Tag: ficlet

Trethril

uweyvi:

The first thing that Laindawar noticed when he had first laid eyes on Muil was how her eyes gleamed. A mixture of sadness and mirth. The longer he spent time with her the more this was confirmed.

This Avari had a duality to her, a bitter sadness inside of her and a mirth and happiness that was rare in the eldar he knew. Most were weary from their long lives and all the sorrows they bore.  

That was what he noticed when he saw her sitting down in the moor (she was also still troublesome). Her long, brown hair floating out around her on the ground. She had taken the mass down from its usual preparation. She was gazing at the sky; leaning back against her hands as she did so. The only change in her posture was that her ears swiveled towards him as he came from the direction of camp.

Without speaking he sat down beside her. His back towards her as he looked out towards the small pond. In the distance the mountains loomed and a small forest grew behind them. Another small pond was enshrined in the forest. He had found it when he was scouting out the area.

The silence between them was peaceful. Off in the distance the sun was low in the sky casting a beautiful, warm light over the valley. The flowers opened around them greeting the coming of Tilion. Releasing their sweet scent in the valley.

It also meant that Meluiwen was still asleep. Her gentle snores coming from the direction of the cart. A tent thrown over it too shelter the child from the elements.

Near the wagon was Kara who was sharpening her ax. Every once in a while she would glance towards the tent. Laindawar was unsure if it was because the dwarrrowdam did not trust the orc-child. If this was the case she  was wary of her. It could also be she was curious about the orc-child. He didn’t see the point in asking anyway. It was not like he had a reason to pry.

A gentle rustling and then warmth pressed against him. His heart sped up as Laindawar could only imagine one thing that would cause such a warmth. She was resting her head against his back. 

“What is on your mind Pigenor?” she asked. Sensing that something was off with him. Her eyes darting over the scene in front of them. A smile gracing her features as she espied the nervous way Kara acted. She sensed no malcontent towards her child and figured that Kara was curious and did not want to admit it.

He felt his face heat up. Her hands were moving through his hair. Brushing it out with idle strokes of her hand. Shivers raced up his spine. This was new to him, no one besides his family had dared such a thing before.

He did not answer her. Instead he looked up at the changing sky. Admiring the way the colors changed as the sky waited for the sun to set.

She didn’t feel ruffled by his lack of a response. Instead she was busy with the thoughts of her own mind. She was in a difficult mood again. A longing stirring inside of her. She was so tired of being lonely. Sharing so much time with mortals had changed her. She had attached her heart to so many and when they passed on it tore at her. Unlike many who would have long ago faded or wearied from the grief Muil stood form. Unmovable in her resolve to save the world.

But with this endurance came the desire for something more tangible. Someone who she could share her thoughts and feelings. Someone whom she could share her soul without fear of them slipping through her fingers. For like all the eldar she could die of a broken heart – and that is not how she planned to end her days at all.

Unwilling to stop herself as she mused she brushed his Laindawar’s hair. Trying with her desperate thoughts to content herself with this small intimacy.

Laindawar said nothing. Instead he smirked and continued to watch the sky. He too enjoyed the comfort of her touch. It reminded him of his family and that soothed him. He missed his brothers and his father more than he cared to admit.

Soon though Muil found herself feeling rather puckish. A mischievous light filling her storm-silver eyes. Could she get a rise out of him?  Her hands moved from his hair to his ears. Running the tips of her fingers over them as she knelt behind him. Bending down she nipped the tip of one of his ears. Biting it and lavishing the tip with her tongue. A trick she used to do to her sisters to instigate them. A giggle escaping her as she felt him stiffen. Her fondest wish was that it had worked!

Not wanting to stay and see how he would retaliate she stood up and hurried off. She moved with a fleet grace towards the forest. She did not want to act like a child in front of the others. But she needed this release.

Yet, as soon as she moved out of sight and hearing of the rest of the group she felt the air escape her lungs. She squeaked as she was brought to the ground with an audible thud.

Laindawar was on top of her in a heartbeat. Pinning her beneath him he snarled at her. His ears red as he gazed down on her, a fire burning in his blue eyes.

She regretted her decision in this instant. Her eyes widening as fear washed over her. How would this small, but much stronger, elf react?

“Turnabout is fair play.” he reprimanded before he bent down and licked the shell of her ear. A smile of triumph gracing his features as he noticed the glazed over look in Muil’s eyes.

Laindawar could not bring himself to move as he looked down at her. Worry worming its way into him even though his face remained impassive. He was unsure of what to do in this situation. Had he upset her in some way? Did he trigger something? His worry began to blossom like kudzu vines. Sweat starting to bead on his brow.

Pushing herself up against him she touched her ear a nervous half-smile on her lips. A giggle then escaped her. Turnabout was fair play and she was glad she had not upset him. She had a moment when she had remembered being tackled by her sister Gilrin when she did it to her. A sweet memory that brought a wistful smile to her lips.

Reaching up she trailed her fingers over his neck. And then she giggled. “I’m not as sensitive as you are .” she admitted. His ears were red after all and she was very sure hers were not. As she had done this many times with her family she was actually positive hers were not red.

Staring down at her he leaned down and bit her ear this time. Deciding that if she was going to state that he was going to prove her wrong! This elicited a squeal from the much taller elf. Writhing under him she giggled with uncontrollable mirth and bucked hard; breaking away. Laughter blossoming from her as she sprinted off towards the pond.

She slid to a stop and turned around. Colliding with him again with an oomph. Then she rolled them over. Straddling him she continued to giggle. Mirth filling her to the brim.

Running her hands over his armor she started untying it with deft fingers so she could reach his ribs. His laughter soon filled the air and he was a writhing, giggling mess under her. Her eyes glittered with joy at the sound of his laughter. He was so ticklish! This was something she would use in the future…

Her hands stilled as she glanced over towards the pond. A gasp of wonder escaping her. Her hand flying to her lips as she saw a star shoot across the sky.

Laindawar wheezed as he caught his breath. His face was red from the force of his laughter. Reaching up he started to run his hands up her side to try and get her back.

“Laindawar look!” she whispered. Excitement in her voice. He followed her gaze. His blue eyes widening as he saw the stars shoot across the sky.

He laid there watching them for a while before he found that his gaze wandered over to her.

He couldn’t help but smile a softening gracing his features as he saw the excitement in her eyes. She was so vivid and emotional. A bright spot in the world that had for so long been tainted with darkness. She wasn’t afraid to love, and learn, and above all she was true to herself. She was vivacious and full of life and he-

Shaking his head he looked back out at the sky.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before Trethril?” he asked his voice soft. He wanted to change the course of his thoughts and he knew the best way was to engage her in conversation.

