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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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★
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
taylor price
almost home
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
RMH
Kiana Khansmith
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Cosmic Funnies
Cosimo Galluzzi
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Noah Kahan
Jules of Nature
Xuebing Du
Origami Around
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@highbornlowtide
indie, selective falmar OC from the silmarillion. follows back from valar-critical. hi! i'm sid, and i've been roleplaying on tumblr on-and-off for over a decade.
carrd <- rules, verses, etc valar-critical <- my feanor depiction sidmarillion <- multimuse blog minglinger <- main/shitposting blog
pfp is by the delightful @asinoeiv
my dear sea jewel
artfight attack for @sidmarillion’s volwe :) if you read our lame threads the text is from that
My dear sea jewel,
I know you have not departed yet, but I wished to write something for you for when you are at last away. Tomorrow could not come any slower; I dread the rising of the sun, the opening of your eyes, though I long to look into them all the same. I know you are loyal to the Lord of Waters and his cause, just as I am to mine, and yet still I wish there could be a world where they do not shackle us to a fate where we must be apart.
I wish you would stay with me, Volwë. Though you sleep here peacefully, I know you will be away soon, and already I mourn for the days I must spend away from your company. How have you managed to capture my heart so utterly? Each moment you are not beside me is like a thousand years of torment, and each moment there is a piece of me missing; I am incomplete without you. If only we may be together, not relegated to these fleeting moments of intimacy.
I am in love with the way you laugh, the jokes you make, unfunny as they are. I am in love with your love for that fish of yours, and your passion for all the useless things in Arda. I am in love with your beauty, your kindness, your patience. I am even in love with how you snore, your tacky sense of fashion, even your love for stale breads and poor quality cheeses. Each time we meet again I fall in love with you all over again. I wish I did not have to mourn you when you are away, but at least the time spent apart makes me love you more.
I hope this will not have to be forever. I hope that one day, both our duties will be fulfilled, and then we can finally build the life we want. You said when we were younger that you wanted a cabin by the shores, away from the crown and away from your responsibilities. I hope we can have that.
There is so much more I can speak of, but I do not want to risk you waking up and seeing your arms empty. I hope that in hard times, my words may at least keep you company. I love you, Volwë.
Yours forever,
Curufinwë
p.s. Stop snoring.
Volwë read the letter many times in the days that followed. Though he was traveling across land unsettled and unexplored, and wished to keep the precious words safe for many long years yet, he kept risking them by drawing them out of the document wraps in his saddle bag and reading again. His fingers even traced some of the words (my dear sea jewel), a great sin to preservers of documents, for it left the oils of the skin and the grime of travel on the page where over time they would decay.
He couldn’t stop himself. He reread the letter by flickering firelight and in dappled afternoon sun, in the halls of Menegroth and in a farmer’s cottage in the Falas, and every time was like a new revelation.
It was in Eglarest some weeks later that he finally had the time and ink to respond.
Beloved Curwë,
You succeeded; I only found your letter the first night of my journey toward Arossiach, when I was making camp. I read it while I drank the wine you insisted I take, wearing the pendant you insisted I take, after brushing and feeding the horse you insisted I take. If I were half as generous with forgiveness as you are with your wealth, we would not have fought at the Mereth Aderthad at all. But then, we may have had no need to make up, and what a dark thought that is! I will write no more of such terrible things.
I remember waking the morning after you wrote to me and finding my arms were not empty at all. You had returned to them without my knowledge, just as you said in your letter, and I recall thinking that you seemed to glow in the early rays of sunlight, as if with the inner fire of the Noldor. I wished never to let go of you, but knew in the same breath I must.
It is impossible to know how this happened. We did not love each other in Valinor, did we? There we were selfish and playful youths, heedless of danger, for it hardly existed. I must believe, too, that you did not yet love me during the Darkening. Was it the fight? One day I found you brilliant and arrogant, and the next I found the arrogance endearing and the brilliance as necessary to me as air and water.
Our fates may lead us apart, but I hope that you will always take a moment to think of me at dusk, when the sun completes its arduous journey across the sky and returns to the embrace of the sea.
Yours,
Volwë Olovando
p.s. You snore, too. Perhaps no one has been brave enough to tell you (though with six brothers and an ex-wife who hates you, I doubt that). I don’t want to hear a word about my snoring until you stop shaking everything in the room all night.
