#seregon

🍃 Flora of Middle-Earth 🍃 by rosecatillustration

Seregon was a plant that grew in rocky soil and produced blood-red flowers, which gave it its name. Seregon was noted as the one plant that mantled the otherwise barren head of Amon Rûdh.

Aeglos was a tall, thorny plant, similar to a gorse, but somewhat larger than that. Its sweet-smelling flowers were white, and from them it took its name: aeglos is Sindarin for "snow-thorn". It was found on the lower slopes of Amon Rûdh, upon the surrounding moors, in West Beleriand and perhaps elsewhere.

Brambles of Mordor were ugly with foot-long thorns, which were sharp as the knives of the orcs that came from Mordor. Some of the thorns were long and sharp, meaning that they could puncture very deeply, while others were barbed, making them suited for rending the flesh if one tried to walk through them. They sprawled over the land like coils of steel wire. As Samwise Gamgee remarked, he hadn't thought that any plants actually grew in Mordor, though had he been told that some do, the brambles were exactly what he would have expected of Mordor.

Lissuin was a fragrant flower of Tol Eressëa, and was said to bring the heart ease. It was one of the types of flowers brought by a ship of the Eldar to Númenor to grace the wedding of Aldarion and Erendis.

Elanor was a golden, star-shaped flower that grew in abundance in the forest of Lórien. Samwise Gamgee thought highly of the flower and, at Frodo's suggestion, named his eldest daughter, Elanor Gardner, from it.

It was like "a pimpernel (perhaps a little enlarged) growing sun-golden flowers and star-silver ones on the same plant, and sometimes the two combined".

They grew in sheltered places twisted tree-forms and stunted grey grasses grew. The leaves were shrivelled with Sulphur vapour and maggot hatchlings. They were the only plantlife that seemed to maintain more than a tenuous foothold.

Athelas, also known as Kingsfoil or asëa aranion, was a sweet-smelling herb with healing powers, such as curing wounds, poison and counteracting evil influence such as the Black Breath.

Niphredil was a small white flower that grew first at the moment of Lúthien's birth in Doriath. It was also found among the golden trees of Lothlórien, thickest on Cerin Amroth, where some pale green varieties could be seen.

It was like "a delicate kin of a snowdrop."

Simbelmynë was a small white flower that grew in particular abundance on graves and tombs, like the Barrowfield of the Kings of Rohan beneath the walls of Edoras; and most thickly on the grave of Helm Hammerhand. It was referred to as uilos when Tuor saw these flowers in the great ravine between the Fourth Gate, the Gate of Writhen Iron, and the Fifth Gate that was made of white marble, when he was making his way to Gondolin. Another Elven name for this flower was alfirin, which grew on the low mound that was the tomb of Elendil upon the summit of Amon Anwar.

It grew in turf but small and white like the wood anemone. Though the plant bloomed at all seasons, its flowers were not 'immortelles'.

Mîm mumbled to himself as he picked seregon on the hilltop. The red flowers had grown here for so many years now, all the years of all the generations of his people, but he’d never spent very much time actually stooping down to look at them. The flowers were small and very delicate- not very nice for bouquets, to be honest- with small triangular petals shooting thinly off the blood orange centers. He’d have to get quite the handful to have a decent-looking arrangement. That was going to take time, too, because he was /only/ picking the good flowers, the ones that weren’t missing any petals, the ones that shone the most brilliantly scarlet. The nicest ones that Túrin could spend the most time looking at.

“Nice flowers,” Mîm grumbled, tossing a few imperfect blooms away. “Good flowers for Túrin. Mîm always finds the best flowers.”

He’d gotten in the habit of speaking to himself sometimes, since Khîm went away. Ibun had never been one for complex conversation, and Túrin’s foul friends certainly weren’t worth talking to. So when Túrin himself wasn’t around, sometimes Mîm just talked as if there was someone out there who cared for the musings of an old Dwarf.

Túrin cared, though. Túrin always listened.

Mîm arranged the flowers in his hand until he had a nice and fluffy bundle he could tie off with a length of golden thread.

When he clambered back down into his halls, it took him some time to find Túrin, partially because he had to put so much effort into avoiding the gang of cutthroats and thieves living in his home, but also because Túrin wasn’t among them. When he finally did find the Man, it was just outside the secret doors, where Túrin sat alone, looking to the northeast.

Mîm cleared his throat.

“Lord?”

When Túrin turned there was a heavy sadness on his face, but he put on a faltering smile for Mîm’s sake. He spoke no words, but patted the ground next to him, and returned his gaze to the distant mountains.

Mîm felt a nervous squirming in his belly when he sat heavily by Túrin’s side, flowers clenched in his sweaty hand. Before he had the chance to give them over, Túrin finally spoke. His voice had all the strength and conviction Mîm would expect from someone of his bearing. It was a good voice.

“Do you get ever get lonely, Mîm?”

The Dwarf shifted eagerly.

“Not so much anymore, Lord.”

“You don’t miss the ones that have left you?” Túrin asked, without turning his head. “Do you miss your son?”

“I miss Khîm,” Mîm replied shortly. “And all the rest of my kin. But I’m-“

“I wonder if he even thinks of me...” Túrin said with such raw pain in his voice that it gave Mîm pause. His fingers curled tight around the seregon, put on edge.

“Who?”

Instead of answering, Túrin sighed and finally honored Mîm with a glance.

“Your home is beautiful, Mîm. Thank you.”

Mîm shifted again, sensing another chance.

“Any friend of Túrin’s has my welcome,” he said with a practiced confidence he did not truly feel. “So long as he brightens my halls with his face.”

He bowed his head and held out the seregon with a flourish, trying to ignore how his old heart was hopping as if were some shy colt meeting a lass’s eye for the first time.

Túrin with a crown of Seregon flowers

Name: Seregon

Age: 22ish?

Race: Qunari-elf mix.

Weaponstyle/Fightstyle: Two-handed, Some sword and shield, brawling / hand to hand and magic