“A few times.” she answered. Her voice soft and filled with her wonder. “I was very small when I saw it the first time. My father took me out to show me the stars as they were flung from sky.”

Her voice broke and she looked away from the shower. Looking down at Laindawar she managed to smile. Her eyes filled with tears. “It is one of my favorite memories of my father.”

Laindawar was unsure with how to comfort her. But, he decided, it would be best for her to talk to him about herself. She rarely spoke about herself. Instead she spent her days

Wiggling out from under her he sat up next to her. So now at least he could look her in the eye. “Tell me about your family Baralineth.” he stated. Not giving her an once of room to change the subject.

Blinking she looked over at him. “You are quite the dictator you know that Laindawar?”

Tears filled her eyes as her mind turned towards the bittersweet memories of her family. She had not talked to anyone about her family in many years. She had not even seen them in an age. Where they even alive?

A voice told her she would find out soon. They would have to pass through the Hisildi stronghold of Celeblas in the Tinnutaur.

Yet, sensing he was not meaning to be so demanding she nodded and laid down. Resting her head on the ground next to his legs.

Gazing up at the night sky she felt her eyes turn towards her favorite constellations.  The stars were twinkling with their beautiful light above them.

“To begin my father was a great Hisildi. His name was Noruinvion and he was tall and dark. It has been said that I have inherited his smile and eyes.” she admitted with a wistful smile. Images of her father laughing and holding her, her siblings, and her mother filled her head. She swore at times she could smell his warm musk if the night was clear. If their was one person she missed most it was her father, her namesake.

“He met my mother when she was appointed to be the  ambassador for the Kalondi. Her name as a maiden of her father’s house was Norgalades. She was fierce and fiery but she was unbreakable in her steadfastness. So much so that my father, even before he wedded her called her Thalawesbes and to this day that is the name she goes by.” Smiling she reached out and took a lock of Laindawar’s hair. Twirling it around her fingers. Soothing herself with it’s texture and the fact she was keeping her hands busy.

Then Muil continued, “They were happy for an age. But, as much as they longed for it a child would not come easily for them. Many times she felt a child take root but…well…some things are not meant to be.“ She looked up at Laindawar, her eyes gleaming. His jaw was set and the muscles there taunt. She fought the urge to run her fingers over them. To urge him to relax. She resisted this though. Instead, she continued her story. “But then, my mother was not feeling well. I have been told that she grew most joyous as she realized that I was strong enough to endure.”

“And beyond.” Laindawar mused as he gazed down at her. Relishing in secret that happy, joyful look in her eyes as she talked of her family.

“And beyond.” She agreed. Her gaze meeting his filling her with warmth. “My little sisters came twenty-five years later. Imagine the surprise when my mother gave birth to twins! She who had endeavored for so hard and so long to bring one child into the world was now blessed with three! When I was older my mother confided in me she knew she carried twins. But, she wanted to suprise my father and she was scared that this pregnancy wouldn’t end well.“

Shaking her head as if to ward of a memory she turned her focus. "My sister’s names are Gilrin and Tinnuien. And oh, they were the pride of my life. I helped bring them into this world.” she admitted with a grimace. “I was twenty-five and my mother and I were walking in the woods and boom. They decided to come early. They have always been impetuous.”

“My little brother was much the same. He was such a shock.”  Laindawar admitted.

“You have a sibling?” she asked incredulously. Her voice filled with wonder. "I cannot imagine a world with more people who act like you.”

“I have two. They are named Laerophen and Legolas.”

“Do they act anything like you?” she asked.

“Are you trying to insult me?” he demanded to know. Stiffening as he prepared himself for a verbal bout.

“Never.” she answered, a lazy smile gracing her lips. “I am simply curious to know about your family as well.”

“I will tell you about them later.” he finally acquiesced, relaxing once again.

Nodding Muil started to lazily braid his hair. She scooted up so she could rest her head on his lap.

“Have you any niblings?” she asked. Curiosity about his family filling her. “What of your mother and father since you will not tell me yet of your brothers.“

“I have a brother-in-law if that counts.” Laindawar muttered. “His name is Gimli.”

“That is not an Eldar name is it?” she inquired.

“No. He married a dwarf.” Laindawar stated, his eyes hardening as he gazed down at her. Waiting to see how she would react.

“Amazing.” she whispered in disbelief.

“You are disgusted?” he demanded to know. Worried that she meant something sinister by her comment as her face was unreadable.

“Why would I be? For me race means little. I mean, think about it Pigenor. I am raising an orc..” she answered. Her fingers moving  soothingly over his hair. "Meluiwen is the child of my heart. I was there from the beginning with her. Why would your brother marrying a dwarf bother me in the least? Use that mind Pigenor.” she teased.

“You must tell me that tale sometime.” Laindawar stated as he decided to ignore that poke at his pride.

“I will Pigenor. But you must also tell me of your parents sometime. I am insatiable to know more about your people.”

With a slow hand he started to smooth her hair. He nodded once as he brushed her long hair out of her face. “That seems fair.”

“Indeed.”  She answered. Then she buried her hands again in his hair. A gentle tug and she pulled him down to her. Her eyes closing as she kissed him. Her lips quivering as the fear of rejection flowed through her. She was joyful at the same time that she had found someone to talk to. This had come to show itself in her desire to kiss him. And being as impetuous as her sisters she had done just that.

Before he could react he heard Meluiwen. She was calling for Muil and, of course Muil was up and walking back towards the camp. Yet she did stop once. Turning to look at him she smiled.

“Come on Pigenor.” she called.

When the elves returned to camp Kara didn’t even have to glance over at Jeri to know they were smiling ear to ear. How by Mahal did they know what was going on between those two?

Reaching into her worn, leather coin purse she withdrew ten gold coins. Walking over to Jeri she slapped the coins down into their outstretched hand.

“Why are there stwicks and leaves in yoo hair Mommee?” Meluiwen asked.

“I fell dear.” Muil answered gently.

“Zhen why is there stwicks and weaves in ‘Aindywar’s hair?”

“He was the cause of the fall so I took him down with me.” she answered with a bright smile.

Laughter caused Muil to look up. Her eyebrow raised as she looked at Jeri who was cackling with laughter.

“What is so funny Master Jeri?” she asked, her eyebrow quirking with confusing. “Did I say something?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Jeri quickly answered. Wiping the tears of mirth from their eyes.

Shrugging Muil carefully picked up Meluiwen and smiled. “You, my dear, need a bath.”

