âWill you tell me what happened to them?â
Her eyes leveled as he knelt before her, though her view of his features still was blurred by tears. Several fell at a father's reassurance, knowing that it meant she was not in trouble whatsoever. As his hand so tenderly pet at her cheek as well as her hand, she turned that hand into his, little fingers grasping around a couple of his, other hand still cradling the flowers in question.
His reassurance was heard, but CĂ´hithiel also felt sadness for the petals in her hands, and those he was drawing from her hair. What happened to them?
Pinks lips slightly curled inwards trembling. Argon had scared her, but she did not want to get him into trouble for doing so; she had abandoned him and their playdate, after all, and she felt sorry for that as well.
"I fell on them," she said simply, pale brows furrowing deeper before she leaned in towards her father, pressing her face to his shoulder, hiding her eyes as much as she was seeking further comfort.
And in the End of the Years of Trees, the Last Child of Fingolfin & AnairĂŤ was born...
They themselves rather young, ĂolofinwĂŤ and AnairĂŤ largely spent their free time stealing quiet moments together and the swift developmental pattern of Elf children in their first couple years meant they would have plenty of it ever after. That first year was not only the fastest but always the greatest missed, yet with all of them old enough to wander unsupervised the still passionate couple basked in their short freedom, lounging lazily in a common room further within the great halls.
Since he wouldnât need to make an appearance until quite later on AnairĂŤ hadnât thus far gotten hold of his hair â the prince was rather tidy until it came to that. Heâd comb and comb, but for all he tried he couldnât, for the life of him, manage a proper up-do. There were always bulges or loops, and somehow or another he always worked loose a section, maybe two. A worry for later! He always had great help. For now, however, as they lay there together he had busied himself with the ties of her bliaut for little other than to have something for his hands to occupy themselves with. He rested beneath his wifeâs chin with her arms around his neck, bright eyes closed in warm content.
A peace that wouldnât last.
It was the sound of running that cut it short; he recognised the step pattern but right off the top of his head couldnât guess which of the little ones were responsible or if it were one of his. Most likely. They were lighter and delicate and pulled at his attention. ĂolofinwĂŤ drew back to look at the Vanya, face twisted in wonder, and turned to toss long legs over the daybed. He took a moment to adjust his clothing before heâd stand to then, once heâd languidly made his way over, poke his dishevelled head out of the doorway. âCĂ´hithiel?â asked ĂolofinwĂŤ confused, spotting her from a distance down the corridor, and stepped the rest of the way out.
It only took that instant he appeared from within the room for the little one to lock in on her father, and what were misty eyes shifted to waters that glazed her vision. CĂ´hithielâs feet carried her as fast and as far as her little legs could, pale curls springing wildly about her features, until she collided with the thigh space just above his knees, pressing her face there.
Usually quiet voice came in hitches and whimpers of âAttoâ over and over until she pulled back just enough to show the crushed golden flowers in her trembling hands.
âI did not mean to,â she said with genuine sorry. âI was gentile the rest of the time, I promise I wasâŚâ Such a sensitive child, she did not ever wish to harm anything, even something so small as these flowers, and she hoped that she showed that in her expression.
She did not wish to be in trouble, as most children that age worried, but the potential was ever present in her pale bowed brows.

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It Was Then That I Saw You For The First Time...
That name sounded so different on the tongue of someone who may closer pronounce it to the way it had been intended; Thranduil knew the name as well as he knew the tales of the event from not so long ago of valour and glittering ice, of the warrior who had been compared to the great huntsman of the Valar. He felt out of place in that moment, small; who was he to be looking at his daughter in such a manner? Not only for that but his own fatherâs terrible bias. Oropher was petty in many ways and if the tales held much truth then Fingolfin was anything but.
However with the way CĂ´hithiel were studying him with something that seemed to reflect his own interest the only thing that would dissuade him from trying to understand it was her father.
It hadnât been the best of decisions to leave his hands free he realised for the longer she stared at him the less he was able to stand still. Down again he cast his gaze, eyelids lowered as he preened slowly at his clothing and picked at loose threads in the silk closest to his hands. Lucky sheâd given him the opportunity to tie back his hair or his hands would be in it instead.
Thranduil hadnât realised how much time, however little in reality, had passed between being given the two names and Galadrielâs voice cutting back in. He perked up a little and raised his head to look over at her, a brief distraction but a distraction nonetheless which meant a moment to recompose himself. It came with a modest smile as he looked between them, taking the time to backtrack over what had been said.
He decided to dismiss it, how would he be able to explain that it was something else entirely? âDo you live here in Lindon, CĂ´hithiel?â An excuse to say her name perhaps; he may not remember how to pronounce it if he doesnât use it.
The name had made him nervous, the name of her father. She knew that reaction, a reaction that she was used to in many ways, and yet, for a moment, she wished she had not said it, if not to maintain some sense of equality between the two of them. She knew little of his father, but of what she did know... both of their fathers were very different.
She understood the movements of nervousness on his part, nerves that she too might have on any other occasion had in meeting someone new, but in that moment she could not feel it. This stranger, Thranduil... Thranduil did not make her feel those nerves. No, the drawing attraction she felt, whatever that attraction was, overshadowed that in her.
His question drew forth a faint frown of her brows, and bowing her head her hand slipped from her breast to resting in her other hand, softly pressing her palms together before lifting her gaze, though her head only slightly so.
