#valarcritical

The seven had gathered under their starred banner once more. Their attack on the exposed kingdom of Doriath tore through it like wild fire in the wind, the oath stopping or showing mercy to none who might hider it.

Celegorm's new madness took glee in it. He fought more fiercely and cruelly than he had before, snatching every opportunity that presented itself to maul or maim his opponent for his pleasure, and forfeit all rules of propriety and the role of the elf for the feral beast, whose madness was the only thing left to drive him on. Bloodied in his furs and splattered bronze, he met the king, who he gave wild chase and tireless assault, sweating and steaming hotly in his mad frenzy.

The second king of Doriath was pretty, but it was not that which had aroused another force in the Feanorian hunter beneath his skirts. Rather, it was the duelling of a surprisingly skilled opponent worthy of his own merit. Celegorm knew behind each lunge and swipe the peredhel took at him his own end may have been lurking. End which he craved as much as lust or rage or fire or any other thing that would now appoint some new direction to his life. But it was lust that was upon him then, for blood or otherwise it mattered little and felt all the same.

Seizing a window in their brutal dance, Celegorm threw the half-elven lord to the floor and pinned him down with the bulk of his own body.

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“If I marry Amras, I won’t be able to stay single and let my hair flow in the wind as I ride through the glen, firing arrows into the sunset! Also, I do not think he likes me in that way, meldë. As for the blonde…there is nothing I can do about this, even though there are days I wish I could.”

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Auriel weeped as she clutched the jug of wine to her body as though it were something precious that she couldn’t afford to let go of. It clearly had not been hers to begin with, almost certainly stolen from her elder brother’s supply. But she had needed it for a desperately urgent matter; dealing with the fact that she just might have a crush! How horrifying!

“He—” she began, and immediately faltered, her words dissolving into a quiet, indignant sniff. Her nose and cheeks had already flushed pink from the alcohol, her golden eyes gone glassy, and blonde lashes clumping together where tears had gathered. “He is just so nice to me. Do you know how rare that is? He listens when I speak. He laughs at my jokes, even the bad ones.”

Auriel sniffed again, much more dramatically this time, and scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand, smearing the once artfully done gold makeup across her cheeks.

“And he has such nice hair,” she added after a second, as though this were a very important and crucial point she needed to make. “It shines. I don’t even think he tries. It just does that.”

Her gaze drifted off to somewhere distant, her expression softening into something dangerously close to dreamy as she stared at the Teleri in question from the across the courtyard.

“You cannot simply present me with five of your sons like a merchant displaying wares and expect me to choose one,” she went on, voice wobbling with genuine distress now. “That is not how affection works I am sure of it. I am not selecting a horse…though I am certain they are all very fine horses.”

"Gil-galad has my loyalty, my gratitude and also my love. When I was homeless and without any family, he accepted me with open arms despite the potential danger I posed. If I wanted, if I had felt bitter or greedy, I could have gathered my supporters and fought him for his crown. His advisors reminded him of that day after day, but he took a chance with me and offered me kindness and protection. He let me join his household and he even gave me power. He is a remarkable man, and I would be very lucky to be more to him than his Herald."

Elrond was clearly very smitten with his High King and his loyalty knew no bounds. He had never felt this connected and loyal to someone, other than to Elros. Unfortunately Elros didn't feel the same about Gil-galad. Elros was meant to be a King, while Elrond had always known he would not be one and had no trouble deferring to Gil-galad.

And so Elros had left Elrond in Lindon alone, to chase his own dream and to create the beautiful island kingdom of Númenor, and while Elrond had been devastated - and Elros possibly disappointed in him for not coming with him - Gil-galad had softened the blow by providing a stable home where Elrond could be saddened in peace.

[ this might be crack, but...young adult Thranduil, mid-to-late First Age? she says this in quenya to piss off the lil doriathrin ]

The noldorin princess was clearly very intent on angering him. Much to Thranduil's chagrin, she managed to do so with ease. He didn't often mind losing to someone during a spar, but he minded losing to her. He knew she looked down on him and the Sindar as a whole, and now she had succeeded in humiliating him. It was the disrespect, the gall, that infuriated him.

Icy eyes narrowed at her, and Thranduil bared his teeth in anger. Every single thing about Fëanárë set him on edge. He disliked the sound of quenya, and refused to speak it himself but he understood ever single word. When he answered, it was in Sindarin, thick with the dialect of Doriath, that also contained obvious traces of the teleri that became the iathrim, like his father.

Thranduil raised his sword and opened his arms in a welcoming and daring gesture. "Then come at me a few more times, my lady..if you dare." He was confident that eventually he'd be able to beat her.

This question had lingered in Auriel’s mind for some time now. Over the course of many conversations she had heard Fëanarë make the same sort of teasing remarks. Little jests about those who bore a certain shade of blonde hair, a color that Auriel and her brother so plainly shared.

She looked up at her friend with wide eyes, hopeful for a moment and briefly comforted by the gentleness of her first reply. That comfort, however, did not last long.

“Do I seem to share those…inferior traits you speak of in the other Vanyar? Am I dimwitted and indulgent as well? Or is it only our coloring that we share?”

For a long moment she said nothing more. Instead, she leaned slightly over the marble edge of the fountain where they sat, studying her reflection in the rippling water. Her fingers absently adjusted the colorful filigree cuffs Feanarë had just fastened into her braids, small works of metal shaped lovingly in the forge. The gold of her hair gleamed in the water’s surface, bright against the other hair and eyes shades she so often saw among her kin; those deep browns and grey eyes that reminded her of storm clouds and rainy days.

Until now, it had never truly troubled her.

No one had spoken of it outright, after all. At most there had only been murmurs in quiet corners—soft speculation about whether the golden siblings might carry some distant Vanyarin blood.

Still…deep down she knew Feanarë meant only the best for her. Had she not crafted these braid cuffs with her own hands? Had she not patiently taught Auriel new ways to braid her hair, new fashions to wear, and given little pieces of advice Auriel might otherwise never have learned?

For a young elf who had grown without a mother of her own, what more could she have asked for?