“So you do to Mommee!” she answered. Hugging her mommy tightly. “And so does ‘Aindywar!” she retorted as she pointed at the elf who was staring at Jeri with a gaze that could have killed.

Jeri was still smiling.

“You are going to have to talk to me later about this development ‘Aindywar’” Jeri stated as they caught their breath.

“You can go fuck a cantankerous goat.” Laindawar shot out.

Thankfully at that point Meluiwen was out of earshot. Still, Muil would have to have a serious discussion with them later about what was appropriate to say in front of a child.

Kalondi – Another people of the Avari. They live near Harad and the South. They are deeply in love with the desert and all it’s dangerous beauty.
Tinnutaur – The great forest where the Hisildi live. It means Star Forest. It was named thus as it is a jungle. The floor has bio-luminescent plants that make it look like  there are stars in it. It is considered quite lovely by many of the Avari. It is the childhood home of Muil and it is massive.
Celeblas – The Capital of the Hisildi realm. This was not the original capital as that was laid under siege by Sauron. He gutted the Hisildi by attacking them there and weakened them. Now there are so few of Hisildi left.

@determamfidd 

AHHH A KISS! A KISS! SMOOCHIES! WHAAAAA!

Omfg Jeri you troll, don’t be a jealous dumpling, you will get kisses baby

I LOVE LAINDWAR GETTING DEFENSIVE OVER GIMLI, THAT GAVE ME 9000 YEARS OF LIFE AND AN EPIC, EPIC BOUT OF HAPPY CHAIR DANCING

holy shit Muil asking about Laindawar’s family! She’d be so ??? about how different they are – she would probably love spending time with Legolas, Mr Laughs-And-Sings-Constantly himself, heheh (Laerophen would be HIDING FOREVER though bc he is a shy easily-alarmed giraffe with a pompous shell)

Another quicklet (no. 4)

katajainen:

Another random quick-ish short-ish Tolkien-verse ficlet. (The rest can be found here, but beware: one is sad, one is cute and one just plain weird.)

But this is Minas Tirith after the battle. Dark dreams, H/C, and not-quite-there-yet gigolas.

Gimli was on his feet with steel in his hand before he was fully awake. He blinked croggily  in the heavy darkness as he considered his surroundings. Surely no sign of impending danger had roused him here, in this good house of solid stone high in the seventh circle of the White City.

There was a dim sliver of light between the closed shutters, but that hardly spoke in favour of either an early hour or late, these being the days under the Shadow. A twilight could easily be full daybreak.

But from the dull aching weariness of his limbs Gimli knew it could not be more than scarce hours since he had at last found his rest the night after the battle.

In the next room, someone cried out.

Keep reading

OH THIS IS LOVELY

SO EVOCATIVE, FULL OF THAT CLOSE, HUSHED ATMOSPHERE OF VERY LATE EVENING, SOFT AND SORROWFUL AND HOPEFUL AND BEAUTIFUL ALL AT ONCE

AND THE DIALOGUE IS BLOODY BRILLIANT

inkstranger:

Legolas’s friends beg him to
leave for Valinor early on. They know that he is fading, they know that he
thinks of their deaths more than anything else, and that it kills him. They are
terrified that he’ll die before he sails, and that he will remain in the Halls
of Mandos for a very long time. They’re afraid he’ll choose the void.

It’s an unspoken rule that
Legolas can never be left alone, that
someone must always be with him. They
don’t want him wandering somewhere to fade and never return (he nearly did it
once).

And before he dies, Estel makes
Gimli promise that he’ll see to it that Legolas will sail, and jokingly says, “Even
if you have to go with him”.

(i hope you don’t mind, but I ficletted 🙂

Frodo was first, and Gandalf with him, gone for so long now. Then Imrahil is dead – old age – and then Sam leaves one day, with little fanfare and less notice. Gone into the west.

Then Merry and Pippin make their last journey, and they are sleeping in the tombs of the great Kings of Gondor, two small hobbits lying in state. Eomer dies that same year. 

Then Faramir is lost to them. Gone into the earth, and Aragorn will not be far behind them now. 

Gimli eases himself into his chair, and holds his friend’s hand. 

“I can choose my time,” Aragorn says, and Gimli nods. It was a gift granted to those of the ruling line of Numenor, that they might pass in the fullness of their prime and not suffer the dwindling of old age. “And it nears. Eldarion is full ready for this throne, and I am weary.”

“You’ll be making us the Two Hunters, then,” Gimli says, and clamps his teeth shut around his next words. His voice will fail him.

Aragorn studies the old Dwarf’s hand. Still powerful and strong, but as an ancient, gnarled tree-root is powerful and strong. He would wield his axe no longer, with hands such as these.

“You must make him sail,” he says, and he does not need to say who he is. “Merry and Pippin’s passing nearly finished him. I cannot be the loss that takes more than myself from him. He cannot hold, not with our number falling around him like mayflies! His eyes are already dimmed and he sings no more. Gimli, you must promise me. You must promise me: you must make him sail. You are the last of our number. The task falls to you.” 

Gimli is silent for a long moment, and then he looks up at Aragorn with eyes that despite their age, are clear and bright with a proud warrior’s determination. “Aragorn, lad. I’ve followed him into golden wood and stinking fen, through mines and up mountains and down rivers. I’ve  said it before, and I’ll say it again: where Legolas goes, I will follow. If I cannot make him sail without me, then I’m getting on the damned boat with him.”

Aragorn holds the gaze, and then closes his eyes. “Good,” he says, and sighs. the relief settles into his bones. His last friends shall be together after his death: Legolas will not fade, Gimli will not be forced to mourn them both. “Thank you, Gimli.”

There is a soft snort, and Gimli’s great gnarled hand squeezes Aragorn’s with surprising gentleness. “You daft Man. As though you needed to ask.”

statichawkins:

“"I started to decipher them,“ Ori said in a soft voice.

“What did it say?” Thorin asked distantly.

“‘Vir son of Nir is a giant prat’,” Ori mumbled,

“

Well now I need to know what Vir did and who he pissed off…

#Determamfidd#DOOO EEET! 😀#This have been bugging me for awhile too (via @jessicadupont91)

OK OK HERE WE GO, HAVE A THING 

Assistant

Administrative

Manager Vir was an upstanding citizen and a model dwarf. In fact, he was perfect. 

He never drank, never ate to excess, and knew every rule in the handbook. He was always tremendously happy to remind his fellow miners of these, if he ever felt they might have forgotten.

