I'm, probably, few month late for shitty akotsk art, but here are Daeron II's sons and their oc gremlin little sister Jaehaera, because every Targaryen prince deserve gremlin little sister who'll make their life better or more interesting, at least
Also, Baelor has almost as cool mustache as Humfrey Beesbury will 19 years later
I finally framed it up as I wanted, so @tolkienocweek day 7 - Lullaby of Hope
Sorry, guys, translation is without rhyme.
Eru to Elaia
Sleep, my sweet, gray-eyed girl. Tales of princes and fairies come in all shapes and sizes, and you're not always the beauties and knights in them. Sleep, my poor, eldest, homely one. Sleep, my first, sleep, my impossible one. Milestones will be your fate. Love for a traitor will be your curse, and the gift of saving him will be your reward. What will you choose as your favorite weapon, since you say the stars are useless to you, since you can't weave or grow gardens, since dancing is a terrible punishment for you?
You pensively twirl a copper circle on a string. I, you say, will slip into your world on tiptoe and settle there in souls, forests, and fortresses. I will take hearts with laughter, strongholds with courage. My smile will be a sword and a sail. Don't worry, Dad, I will handle it.
Unnamed mother (look I'm just like Jirt himself) to Melis
Sleep, my girl, gloomy and serious. Our young world will soon be covered by storms. Eight-eyed darkness will creep from behind the mountains and seas. The sun will rise, but this too will be no celebration. Sleep, my girl, brave and unhappy. Flame in the chest burns to ashes it's wearer. Blood will flow through the streets of White Harbor — and thus will begin your unhappy voyage. Bound by faith and loyalty tighter than chains — hearts cannot be held, minds cannot be reached. Sleep, my girl, quiet and unbright. Sleep, my little star, happiness is so brief.
You're looking frowning, snorting, smiling. A scar on your cheek. Am I imagining it? No, I'm not. 'Happiness is not brief, it's just far away, we'll just have to beat around the bush, it's just uncertain, it's just vague for now. Mom, don't be afraid, cause I won't be there alone.'
Beren to Bretta
Sleep, my girl, thin and fragile. The sky burst into flames and crashed to the ground. The survivors were miraculously carried to the side of the road. Sleep, my girl, your childhood is over. Sleep, my girl. Your springtime heart may truly be our salvation, perhaps, even branded with blood and ice, we will one day walk together into the green fields, perhaps a ray of hope will pierce through the night, perhaps we will learn to smile again, perhaps even this darkness will suddenly dissipate... I lie so clumsily – I can hardly believe it myself.
If you could, you would look so angry. Your voice is ringing – like a fresh breath. 'Cold and darkness – not all that remains of existence. Is friendship gone, love destroyed? Has kindness and devotion dried up in the world? Brother, you're wrong, not all is lost.'
Elaia to Alba and Arika
You were just squabbling, hurling sharp reproaches: 'Why did you even give birth to us as sisters!' Just as the horizon was clouding over – and then, once again, you're happy, inseparable. Cunning eyes are squinting and closing. 'Mom, we made up, please, please sing.'
Girls, girls, time flies so fast. Copper strands will give way to silver ones and be crowned with gold and gems. Eternally sharing bitterness and victories, happiness and fear, secrets and doubts – this is neither a punishment nor a blessing. It's just that such fate is taut like strings, just laid upon parchment and stones like runes, just rolled like fire through the old streets, just circling like a crow above the black tower, just flying across the field, clattering its horseshoes... Sleep, little foxes, everything will be fine with you.
Ulmo to Lin
The sea kisses the stones with salty foam, a pale girl keeps her unaltered watch. Her fingers are cut by unruly strings: 'I'm clumsy, I'm of no use to anyone. I'm different, strange, abnormal, eternal bitterness and disappointment.'
