I could not get this post out of my mind, so... Glorestor be upon ye!

my @whiteoliphaunt gift for @greyjedijaneite - enjoy!

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Celebrían was getting impatient. Only her husband’s hand in hers, warm and solid, kept her from pacing nervously up and down the harbour. Her vision was starting to blur, so long had she gazed across the sea to the distant horizon where her father’s ship would appear.

“He will come, dear.” 

Her mother’s voice in her head was steady and sure, but Celebrían knew her well enough to feel Galadriel’s impatience, mirroring her own. Long had they both waited for Celeborn to join them on these shores, and Celebrían longed for her family to be complete once more.

Elrond squeezed her hand encouragingly. “Soon, my love,” he whispered, and Celebrían smiled at him before turning her gaze back to the sea.

There, in the distance, a white ship had passed the horizon and grew steadily closer.

“He is coming!” Celebrían cried. “Naneth, there he is!”

Galadriel’s smile was more radiant than the midday sun glittering on the water as she gazed out at the ship that bore her husband to her, her hair and dress fluttering in the breeze, her eyes lit with ancient longing.

Soon the ship was close enough to see Celeborn at the prow, tall and silver-haired, and yet it seemed an eternity to Celebrían before it at last landed on the shore, and she ran towards it and jumped on board before the gangplanks had been laid out.

“Ada!” she cried, tears of joy in her eyes, and there he was, his arms around her warm and familiar after centuries apart, and she wept with gladness.

“I have missed you, ada,” she sobbed into his shoulder, and felt her father’s lips upon her brow.

“I have missed you as well, my little silver starling.”

Characters: Maedhros, Fëanor (mentioned), Fingolfin (mentioned)

Warnings: none

Tags: Parody, Politics, First Age, Good Parent Fëanor

I'm sorry Shakespeare

Friends, Noldor, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury my Father, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Father. My noble Uncle Hath told you Fëanor was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Fëanor answer’d it.

Here, under leave of my Uncle and the rest– For my Uncle is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men– Come I to speak in Fëanor’s funeral.

He was my father, faithful and just to me:

But my Uncle says he was ambitious; And my Uncle is an honourable man.

He hath made many jewels filled with light Whose brightness did fair Tirion’s palace fill Did this in Fëanor seem ambitious?

When that his children cried, Fëanor hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet my Uncle says he was ambitious; And my Uncle is an honourable man.

You all did see that on King Finwë’s death I thrice presented him the kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?

Yet my Uncle says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what my Uncle spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Father, And I must pause till it come back to me.

Characters: Antar (OC), Maeglin

Warnings: Major Character Death

Tags: Fall of Gondolin, Hurt No Comfort, Canonical Character Death

At the foot of Caragdûr, Antar dies.

Antar cannot bring themselves to regret their choice. Even here, at the foot of Caragdûr, their life waning with each breath, Elven blood staining their hands once more and their Lord lying cold and pale beside them, they do not regret following him.

Maeglin looks so small in death – frail, almost childlike. Like the lost, orphaned child Antar had pledged to protect.

With trembling, useless hands they wipe the blood and dirt from his face, close his eyes, arrange his limbs as though he is sleeping. His face is more at peace than they have seen it in many months.

They know he was not evil. They would not care if he were. He was their charge, their friend, their Lord.

All they regret is that they were not close enough to save him.

All they regret is that they had not refused more vehemently when Maeglin had insisted they wear his galvorn armor to the fight.

Perhaps if they had, he would not be dead now.

But even galvorn could not save them. Antar feels their grasp on life falter, and they press one last kiss to Maeglin’s cold forehead and curl protectively around their Lord as they die.

Thank you so much for tagging me @beatles4ever65! Most of what I'm currently working on is for TRSB, so have a slightly older snippet from the upcoming chapter of my Ancient Rome AU (that I will post someday, I promise!!!)

“Glorfindel,” Elrond said softly, clasping Glorfindel’s hand in both of his. “Ai, my friend, I am glad beyond words that you are mine now, mine to care for and mine to protect; and yet it grieves me that I cannot give you the true freedom you long for.” “Not unless Turgon dies,” Erestor said, with a glance at the contract. “No,” Glorfindel said, catching his meaning immediately, his heart growing cold with fear at the thought. “No, Erestor, you must not…” “Glorfindel is right,” Elrond said. “It is far too dangerous, and besides, I mislike the idea of resorting to the very methods we oppose.” Erestor inclined his head. “As you say,” he replied. “But even so, he is not immortal.” He met Glorfindel’s gaze. “Do not give up your hope of freedom just yet.” “I will not,” Glorfindel promised, and found he truly meant it. “But even so you have given me more that I had dared to hope for.” With a shaky smile he turned to Elrond. “There is none I would belong to rather than you, if indeed I cannot be free,” he said softly. “And even were I free, it would still be my honour to serve and protect you, for the kindness you have borne me and the kindness you bear all those whom the world bears too little.” “I am glad,” Elrond said and embraced him, and Glorfindel felt himself weep in the comfort of his arms. “Welcome home, Glorfindel,” Elrond whispered.

Mandos was, for the most part, silent.

The spirits of the dead would whisper amongst each other, and the newly arrived would sometimes scream or sob, while the pain of their death was still on them, but that was it.

It had taken Tínwerhîn some time to get used to the silence, accustomed as they were to living with their forge-loving husband and son, six quarrelsome law-brothers and no less quarrelsome law-parents, but time was one thing the souls in Mandos had in excess.

And so they were startled when, all of a sudden, the silence was broken by loud, echoing barks. Familiar barks, they realised after a moment of shock, but that could not be – he could not be –

But there he was, over-large and soft-furred and keen-eyed as always, and Tínwerhîn could not help but throw their arms around him and weep, holding tight onto this familiar creature, so dear after the long loneliness in these halls.

“Huan,” they whispered, their face buried in his fur, “Huan, where is your master, and your master’s brother? Where is my son, the child you guarded and played with so long ago? What has happened that you are here and they are not?”

Tínwerhîn did not think that Huan would ever willingly leave his master’s side, and yet, looking into the hound’s intelligent eyes, they knew that he had done just that. They thought of just how far their bright, beloved law-brother must have fallen for his eternally loyal companion to turn from him and wept.

Day 5 - Culture

When Bilbo first visited Imladris, accompanied by thirteen dwarves and a wizard, he had thought it a beautiful place, but no more than that, and returning home he had been too preoccupied with grief to have any mind for beauty.

It is not until he returns, many years older and weary, to find a peaceful home among the Elves, seeking ancient tales and warm hospitality, that he sees Imladris for what she truly is, sees her smiling in the sunlight, her head in Elrond’s lap as they braid her hair, sees them dancing together in the glade beneath the stars.

Day 4 - Place

The Bruinen had known, ever since they saw the valley that would become Imladris, that this was where their waters would flow, would shape the land around them as the valley shaped their river.

Imladris had not yet been home to anything but birds and beasts then, and she was more beautiful for the sunlight catching the Bruinen's falls.

When Elrond came to the valley Imladris had loved him right away, and the Bruinen had gladly lent their waters to the defence of their new settlement.

It has grown into a home since, and the Bruinen watches over it still.