He woke early every day, exercised diligently until precisely one candle-mark past the dawn, before it was time for breakfast and the morning’s ablutions. Then he would collect his observations from the day before (helpfully sorted into stacks) to hand to Mine Supervisor Geran. All in all, Assistant Administrative Manager Vir was perfect. 

It was nice, being perfect. But Vir was determined to spread his perfection. He’d once been told that true greatness in one Dwarf in a group was able to raise the standard of all the rest. He would be their model and guide. He would teach them how to be perfect.

He often wished that Mine Supervisor Geran might notice the effort and concern he took with his fellow miners’ education. It appeared that they forgot the regulations with distressing regularity, after all. They would stare at Vir with pressed lips and flat eyes. The older ones simply turned their backs on him. 

It was hard, being the new Assistant Administrative Manager. It was doubly hard to be perfect. Vir bore the envy of his lessers with stoicism and grace. 

Every three or four days, one of the miners would inevitably try to tell him that the particular regulatory code he was upholding was hopelessly outdated and dangerous, but Vir knew better. He was Assistant

Administrative

Manager after all. It was his job to enforce the rules, and so he enforced them with all due rigour.

Vir wasn’t entirely sure what his duties actually were. Geran had given him a long and boring induction when he’d first started. It had been of no benefit whatsoever, and did not give him any instruction on how to make the changes he saw fit. She persisted in ‘keeping him up to speed’ and ‘in the loop’ and other such useless and sloppy phrases. Vir ignored them. How could he spend his precious time collating plans and organising meetings when there was so much imperfection all around him?

When he tried to tell Geran how she should fix herself in order to be the perfect Mine Supervisor they deserved, she gritted her teeth and told him to get lost. He’d heard her muttering about nepotism as he bowed to the exact millimetre required for her station and left the room. 

(He’d dithered over reporting this to upper Mine Management. They would probably take it to the Guilds, however, and he didn’t want his grandfather to know.)

So instead he dutifully notated all his observations each day, and organised them by the Dwarves involved. Every time Vir handed the wad of notes to Geran, she looked less and less impressed by it. Vir felt a certain lofty sympathy. Naturally. It must have been draining to know that her mine workers were such insubordinates, showing such disregard for proper regulation. 

(When Vir finally took the job he was meant to hold, Geran would be treated kindly. She had done her best, after all. It wasn’t her fault. She simply wasn’t perfect.)

Last and most numerous of all his observational notes were those on Xerin. 

The very name made Vir give a genteel shudder. If there were anyone more in need of Vir’s instruction, it was Xerin. 

Xerin child of Berin had not laid down a board to walk on yesterday. Instead, ze had spent a truly wasteful amount of time setting up a pulley and a harness, with two so-called “safety lines”. Vir had scoffed. Safety lines indeed: he’d never heard of them! They weren’t mentioned even once in the regulations!

Xerin shook zer scruffy head. The regulations were two hundred years old, ze had sneered. Vir had shown Xerin the regulation in question, and Xerin had only rolled zer eyes. Then ze had gone ahead and used the awful unauthorised things to finish installing the framework for the new moving platform! Open disrespect for the Assistant Administrative Manager, in front of all those other miners! He had seen some of them smirk!

The very memory of it made Vir fume. He straightened his notes with extra force, waiting outside Geran’s office. She was a little late to admit him, leaving him cooling his heels in the antechamber. He noted the extra two minutes delay: a waste of his valuable time, of course. It was simply irresponsible of the Mine Management to put someone so imperfect in charge of this little mithril seam.

“Come in, Vir,” said Geran’s weary voice, and Vir marched into the room with a straight back and his notes clenched tightly in his fist. “Put them on my desk, thank you.”

Vir did so with a sense of satisfaction. Geran’s desk was very nice. She kept it in an appalling state of disorder. There were random pieces of parchment, possibly architects’ drawings or maybe calculations, scattered all over it. It was a very nice desk: when it was his, Vir would make sure it was kept clean and tidy and free of all that extraneous clutter. 

“A moment, Vir.”

Vir looked up from the desk, and said politely, “Mine Supervisor, ma’am?”

“For the millionth time, can you call me by my damned name? And I’ve some information for you.”

Vir waited, trembling. Was this it? Was he finally going to be promoted to the status his perfection deserved?

“I have,” Geran checked briefly amidst the pile of chaotic papers on her desk, “over eighty-four complaints about you in the last month alone.”

Vir snapped to attention. “Lots of slacking, Mine Supervisor Ma’am! Lots of irregularities and unauthorized mining procedures!”

“Vir, you’ve only been here a month!”

“Ma’am!” Vir barked in response.

“Look, you pompous little fluffbeard. These are miners. They know their job, and they’re damn good at it. They’re following the procedures that the Guild itself enforces, not the dumb ancient ones from a manual written in the days of Durin III,” said Geran, exasperation all over her grizzled face. “D’you know what I need? An administrative assistant, someone to keep the paperwork under control. What do I get instead? I get a tiny-brained condescending, arrogant curtain-twitcher with delusions of grandeur. If your grandfather weren’t Guildmaster you’d have been out of here on your second day.”

Vir stared at her. “If this is Xerin saying these things,” he began, heat rising in his face.

“If it were only Xerin, then I’d still have listened! But it’s not just zer, it is every single miner in this Mahal-forsaken tunnel! They’re threatening to transfer to the lodes past the Endless Stair if you stay on – I’m on the verge of facing a miner’s strike because of you!”

He puffed out his chest. “They’re threatened by-”

“Shut it. I have a present for you,” Geran interrupted him – him! She interrupted the perfect Dwarf! “And if you have any semblance of a mind, you will use it.”

Vir stared at her, his protests and justifications jumbling together, his mouth gaping open. 

“It is two books,” Geran said. “They’re on the chair by the door. Throw your notes onto the fire on the way out.”

Vir blinked a moment, and then his mouth snapped shut. He bowed, a little less deeply than he normally would. Geran was off her rocker. Sad, really, in a Dwarf so young. They should never have made her Mine Supervisor in the first place. He left his notes where they were, and spun on his heel smartly. 

The books were where she had said they were. Vir picked them up without looking, and marched with his chin held high straight into the doorjamb. He managed to find the door on the second try. He was sure it had not injured his gravitas, nor the dramatic statement he had made in his departure.

“Dignity,” he said to himself. Then he glanced down at the books. 

One was called ‘Mine Regulations: Health and Safety Procedures’. It was produced by the Guild of Miners, only the previous year.  

The other was called, ‘Stop Being a Prat and Listen to Others: Collected Complaints’. It had been bound in rags, and was obviously homemade.

Vir’s mouth went very tight and flat. 

Dignity. Stoicism and grace. Perfection, thought most of him.