Kawase Hasui(川瀬巴水), Night Sea, 1930 (possibly a detail)
more
another one of my lil guys, this time an OC (…sort of; Olwë is said to have multiple sons as well as his daughter Earwen, but only one son, Elulindo, is named in any draft, so I made up another). I RP him at @highbornlowtide. His full bio is at https://volwe.carrd.co/#dossier
x x x x x x x x x
I headcanon the Teleri have a yearly festival dedicated to the hatching of sea turtles. I will share longer thoughts later but in the meantime, here's a board <3
-shows picture of tully monster- "do you know him"
"I am not quite old enough to know him. I wish I was! I have often thought elves could use a proboscis with pincers. I would use mine to catch and eat fish, as they did."
@peasant-player asked for a reverse mermaid curufin and so i deliver ✨
“You don’t-“
He sighed, exasperated, wondering whether or not there is still a point to this conversation. Volwë did not understand, did he? It would be easier if he hated Volwë, then at least he would be spared from these feelings he now wished had not remained. Perhaps they were dissipating as they spoke, or perhaps he was simply tired—but what good will came with the love he held too slowly drained away. “What point is there whether or not they cast me out? Why do you care? I am hardly the most important to show good will to, seeing as I am neither the king, nor the crown prince, nor the firstborn of Fëanárë. If you wish to carry out your duties, find Nelyafinwë, not I.”
Curufin wished he had not returned. It seemed almost funny, now, that he had worried about what others thought of him, secluded himself to Formenos to avoid these judgements, when it was clear now there was no point to any of it. What was he to do when looking at Volwë tore a new wound in his heart, when he knew he would be spending the rest of his days wishing the past had been different? They could be friends, perhaps, but what meaning did it have if each time he saw Volwë smile fondly he now knew it was not because of him?
“You would not understand, Volwë. You ask me to wound myself so that you and she may be happy, and I cannot do such a thing. There is no hatred between us because I love you, and I should not, and it would be far easier for us both if I hated you. Just- go. Leave me. Go, so my memories of you at least may still be fond.”
For a moment, Volwë considered acting. He had seconds to act before Curufin left, and he supposed he'd never be able to find him again once he did. If he could just do something terrible now, something unforgiveable, maybe, maybe he could give Curufin the easy way out. Maybe he could make Curufin hate him. He'd rather see the fire back in his eyes, even at his own expense.
But he couldn't think of anything worse than what had already happened.
"No," he said, numb. "I don't want you to wound yourself. Not now, or ever. Don't leave. I will."
And he did.
rubs soothing circles on the others back while they cry. - @honeyedstxrlight tehehe
non-verbal actions || accepting
“…and then he pushed me, physically, away from him. I didn't expect it at all. I was so happy to see him, Aurindë, when for all we knew he would be in Mandos until the Dagorath. And he was in love with me the whole time? I've ruined his life!...more than it was already ruined! His second life!"
Volwë's face has left three big wet spots on Aurë's dress: two for his eyes and one for his mouth.
Valar, what an infuriatingly reasonable answer. Trying to have an argument of any kind with the other was often like this, Curufin remembered that well—Volwë could always manage to say something so compromising, considering your feelings just enough to know what you want to hear, never enough to still give what you want.
Curufin could only wonder then whether he was in the wrong for wishing for something different. It was not as though he had not expected Volwë to have moved on already; he could imagine no universe where the other returned as he had now yet his hand still remained free. But neither could he imagine a universe where he himself simply moves on, acting as though there had never been anything between them. In every universe, then, he would suffer for it, for in every universe he would have waited, foolishly hoping their hearts would not change even when the world they both knew had—figuratively and literally—disappeared.
His ears shifted, falling lower than even their normal position, for the simple act of keeping them pinned just so felt too much an ask for his strength. “You may not be, but what choice is there for me save to remain the same?” No, there was no changing a kinslayer, or so the reembodied peoples said. Not this one. “I’m still a kinslayer to them. Still the one who sent Ingoldo to his doom, still the kidnapper of Doriath’s jewel. If I must hold onto the past, then I’ll hold onto what I should’ve pursued long ago. And now I-”
He was so tired. So very, very tired of chasing an impossible, so tired of all he wanted being that impossible.
“…how do you expect me to have you in my life then?” No longer did his voice have that sharp edge it always carried, and he spoke softer now, slower. “Stand on the sidelines and smile as you prance off with your new bride? Be happy that I am even an afterthought? Yes, perhaps I’ll reconcile with my ‘wife’, too, if she will have me. Let none of Aman be unhappy in heart and unwed against their desires. I’ll pretend I am included, if it pleases you.”