"I do not, Thranduil," she replied simply, also an excuse to say his name in return. "I came at the call of Galadriel to aid those in need. I traveled not a day behind the exodus... No, I do not reside in any rooted place."
She could not say she truly had a place she lived for an extended period of time in a long while, not a place that was hers.
And in the End of the Years of Trees, the Last Child of Fingolfin & AnairĂŤ was born...
She felt like her feet were fast sometimes. Most days she didn't run, at least not for sport, though today she thought she could try it with Argon. He had been nice in asking her out to the gardens, her favorite place. She thought that her elder brother might find it fun to be in her company that day, which was why she tried to run and climb things with him, but the young elf tired so quickly that she soon ran herself right into a cluster of flower bushes. It was in there she quietly played on her own, gently petting the flowers, whispering stories to them, made up or real she never really knew. She was happy to do all these things on her own, having forgotten her brother altogether when she was started from her spot, and she fell into some of the bushes. When she got up, her eyes caught sight of Argon running off from her spot. She was devastated, as much as a young elf under the age of ten could be, to find that she had not only disturbed the flowers, but crushed a couple of them. The soft patter of bare, little feet moved through the halls, and in CĂ´hithiel's little hands she cradled the golden flowers she had crushed, tears in her wide, lavender eyes, darting about frantically. She was obviously looking for someone, and quickly coming upon where she expected for them to be.
cohithiel; andsheremained
>v>
>w<
It Was Then That I Saw You For The First Time...
She should have been more considerate, she knew. Despite the gentile nature of her existence, CĂ´hithiel knew that she could be too forthcoming, and the stiffness in the male before her showed that she was being just that; she was unapologetic in every sense, especially once he had accepted the tie.
She watched as he knelt, the golden tresses slowly being pulled into a more tame state, and when he stood once more her gaze remained fixated. She didnât understand this shock, but it was warm, and it filled herâŚ
Thranduil, son of Oropher. Thranduil⌠The name repeated through her head like a cymbal as a name she knew she might never forget. Regardless of the proper tone in which he addressed her, the thought brought to her the faintest smile at the corners of her lips, and resting a hand at the center of her breast, she responded in like.
âCĂ´hithiel, daughter of Fingolfin,â she replied. âIâm afraid I have made you uneasy. I cannot say this is the first time Iâve done so to another.â
âThough it is the first time that you admit so, cousin,â Galadriel stated, somewhat surprised at the fluid and frequent nature with which her usually quiet kin was speaking.
It Was Then That I Saw You For The First Time...
A loosely tied braid of white hair shifted from off of her shoulder to her back as she turned to look at the Sindar, the faint mist in her lavender gaze floating, but never falling down pale skin. It was just a moment. A flash of a moment that made her breath feel short and wired to her heart, both of which felt stopped as she watched the loose, golden tresses slipping over their robes.
Had they met before? No... No, she would have remembered such a sensation in her very being.
"My cousin often preferred the company of Beleg CĂşthalion," Galadriel replied for CĂ´hithiel when she did not speak, her cousin looking to her with a smile that was knowing; it was far too knowing. CĂ´hithiel looked to Celeborn, as if to ask for some assistance in her moment of confusion, but he seemed to only offer her a smile as well.
"I prefer the feather reed," she said in her own plight, or perhaps to be contradictory, though her tone even and soft as she looked back to the stranger. She wanted to get closer.
Pulling her hair over her shoulder once more, she removed one of the ties from it before approaching him, and with lithe, pale fingers, she offered it in one hand; her gaze was unwavering from his as she did so, examining what it was that might have caused the jolt within, or at least trying to find it in his eyes.

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It Was Then That I Saw You For The First Time...
Her people... Her people had been meant for more than this. They were meant as an example. They were the first to be chosen to wake, and as such they needed to be more, and yet they slaughtered one another. In a matter of years, not so long in the age of their kind, twice had her kin found adequate reason to take lives, and over... No life was worth a few gems, however precious. She was not so sure how soon, or if she would ever forgive her cousins for such an act. Even so, she would not forsake her kin if they were so in need of help. Her gift was that which she did not give herself permission to chose who lived and who died; if she could have a hand in their life, she would always chose life. She wanted to help the people of Doraith. She wanted to help to mend their broken beings and spirits, and to rise them into a state of overcoming; they deserved as much, after what had been stolen from them. Receiving a summoning of aid from her cousin, Galadriel, brought CĂ´hithiel more joy than could have been imagined. She was safe, and alive, despite all that had happened. She knew that the invitation opened a door to her that might otherwise remained closed, and she was more than willing to help. She made her travels from Turgon's house, her brother, accompanied by a small party of healers she had chosen, and a few appointed protecters chosen by that of her brother. He worried for her safety, but she worried little for that in light of all the lives that were in need of her help. Making it to the people of Doriath with little interruption to their path, their anguish brought sorrow to CĂ´hithiel's very spirit. They had lost so much, and in light of how little their numbers were now because of the slaughter, her anger with her cousins only grew. Doriath had fought valiantly, even so. It was not long until she managed to find her cousin Galadriel with that of Celeborn, as well as a few others. A swelling of tears rested in the cool, pale eyes of the fair haired CĂ´hithiel as she held the face of her kin, pleased to see her. "You've not been harmed," she breathed on the wind, and her cousin shook her head. "No, kin. I have not, but so many have been. I am pleased to see that you were not thwarted in your journey to us." "No army could halt me, and no army would halt me," she said in a faint attempt at wit. Galadriel seemed to enjoy it, albeit only in the glimmer of her bright eyes.