Grandfather’s going to kick my arse, thought the rest of him. 

Meanwhile, out in the upper corridors, Xerin was putting the finishing touches on zer latest masterpiece. Right up near the Hollin doorway, where everyone would see it. Ze brushed off zer hands and grinned. “There. Perfect,” ze said. “That’ll bloody teach him!

END

(dedicated to anyone who has ever had to put up with a shitty little middle-manager with a Napoleon Complex ruining their work life 🙂

Alligators chased me at Disney!

notanightlight:

After what has most likely been a year of having these prompts sitting in my inbox, I am finally doing some writing on the five word prompts. It you want to read a better formatted version, it’s posted to AO3 right here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3626280/chapters/17791954

(Warning, brief scene that may be reminiscent of PTSD)

Long before they moved in together, Gimli knew that Legolas had strange sleep patterns, to say the least. In fact, he knew it before they even started dating.

The very first time he met Legolas it became apparent.

Gimli had overslept for his eight AM anthropology lecture, and was forced to sneak into the back of the lecture hall as quietly possible or face professor Peredhel’s withering glare of doom. He snagged the first open seat he saw, grateful for the measure of anonymity granted by the large class size. A glance at his watch told him the professor was at least a good twenty minutes into his lesson.

With a voiceless curse, Gimli dug into his backpack for a notebook and pencil.

“Hey,” he whispered to the guy sitting next to him, just barely audible over professor Peredhel’s droning, “Can I take a peek at your notes?”

The guy didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t appear to have noticed at all, just kept staring down at professor Peredhel’s Powerpoint slide.

If there hadn’t been a quiz scheduled for the next day, he wouldn’t have kept bothering, but as it stood Gimli really needed to get caught up. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Sorry to bug you, but I really don’t want to fall behind, and I just need a quick peek…” Gimli trailed off as he got a better look at the guy.

His classmate was the picture of relaxed boredom; tall frame slouched in his seat, pencil held loosely in lax fingers, and pale eyes staring straight ahead with an unfocused gaze. The tiniest of snores slipped past his lips.

Gimli knew his jaw was hanging open, but he didn’t really care. He gave the guy a slight poke in the side and watched in fascination as he jerked in surprise, blinking rapidly as he came back to awareness.

“What?” the guy asked, a frankly adorable confused expression on his face.

“I think you were… asleep,” Gimli replied, “with your eyes open.”

A blush spread from the guy’s cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Oh, um, yeah. That happens sometimes,” he admitted, “Thanks for waking me.”

“I was just trying to borrow your notes,” Gimli said with a wry grin.

The guy looked down at his notebook, gaze running over the trail of graphite that had traveled off the paper and onto the desk.

“I think I only got the first two slides, so I might not be much help,” he told Gimli with a sheepish smile of his own.

Gimli shrugged.

“That’s alright. This makes me feel much better about showing up late,” he replied, “I’m Gimli, by the way.”

“Legolas,” his classmate responded, “Glad to meet you, Gimli.”

And that had been the beginning of it all. Neither of them did well on the following quiz, but they began sitting together from that point on.

Gimli found Legolas to be engaging, with a wicked sense of humor and genuinely interesting outlook on life. Sure, some mornings Legolas was completely wired, and on others he was practically a zombie, but Gimli only caught him sleeping with his eyes open two other times in class. By midterm, they were firmly friends.

Over the course of their friendship, Gimli learned several other things about Legolas’s bizarre relationship with sleep. For example, Legolas sometimes went days without sleep with very few outward signs until he hit day three. Legolas was also capable of falling asleep in any place imaginable once sleep finally caught up to him.

(Gimli swore he once caught Legolas fall asleep on the way to class while still walking.)

Eventually close friendship and mutual attraction led to a romantic relationship. Which, of course, led to several more discoveries about Legolas’s sleep habits once they began sleeping together.

Gimli learned that Legolas was a bit of a sleep talker, although everything he said appeared to be in some strange language known only to Legolas’s unconscious mind.

(Legolas jerked sharply in his sleep, grabbing Gimli’s arm with an outstretched hand. “Gimli, meleth-nin—” Legolas mumbled, eyes moving restlessly behind his lids.

“Yes, yes,” Gimli said, patting Legolas’s hand fondly, “meleth to you too.”

Legolas mumbled a few more words of sleepy gibberish before settling back into restful stillness. Gimli simply shook his head, smiling as he went back to his book.)

He also learned that Legolas had a little bottle of melatonin pills that sat mostly untouched on his nightstand. They were supposed to help regulate his sleep pattern, but Legolas avoided taking them until the absolute last resort for a single reason; the dreams.

Legolas already had some of the most bizarre and vibrant dreams Gimli had ever heard about. Usually they were amusing.

(“We worked at Disney, and I think you were Donald Duck, because you had a sailor hat, but no pants. And that alligator with the clock kept trying to catch me. You know, the one that wanted to eat Captain Hook, except it want to eat me and there were like, ten of it! And every time I tried to get away I’d hear that ticking and have to start running again. It was horrible Gimli! Alligators chased me at Disney! It’s supposed to be a happy place!” Legolas explained in a rush, his hair still a tangled mess of bed head.)

But sometimes, Legolas’s dreams were unsettlingly vivid. More often than not, nights when he took his melatonin also brought these dreams with them. He called them “story dreams” because they were like walking into another life; some wild adventure from the pages of a fantasy novel. What’s more, they were consistent. Legolas described them like recalling distant memories, and always seemed to carry the echo of them around for days afterwards.

(“I had a dream about my father, except he wasn’t the father I have now,” Legolas explained, eyes distant. “He was tall, and his hair was blonde like mine. I remember he was wearing some kind crown, and his ears… There was something about his ears…”

He accepted the warm cup of tea Gimli offered him, and gave him a wan smile.

“You know, it was strange how badly I wanted him to be proud of me,” Legolas continued.

“You know your father is proud of you,” Gimli tried to assure him.

Legolas’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah, but… I wanted that one to be proud of me too.”)

Some of the story dreams were frightening in their intensity.

(Gimli was shocked into wakefulness by Legolas thrashing besides him. Legolas’s eyes were squeezed shut and his teeth gritted together painfully tight. Small distressed noises were forced from his throat as he twisted in the sheets, body as tense as a bowstring.

Gimli flicked on the bedside lamp in a hurry, flooding their bedroom with light.

“Legolas! Legolas!”

Legolas snapped into wakefulness with a gasp.

“Gimli?” His eyes frantically sought out Gimli’s, breath coming in hard pants.