“That would not please me,” Volwë said, “nor would it please you or Mórindil, but I think you know that. You are trying to make me angry at you, because that's easier to understand, and you could feel justified in cutting yourself off if I was angry. But it wouldn’t be the truth. Curufin—will you sit with me now? Are you done shoving?—my wife is not the only person I care about. I am not so consumed by love for her that there's no room for anyone else. I have a family in Alqualondë; they aren't shut out because of Aurë. You aren't either. No, you and I aren't wed, but remember that we did not know, at the end of the First Age, whether any Feanorian would ever be allowed to return. That's...when your grandfather was in that situation, he...you know."
A little pause.
"The question of how kinslayers are treated is more difficult. If they knew you as I know you, they wouldn't cast you out. And that...that might mean that..." Volwë made an effort not to grit his teeth. "I need to actually act as a prince for once and show everyone that there is no hatred between us. Or...none from me toward you. But you, Curufin? Do you hate me?"
03. pushes the other away with more force than necessary.
non-verbal actions || accepting
Volwë would not ordinarily be easily pushed around by Curufin, of all people, but since he was completely and utterly shocked to be shoved, he stumbled backwards a step or two before catching and righting himself.
“What was that?” he demanded, brow furrowed. “It was thousands of years before you were re-embodied, and this is how you react to seeing an old friend, and hearing the good news that he has married? What has gotten into you?”
Old friend. Old friend. Ah, how that word stung, and reminded him just why he had chosen this life rather than reintegration, proved that everything he had feared was right. Curufin had spent the past seven thousand hateful years thinking of Volwë, of whether or not the other had abandoned him in his heart. Seven thousand years spent wishing to see him again, to hold his hands, tell him he loved him more than the silmarils and the Oath. All the words he should’ve said and never did, the things they should’ve done and never had.
And now Volwë was here. Married. Married to a woman he had once called friend.
“Into me? What has gotten into you?!”
He tried to keep his voice flat, to keep his emotions from spilling over, but whether or not it was effective was another matter entirely. “How fast did it take for you to discard me? Once word had reached you of my death? ‘Ah, how well it is that Curufinwë has perished, so now I may chase the woman who had my heart all this time.’ Did you love her all this time? Did you love her when I was still living?”
All the years he spent alone meant nothing. His wait meant nothing. Never before had Curufin feel like such a fool. “Had you waited for me to die?”
Volwë had expected his reunion with Curufin to be much like his reunions with other friends and lovers of the past: a little awkward, possibly easing into warmth as they became reacquainted, possibly staying uncomfortable as they realized they had little in common anymore. Neither scenario was unlikely, among an immortal people; these reunions happened every day. What he had not expected was Curufin speaking as if…
“Wait for you to die?” he repeated slowly. “Discard you? You…it’s been…human empires have risen and fallen since the last time we were together.”
Now that he thought about it, he had an ancient grudge of his own. “Moríndil has more claim to you than you have to me. And you married her while we were still together in Aman, in case you forgot.”
Human empires, fleeting a thing they are, rising and falling. History changing around him, as the world he knew changed and disappeared. He loved Volwë through all of it, hoped that they could be something again when they again met. He had thought of a thousand different ways to apologize, a thousand ways to say I love you, none of them good enough.
And none of it mattered. None of that mattered. “Mórindil?! You- I did not want to marry her! She did not want to marry me! You… you marry Auriel, you marry her because you wanted to, after my convenient death and you dare bring up my hateful union neither of us wished for?”
Tears pricked at Curufin’s eyes, burnibg as they threatened to spill. He tried to blink them back, to stop his body from shaking with grief and resentment. “I did not love her. She did not love me. I… I loved you, Volwë.”
Volwë had seen thousands of years of surprising things by now, millennia uninterrupted by death and re-embodiment. He was still unsure whether he had ever been as taken aback as he was now.
“You—what? You never said you—it’s—it’s been so long,” he stammered. “Loved me? I know very well that your marriage was not what you wanted, but I didn’t know you—”
His words ended in a choke as he fought back the sting of tears. Usually, he let himself cry freely as he felt the need, but he couldn’t do that now; he had people who loved him, and he could cry with them later. But Curufin looked so terribly alone, in such pain, and this was the one thing Volwë could not offer him any comfort about.
But he could give him the plain truth.