“I’m here, I’m here. You’re alright,” Gimli tried to soothe him, pulling Legolas into his arms.

Legolas shivered under his palms.

“We were in a battle in the rain,” Legolas began, letting the events of that night’s dream tumble out in a rush. “We were fighting an army of monsters, and there was blood everywhere. People were dying, and we had to just keep fighting over their fallen bodies. It was awful, Gimli! We were losing, I knew we were losing and that we were going to die in this place. And then I couldn’t find you anywhere, Gimli! I didn’t even know if you were still—”

Legolas cut himself off viciously, clinging to Gimli tighter as his shoulders shook.

“It was just a dream, Love. We’re safe,” Gimli promised, glaring at the little bottle of pills sitting innocuously on the nightstand.

“Just a dream.”)

When Gimli woke up, Legolas was already sitting up on the side of the bed, staring out the window. He was very still, but his body was relaxed.

“Legolas?”

Legolas took a deep breath.

“You were old, Gimli,” Legolas explained, already knowing the next question that would be asked, “Your beard was long again, but this time it was as white as the snow. We were living in a small house. I think we built it, even. And I could see the ocean from the window…”

Gimli moved to sit next to his boyfriend, but didn’t interrupt. He simply smoothed some of the long hair out of Legolas’s face. It was so much longer than it was when they first met. He’d never asked why Legolas decided to grow it out.

“For some reason, I knew I was going to outlive you. But there was such a sense of peace, Gimli. Like we were just savoring every moment we had together. I think we’d been together for decades.”

Gimli didn’t know what to say. He just looked at the small wistful smile on Legolas’s face and wished, not for the first time, that he could somehow have a window into this private world of his. Despite all of the pain the dreams could bring there was something about the depth of the happier ones.

It was a pointless wish, though.

They were only dreams.

END.

“Well, that was certainly different.”

notanightlight:

Another prompt finally done! This has a slight mention of something naughty I guess? As always, a better formatted version can be read right here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3626280/chapters/17948872

“Well, that was certainly different,” Daegal said as he reentered the feast hall. His voice carried far enough over the din of the hall to reach his companions, despite the slight quaver to it.

He took a seat between Alden and Hammid, gratefully accepting a flag on of strong Rohirrim ale.

“What?” Hammid asked, thankfully waiting until Daegal had taken a long drink, “I thought you were going to go invite our esteemed guests to drink with us tonight.”

“You did find them, didn’t you?” Alden added.

Daegal nodded, roughly wiping away the foam still clinging to his mustache.

“Oh I found them,” he said, staring deeply into his flagon, “finding them wasn’t the problem.”

Alden gave him a sharp nudge in the side.

“Well?”

Daegal took another fortifying drink of ale before he could be cajoled into telling his tale.

“King Elessar was in discussions with Lord Éomer, King, so he could not be invited to join us,” he said.

“Not much different about that,” Hammid said, crossing his arms with a dismissive snort.

“I never said that was the different part!” Daegal replied indignantly.

“You implied it!” Hammid shot back.

“It’s background,” Daegal said, gesturing with his flagon, “It’s important to give the tale some context!”

“Just get on with the story!” Alden quickly cut in before Hammid could come up with another rejoinder.

“What story, now?” came a new voice.

Alden groaned, slumping in his seat and muttering to himself about no one ever being able to tell a straight story in this hall.

Orva ignored him, setting down the plate of roast pork she’d retrieved with a flourish before taking a seat herself. She raised an eyebrow in Daegal’s direction, snagging a piece for herself.

“Weren’t you going to supposed to be getting our guests?” she asked.

“I was just explaining that.”

“Poorly,” Hammid added.

“Just let him talk!” Alden begged, dropping his head into his hand.

Hammid made a ‘well, go ahead’ gesture with his hand.

“As I was just saying,” Daegal said, pausing to clear his throat. “Elessar was in conversation so I went to find Masters Elf and Dwarf, but they were also… busy…”

Daegal trailed off, quickly taking another deep drink of his ale.

“You tell terrible stories, mate,” Hammid grumbled, turning his full attention to the roast pork.

“Busy, how?” Orva prompted, as she licked her fingers clean.

Daegal sputtered over some words, growing red in the face as he searched for a right way to explain. Finally, he set his flagon aside, folding his hands in front of him.

“You have heard that Elves are also considered to be great riders,” he began.

Hammid groaned, but Alden reached over to give him a smack before he could begin complaining about the digression.

“But they do not always ride horses,” he continued.

“Mph!” Orva exclaimed, quickly swallowing her bite of food.

“Yes! I’ve heard that one of the Elvish kings rides a huge stag, with antlers wider than your arms can spread!”

“Not a stag, either,” Daegal muttered, turning even redder.

That earned him another sharp nudge in the side.

“Well?”

“Tonight I learned that our Master Elf is apparently quite skilled at riding a Dwarf.”

Alden stared at him, mouth agape in shock.

“Now that certainly is different!” Hammid admitted, clapping Daegal on the back.

Or a leaned forward with a grin.

“I like this story. Go on.”

End.

diemarysues:

determamfidd answered your question: now for something completely different send me…

Gigolas fluff, teaching each other their customs and/or language? 🙂

oof that reminds me I need to finish that dancing fic whoops sorry bb

“This,” he said, voice flat, “is not music.”

“Your ears, o’ princeling,” Gimli said, tweaking the one closest to him, “are as untrained as they are pointy.”

Ignoring the thrill at the touch, Legolas feigned annoyance. “It’s merely that I am not deaf, unlike you.” He put his nose in the air. “Otherwise your mind must be addled to appreciate such noise.”

But Gimli only chuckled and motioned that they continue listening to flutes and fiddles being played in a way that was utterly unfamiliar to Legolas. The tempo was quicker than he was used to, and the rhythmic stamping was simultaneously distracting and fitting. He didn’t understand it.

He chose to stop trying to do so, instead focusing on the way Gimli’s fingers tapped against his knee. It was obvious that he enjoyed what was being played, but Legolas wondered if he could play as well. Gimli’s hands were talented and strong, able to wield many weapons with skill but also able to form beautiful things like the delicate hair clasp Legolas currently wore.

The image of thick fingers curled around the neck came unbidden to Legolas’ mind; he could somehow see the violin tucked beneath Gimli’s chin (though would his beard get in the way?), and Gimli’s other hand delicately carried the bow as he coaxed sweet notes in an arrangement more suited to Legolas’ tastes.

Hmm. That was a plan. He would first enquire about Gimli’s skills with a musical instrument – it wasn’t too farfetched to consider that it might be more than one instrument – and request a demonstration. Then he would be able to determine what music – Elvish music, actual music – to introduce to Gimli in turn, ostensibly to share his culture but in truth to plant a seed of suggestion of Gimli one day playing for him.

Who knew, perhaps even Dwarvish music might sound good at the hands of his Dwarf.

AUGH I LOVE IT ULSJGDLJHS OH MY GOODNESS legolas, such an imagination!!! And I love that he just doesn’t get Dwarvish music, but is still going ‘oooooh, wonder what he could play’ THAT IS LOVELY AHHH

also, perfectly, beautifully, gorgeously characterised AUGH *hugs ficlet to heart*

THANK YOU!!!!

kooriicolada:

there’s a lot of fic where dwarves talk about adorning their lovers in jewels and precious metals but…how about more fic that’s the other way around

what about legolas talking to gimli of weaving a circlet for him out of silver birch and red maple leaves

about twining sprigs of unripe berries into his beard like wild-grown natural beads

so after reblogging this earlier, the image wouldn’t leave me HAVE A FICLET

“No idea which way I’m pointed,” Gimli mumbled, stumping along after Legolas and nearly tripping over a tree root. Fangorn did not feel welcoming to him. Neither did it feel hostile – perhaps Treebeard had had a word with the trees hereabouts – but it certainly wasn’t the most Dwarf-friendly place he’d ever been. 

Furthermore, Gimli had absolutely no way of knowing which way he was going. The canopy was old and thick, the branches gnarled and twisted in strange ways that seemed to bend what little thin daylight came trickling down to him, tricking the eye. He could not have pointed to the sun if his life depended upon it, and he might have been walking in circles for hours, for all he knew. 

Well, if it weren’t for the Elf flitting some distance ahead, that is. 

Legolas apparently knew exactly where he was going. Gimli now began to understand how he had felt in the glittering caves of Helm’s Deep, disoriented and strange and out-of-place, entirely dependent upon Gimli for a sure path. He led the way with exuberant joy, snatches of bright song now and then spilling from his lips. Gimli had once twitted the Elf about his incessant singing, but now he eagerly pricked his ears for more. 

Legolas was also apparently half-squirrel. 

Every few hundred yards he would leap into the branches of some ancient tree, crooning and placing his hands upon its bark with complete reverence. Which was exactly what he was doing now.

Gimli propped himself underneath the tree, and resigned himself to a short spell of waiting. His fingers twitched for his pipe – but no. The disapproval he could feel all around always intensified at the first spark of flame, and so he had learned to wait without a smoke, while Legolas told the thing whatever it was he was telling it. 

“What one’s that?” he said, and he scratched idly at his neck as Legolas murmured and whispered to his latest choice, a tree with white ghostly bark, split into two trunks at the soil and reaching straight and tall for the sky beyond.

“She’s young,” said Legolas, and he swung around in one smooth motion to hang upside down by his knees upon a branch. His hair fell in a sheet under his head, and his eyes sparkled with delight. Had Gimli been thus, under the White Mountains? “She’s so young, compared to the others, a child between these ancient trunks. Barely one hundred and forty summers has she seen, and she is full of chat and gossip…”

“Aye, you’ve been up there for a while now,” Gimli grinned, and he tugged at the end of Legolas’ hair. “But that’s not my question. What is -she?”

“She likes she,” Legolas said, nodding. “And she is a silver birch, such as those that grow upon the ridges of Dale and in the northern reaches of Greenwood. I wonder how she came here?”

“Perhaps a nosy Elf wandered through one hundred and forty years past, eh?”

“Or perhaps a Dwarf,” Legolas countered, and he sat himself upright again upon his branch. “Or were your people not scattered throughout the kingdoms at that time?”

True. “In that case, perhaps we are of an age,” Gimli said, and he bowed to the tree. “Greetings, leafy lassie. You’re welcome to share my birth-day, if you wish. Here’s to many more, for both of us.”

Legolas’ eyes softened. “Quite.” Then he cocked his head, and smiled. “She likes you.”

“She what?” Gimli blinked, shocked. He’d thought these overgrown vegetables only listened to Elvish as spoken by Elves, rather than the coarse Westron joke of an Ereborean Dwarf.

“She can hear you, meleth,” Legolas said, and his smile broadened. 

“With what? She doesn’t have any ears!” Gimli said, exasperated.

“Nay, trees do not need them.” And with that cryptic statement, Legolas was off and clambering higher into the birch’s thin straight boughs.

Gimli watched him go, his face still screwed up in disbelief. Then he glanced at the white trunk, and gingerly reached out with one massive hand. The bark was smooth, hard. Warm, under these windless leaves. “Um. You’re not a bad sort yourself, lassie.”

The tense, watchful atmosphere lessened, ever so slightly.

“Ach,” Gimli said to himself, and shook his head. “I’m going as daft as Legolas.”

“I can hear you too!” came Legolas’ voice, floating back down through the branches. 

Gimli chuckled. “Good, you were meant to!”

“Quarrelsome Dwarf!”

“Ridiculous Elf!”

“Do you know, she doesn’t know what a Dwarf is?” Legolas’ legs came into view, and he dropped down onto the leaf-litter. “She thought you a particularly short Elf.”

“Cheek!” Gimli snorted, and patted the bark again. “That’s all right, lassie, you didn’t know any better. But this proves that she was not ever planted by a wandering Dwarf – not that one would stray into Fangorn for any reason.”

“You did and have,” Legolas laughed. He was doing something busy with his hands behind Gimli’s head.

“Ah, well, I’m going daft, remember?” Gimli smiled at Legolas, and gave the tree one last final, fond pat. “Nice to meet you too, lassie. Make a note of it, now! Do remember that Dwarves are not Elves, an’ I’d take it as a kindness.”

“That they are not,” Legolas agreed. There was a note of mischief to his tone.

And he dropped whatever it was he had been working on upon Gimli’s head. It made him start in surprise, and his hand rose to feel about his crown. The crisping rustle of leaves greeted his touch. Bringing it down before his eyes, he saw a circlet of woven white wood, the twigs as thin as Legolas’ smallest finger. Small young green-grey leaves clustered upon it. 

“What’s this?” he said.

“A gift,” Legolas said, and kissed him, swift as a darting swallow from its nest. 

Then he was off, leaping into the forest once more and singing gaily.

“A gift?” Gimli glanced back at the birch, which swayed gently in a breeze he could not feel. “Oh.”

Within seconds Legolas was out of sight, mad dancing fey thing that he was. Gimli could hear his song, soaring out of the trees, beckoning him on. He carefully placed the wreath back upon his head, and gave the birch another little bow, trying not to feel silly (and failing). 