“Your death wasn’t convenient. Do you think I wanted you and my cousins to kill one another? It was terrible. It was the end of everything good in Beleriand; all fell to ruin. I didn’t even know Aurë survived Gondolin, in that time. I grieved you, and her, and everyone we lost in those years, for all the Second Age of Arda and most of the Third. I only met her again in Imladris—that was Elrond’s seat in Endorë in the Third Age. I was never waiting for you to die. I didn’t even know of your feelings. I never intended to hurt you, Curufin.”
How it was that Volwë did not know Curufin could not even imagine. Had he not made it obvious, at least in life? Each word Volwë spoke was like a small droplet of water on his smouldering anger; it spat, sizzled, smoked, but eventually was reduced to only sorrow. He knew he should’ve said something sooner, and he had realized how much a fool he had been when the Nirnaeth Arnoediad had finally driven the reat of them from their homes, when even Himring, once thought impenetrable, had fallen to the Enemy’s forces. He should’ve said something before, and now it was too late.
Yet the sorrow did not fill his heart quite as the rage did, and once his mind had simmered down, Curufin had never quite so lonely as he did now.
“But you… we-” When Curufin looked to Volwë again, his eyes had softened, and the tension held in his body had relaxed—yet now he seemed tired beyond his years, as though the same sickening exhaustion which had once claimed Míriel in the Undying Lands was now too setting upon him. “We had something before all of this, did we not? Did we not- dance on the beach, and… and laid beneath the stars, and listened to the waves, and… you… was none of that…”
Over six thousand years of waiting, and it all meant nothing. Whether he wished to laugh or cry, he didn’t know. “What were we then? What are we now?”
Volwë thought about that for a moment, but he thought more about how Curufin looked so alone and afraid. It wasn’t as though he would be making new friends, or reuniting with many from the past. Kinslayers were, if not exactly outcasts, disliked in Valinor. They had only become less liked when Doriathrim had began to return to life. Not everyone had had Volwë’s experience of witnessing the depth of Curufin’s remorse firsthand.
His eyes filled with tears again.
“We were lovers then,” he said quietly, “during a war that felt like the end of the world. Now, we’re people who used to be lovers and still care about each other deeply, if not in exactly the same way. But we are not the same as we were then, either, are we? So much has happened. What has stayed the same over the years is that you were missed. If you decide you can’t forgive me, I will understand; but my life will be the poorer for not having you in it.”
03. pushes the other away with more force than necessary.
non-verbal actions || accepting
Volwë would not ordinarily be easily pushed around by Curufin, of all people, but since he was completely and utterly shocked to be shoved, he stumbled backwards a step or two before catching and righting himself.
“What was that?” he demanded, brow furrowed. “It was thousands of years before you were re-embodied, and this is how you react to seeing an old friend, and hearing the good news that he has married? What has gotten into you?”
Old friend. Old friend. Ah, how that word stung, and reminded him just why he had chosen this life rather than reintegration, proved that everything he had feared was right. Curufin had spent the past seven thousand hateful years thinking of Volwë, of whether or not the other had abandoned him in his heart. Seven thousand years spent wishing to see him again, to hold his hands, tell him he loved him more than the silmarils and the Oath. All the words he should’ve said and never did, the things they should’ve done and never had.
And now Volwë was here. Married. Married to a woman he had once called friend.
“Into me? What has gotten into you?!”
He tried to keep his voice flat, to keep his emotions from spilling over, but whether or not it was effective was another matter entirely. “How fast did it take for you to discard me? Once word had reached you of my death? ‘Ah, how well it is that Curufinwë has perished, so now I may chase the woman who had my heart all this time.’ Did you love her all this time? Did you love her when I was still living?”
All the years he spent alone meant nothing. His wait meant nothing. Never before had Curufin feel like such a fool. “Had you waited for me to die?”
Volwë had expected his reunion with Curufin to be much like his reunions with other friends and lovers of the past: a little awkward, possibly easing into warmth as they became reacquainted, possibly staying uncomfortable as they realized they had little in common anymore. Neither scenario was unlikely, among an immortal people; these reunions happened every day. What he had not expected was Curufin speaking as if…
“Wait for you to die?” he repeated slowly. “Discard you? You…it’s been…human empires have risen and fallen since the last time we were together.”
Now that he thought about it, he had an ancient grudge of his own. “Moríndil has more claim to you than you have to me. And you married her while we were still together in Aman, in case you forgot.”
Human empires, fleeting a thing they are, rising and falling. History changing around him, as the world he knew changed and disappeared. He loved Volwë through all of it, hoped that they could be something again when they again met. He had thought of a thousand different ways to apologize, a thousand ways to say I love you, none of them good enough.
And none of it mattered. None of that mattered. “Mórindil?! You- I did not want to marry her! She did not want to marry me! You… you marry Auriel, you marry her because you wanted to, after my convenient death and you dare bring up my hateful union neither of us wished for?”
Tears pricked at Curufin’s eyes, burnibg as they threatened to spill. He tried to blink them back, to stop his body from shaking with grief and resentment. “I did not love her. She did not love me. I… I loved you, Volwë.”
Volwë had seen thousands of years of surprising things by now, millennia uninterrupted by death and re-embodiment. He was still unsure whether he had ever been as taken aback as he was now.
“You—what? You never said you—it’s—it’s been so long,” he stammered. “Loved me? I know very well that your marriage was not what you wanted, but I didn’t know you—”
His words ended in a choke as he fought back the sting of tears. Usually, he let himself cry freely as he felt the need, but he couldn’t do that now; he had people who loved him, and he could cry with them later. But Curufin looked so terribly alone, in such pain, and this was the one thing Volwë could not offer him any comfort about.
But he could give him the plain truth.
“Your death wasn’t convenient. Do you think I wanted you and my cousins to kill one another? It was terrible. It was the end of everything good in Beleriand; all fell to ruin. I didn’t even know Aurë survived Gondolin, in that time. I grieved you, and her, and everyone we lost in those years, for all the Second Age of Arda and most of the Third. I only met her again in Imladris—that was Elrond’s seat in Endorë in the Third Age. I was never waiting for you to die. I didn’t even know of your feelings. I never intended to hurt you, Curufin.”
03. pushes the other away with more force than necessary.
non-verbal actions || accepting
Volwë would not ordinarily be easily pushed around by Curufin, of all people, but since he was completely and utterly shocked to be shoved, he stumbled backwards a step or two before catching and righting himself.
“What was that?” he demanded, brow furrowed. “It was thousands of years before you were re-embodied, and this is how you react to seeing an old friend, and hearing the good news that he has married? What has gotten into you?”
Old friend. Old friend. Ah, how that word stung, and reminded him just why he had chosen this life rather than reintegration, proved that everything he had feared was right. Curufin had spent the past seven thousand hateful years thinking of Volwë, of whether or not the other had abandoned him in his heart. Seven thousand years spent wishing to see him again, to hold his hands, tell him he loved him more than the silmarils and the Oath. All the words he should’ve said and never did, the things they should’ve done and never had.
And now Volwë was here. Married. Married to a woman he had once called friend.
“Into me? What has gotten into you?!”
He tried to keep his voice flat, to keep his emotions from spilling over, but whether or not it was effective was another matter entirely. “How fast did it take for you to discard me? Once word had reached you of my death? ‘Ah, how well it is that Curufinwë has perished, so now I may chase the woman who had my heart all this time.’ Did you love her all this time? Did you love her when I was still living?”
All the years he spent alone meant nothing. His wait meant nothing. Never before had Curufin feel like such a fool. “Had you waited for me to die?”
Volwë had expected his reunion with Curufin to be much like his reunions with other friends and lovers of the past: a little awkward, possibly easing into warmth as they became reacquainted, possibly staying uncomfortable as they realized they had little in common anymore. Neither scenario was unlikely, among an immortal people; these reunions happened every day. What he had not expected was Curufin speaking as if…
“Wait for you to die?” he repeated slowly. “Discard you? You…it’s been…human empires have risen and fallen since the last time we were together.”
Now that he thought about it, he had an ancient grudge of his own. “Moríndil has more claim to you than you have to me. And you married her while we were still together in Aman, in case you forgot.”
03. pushes the other away with more force than necessary.
non-verbal actions || accepting
Volwë would not ordinarily be easily pushed around by Curufin, of all people, but since he was completely and utterly shocked to be shoved, he stumbled backwards a step or two before catching and righting himself.
“What was that?” he demanded, brow furrowed. “It was thousands of years before you were re-embodied, and this is how you react to seeing an old friend, and hearing the good news that he has married? What has gotten into you?”
` * 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴. 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 (+ 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦) 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦.
𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 -
01. avoids eye contact or looking at the floor. 02. wringing hands together in silence. 03. fidgeting with the hem of their shirt, unable to stay still. 04. looking at receiver in long silence before looking away. 05. silently leaves a folded note on the table in front of the other. 06. touches the others arm but pulls back out of guilt.
𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 -
01. slams fist onto a table without saying a word. 02. exhaling sharply through their nose and clenching their jaw. 03. throws an object across the room. 04. crossing their arms tightly, digging fingers into their own skin. 05. pacing the room with heavy steps. 06. glares at the other with a clenched fist.
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 -
01. gently pushing stray hair behind the others ear. 02. resting their forehead against the others. 03. cups the others face with both hands. 04. pressing a kiss to the others forehead in silence. 05. lingering touches against the others face. 06. wraps their arms around the other from behind and rests their head on the others shoulder.
𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -
01. wiping their eyes before someone can notice. 02. pressing their face into a pillow to muffle sobs. 03. pulls the other into a desperate hug and wont let go. 04. silently reaching for the others hand, needing comfort. 05. walks into the room with red-rimmed eyes and no words.
𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -
01. spins the other around without warning in a hug. 02. links arms with the other and tugs them along happily. 03. provides the other with a handmade gift. 04. tackles the other in a sudden and joyful hug. 05. kisses the others cheek unexpectedly and grins.
𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 -
01. backing away slowly and looking for exits. 02. hiding behind the other and peeking around. 03. flinches at sudden movement from the other. 04. presses their back against the wall with eyes darting around the room. 05. jumps at a noise and instinctively grabs the others hand.
𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠
01. tucks a blanket gently around the other person's shoulders. 02. applies a bandage with slow and deliberate care. 03. brings them food and water and watches to ensure they eat. 04. runs fingers through their hair in efforts to soothe. 05. rubs soothing circles on the others back while they cry. 06. stays silently by the others side in support without saying a word.
𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠
01. raises a hand but hesitates. 02. grips the others arm a bit too tightly. 03. pushes the other away with more force than necessary. 04. turns their back on the other to begin walking away without a word. 05. rips a shared photo in half without a word. 06. steps in closely with cold and narrowed eyes.
ᯓ𝄞 ˗ˏˋ ❝Hmm?❞ Makalaurë was... distant.
He finished chopping the carrots mechanically, added them to the pot, then turned to search the shelves for... what was he looking for?
Nothing looked right. Why was everything so unfamiliar?
His mind blended past and present & he stared into a cupboard he did not remember ever being there. None of this was meant to be here. Then he turned to Aerwain, and that familiar look crept into his blue eyes, one that so often came just before he snapped.
Aerwain… yes, he was new here. A recent addition to his household. One of the new servants, wasn't he? He'd proven pleasant company...
Maglor didn't question how a Teler had come to serve at Amon Ereb or what his duties were, because some part of him knew this was not Amon Ereb at all. Elrond and Elros were no longer children, Nelyo was dead, & he was somewhere else entirely.
But it was one of those moments something in him refused to acknowledge the truth.
❝Forgive me,❞ he said softly, drifting aimlessly through the room that felt both familiar and alien, his feet carrying him toward the door. Maglor didn't even know where he meant to go. ❝I forgot Nelyo went… hunting, did he not?❞
No, he was dead. Nelyo was dead. They all were dead.
Volwë fought back the first urge to correct him only with great effort.
It was everyone's well-intentioned instinct, he knew, to try to awaken someone to reality when confronted with...whatever this was. He had heard no name for it, but he had seen it happen among Men, when they arrived in Beleriand, and grew elderly and weak of mind before accepting the Gift; he had seen it, too, among elves who had lost everything and whose fëar refused to accept the truth. Whatever caused the loss of memory and the delusions was a mystery to him, but he had seen that always, always, it was better to be gentle, and not contradict.
He had seen, too, the way those who were contradicted could grow violent. An elderly atani was easy to reatrain; a calaquendi warlord, however, who was quickly regaining some of his former strength…well. He would prefer not to find out. There was a distinct possibility he would have no option to restrain Maglor, only to kill or be killed.
All these thoughts passed through his mind in the space of a second or two. Then he was on his feet, at the door before Maglor so he could open it for him. He must think he was a highborn servant, for why else would a white-haired elf be in their company? Only the noble houses of the Sindar and Teleri looked like him.
“Yes,” he said. “He won’t return for a few days, my lord.” Perhaps the lapse in memory would pass by then.
(Volwë mentally apologized to his father for deferring to anyone but him, Ingwë, or the Valar as his lord, but sure Olwë would understand that circumstances were dire?… No, he wouldn’t, Volwë thought. He didn’t even like his children to pull rank on one another, which Volwë had weaponized against his elder brothers often. No, Olwë would have a fit over it, and another fit when he found out his son had been speaking to a kinslayer at the time.)
“Perhaps you would like to go for a walk?”