“Thank you, lassie,” he murmured. 

And then he shook his head and wrapped himself in as much sensible dwarvishness as he possibly could. “Legolas! Wait!”

They camped by a river-side that night, and Gimli lit no fire. Instead, Legolas curled inside Gimli’s blanket, and lay his own cloak over them both. The creak of wood surrounded them, and the small soft noises of night-animals.

“Why did you make the circlet, love?” Gimli said, and turned slightly in the circle of Legolas’ arms. “A gift, you said.”

Legolas had been gazing up into the highest branches above, as though he could feel the stars beyond so many leaves. He blinked, and then his arms tightened around Gimli, fingers burying themselves in his beard. “I asked her, your ‘Lassie’, if she would allow me some of her new growth for it,” he said. 

“Why?” Gimli asked, bluntly. He’d discovered that Elves never gave straight answers to straight questions, and so he would have to ask at least twice before he had the answer he sought. 

“Because, she was a silver birch.” Legolas said, and his voice slowed in puzzlement. Then he said, “oh, you would not know!”

“Legolas,” Gimli said, with all the patience he possessed. It was not a vast quantity. 

“It is a custom of ours,” Legolas said, and his fingers carded through the soft warm waves of Gimli’s beard. Legolas could never seem to get enough of touching Gimli’s beard, of sinking his hands into the thick luxuriousness of it, of combing it and braiding it and even washing it. Gimli enjoyed it at most times, but not when he had a burning curiosity. “Different trees and fruits may symbolise different things, and we adorn ourselves and our loved ones thus to send a message…”

“Ohhh, so it is like our tattoos?” Gimli exclaimed in realisation. “Well, you could have just said.”

“I did!”

“Eventually.”

“Stop arguing, elen nin,” Legolas said, fond and soft, and he kissed behind Gimli’s ear. “It is not precisely like your tattoos and marks and metal.”

“Oh?”

“Well, ours may be changed with the seasons.”

“I can take out my piercings, got a set with sapphires in ‘em back in my drawers at home.”

Legolas pinched his side. “Not what I meant.” Then he paused. “I should like to see them on you.”

Bet you would, Gimli thought with no small amount of smug satisfaction. “Tell me how these symbols can change, then.”

Legolas blew out a breath, but accepted the gentle reminder to stay on track. “You have seen my father’s woodland crown?”

“Aye, often wondered if he’s not picking leaves out of his hair at every bath.” Then Gimli’s eyebrows shot up, and he rolled over to look at Legolas. “Oh!”

“You see it now?” Legolas was beaming at him, and with his hair unbound and his skin gleaming in the darkness he seemed more a creature of the forest than the half-squirrel of the daylight hours. “Here-”

And he placed the crown back upon Gimli’s head, and arranged it until it sat to his liking, tucking it under loops of his hair to hold it in place. Then he propped himself upon his elbow to gaze down upon Gimli with naked tenderness. 

“I should thread the newest berries into your beard,” he murmured, and took hold of Gimli’s furred cheeks and kissed him. “Hard and unripe, they would make the glossiest beads of all, shinier than pearls – and in such colours as pearls never came! Beads from the earth itself, made by no hand and set into that river of red, they should look wondrous indeed. Brightest green, blushing to rose, to show all that you are generous as well as kind. Silver Birch, for truth and new beginnings, for renewal and the cleansing of the past.”

His voice darkened. “And maple leaves, woven through your hair, my love.”

Gimli’s lips were a little dry, as they always were when Legolas began his loving talk. “Maple?” he said, and Mahal below did his voice truly just crack, or was it a tree moving in the shadows?

“Wisdom,” Legolas said, soft as the air moving under the timeless eaves of the ancient forest. He bent and kissed Gimli’s brow. “Strength, incomparable and unparalleled,” he whispered, and laid another lingering kiss upon his shoulder, over the thick black lines of ink there. “And balance.”

Gimli swallowed, and tilted his chin, lifting his mouth for the final kiss.

~fin~

courtugger:

for the lovely Dets because i’m in Merilin/Selga hell.

so is Selga. heh.

image

–

Merilin swooped in to catch Selga as she fell from where she had been strung up. The Angel lowered them both to the ground in a way that wouldn’t disturb the witch’s injuries. Her skin was sunken in and sallow, bruises and cuts littered her flesh. She was missing fingers, a few toes, an ear and something had cut her breasts from her body. Her warm, sticky blood stuck to robes Merilin had worn for millennia.

The Angel couldn’t be bothered by it.

A distinct ache settled in her chest as she peered down at Selga.

Her hair had been shorn close to her skull and was patchy in some places. The witch would be annoyed; she had always hated her hair short. Merilin ran her hand through the soft tufts-

-only to close her eyes at what she felt.

There were scabs on her scalp and fresh cuts too. Some oozed blood, others were releasing puss from infection.

Merilin swallowed hard.

“Sister.”

She didn’t raise her eyes at first. They stung and it felt like a weight was crushing her chest. It took Laerophen’s long, slender fingers grasping at her shoulders to make her look away. “Yes, brother.”

“We cannot hold the defenses for long. If you are going to attempt this rescue to the fullest, now would be the time,” no sooner were the words out of his mouth, he had turned and grabbed a demon by the throat. The creature, with distended belly and gangly limbs, screamed in agony as white light filled the cavern.

It slumped to the ground dead.

“I cannot heal her.”

Merilin tried again, tried to let the energy given to her by their Father flow through her and into the mortal. It reverted, the energy rebounding and smacking her in the chest. She could feel Selga’s pain, every fracture and break in her bones.

Her jaw was horribly disfigured, probably dislocated or broken. Something had broken her cheek bone on the left side. Femur, hip, collarbone, a part of her back. The list of her injuries was far longer than Merilin wanted to think about.

“We’re in Hell. Aside from our defenses,” Laerophen’s sentence was cut off as he swung a sword of energy through another beast. He continued, “none of our Heavenly abilities will work down here.”

“I’m going to save her.”

His blue eyes were distinctly sad. “You will fall.”

With no discernable effort, she hefted the witch’s broken body into her arms. Despite the horrible situation, the position, holding Selga. It felt right. Like the mortal had been made to fit in her arms.

Merilin’s obsidian wings stretched out in the dim light and her only answer was a glance in her brother’s direction. “I will miss you. But this is my choice.”

FFFFFFFFFFFF HOW DID I MISS THIS

YOU POSTED ITTTTT IT BREAKS ME INTO BITTY BITS

AUUUUGH MY HEART NOOO