The sea rocks, as if lulling her. Sleep, my little and silly girl. Sleep, my tender silver spark. Sleep, my daring, proud, and stubborn one. Sleep, your happiness is already approaching the pier. Honestly, the ship will endure the journey, it will be fast and safe, I'll arrange a favorable wind, clear weather, everything I can so you can meet soon. And your name will truly turn into songs, and there will be no room for despair at all. This is not a prophecy, much higher – it's a promise.
@tolkienocweek - Day 5 - My beloved depressed grandfather-granddaughter duo, yay!
The broken dagger
'Heeeey!'
'No'.
'You don't even know what did I want!'
'I apprehend that my answer will be 'no'. It is an attempt to save time for both of us'.
Almy plopped down on the couch, which creaked lamentably. Pine needles fell from the folds of her scarf onto the floor. Feanaro wanted to protest, but he looked around at the mess that already existed here and changed his mind. The excitement of walking on this earth again gradually faded away, and it became increasingly difficult to get out of bed and do anything.
'I brought you amme's apple pie...' said Almy, looked into her bag and corrected herself: 'Half of apple pie'.
He felt ashamed. This girl is trying her best to help him and she does not deserve to look at his sour face instead of gratitude.
Feanaro sighed and went to put the kettle on.
'So, what did you want to ask?'
'Mhm... nevermind'.
'Almiel Meterrive, if you said tinco, say parma'.
'I was just wondering if you could repair my dagger'.
'Your dagger?'
She set down cup, rummaged in her bag and laid a rag bundle on the table.
'Uncle Curvo made it back in Beleriand and ada gave it to me as winter solstice gift when I was a child. I broke it accidentally last week. They all said it's impossible to fix it - Tyelpe and uncle Curvo and grandpa Mahtan. I just thought... maybe you'll be able?'
He slammed the cup down on the table.
'No.'
'Just have a look...'
'No. Almy, I...'
He has not enough bravery to tell her that his hands are shaking when he just thinks about crafting anything again.
'...I do not even have a forge here! And if Mahtan, Curufinwe and Telperinquar said that it is impossible, they are most likely right', Almy looked really upset, so he added: 'Sorry. I am sure that neither your father, nor your uncle will be offended by this'.
'I know', sighed Almy. 'It's fine, I know that it's very old dagger. Probably it doesn't worth attempts of fixing'.
She held out to take bundle.
Probably it does not worth attempts of fixing...
'Wait', Feanaro stopped granddaughter's hand. 'Fine. Leave it here, maybe I will have a look'.
'Woo-hoo! Thank you! You're the coolest bestest grandpa ever!'
'I did not promise anything, I only said that I maybe will have a look'.
'I know', said Almy and hugged him.
What on earth was she doing with that dagger?! Inside of bundle he found a huddle of thin sharp fragments and hilt that was polished of centuries-long using. Mahtan, Curvo and his son were right when they refused to take this work - it is almost impossible and requires huge amount of skills, accuracy and time - and still without guaranteed result. In his youth he would be happy to get such a challenge.
On her next visit he told Almy it is unlikely that he could repair broken blade, but did not let her take it back. When he asked what exactly happend to the dagger she mumbled something and changed the topic.
Rag bundle stayed in Feanaro's house and he continued to come across it every day and put it in another place to find it there tomorrow and replace again.
'May I use forge in your gran's house in the woods?'
'Sure!' Almy jumped from the couch where she was working on her herbarium after her last trip to the south. Dried plants fanned out across the floor where pine needles were still scattered. 'It's not used by anyone, we can ride right now!'
It happend more than six month after her asking and during all this time Almy never mentioned broken dagger again. But now she looked as she was waiting for that exactly words of him.
Small forge happened to be cold and dusty. Nobody used it for decades and they spent two days only for a cleanup. Maybe they would have done it faster, but Feanaro was unconsciously delaying the moment when he would have to get to work. On the third morning he unwrapped the bundle of shards and spread them out on the work table.
'I will try my best to fix everything', he said. 'But I do not want to give you false hope'.
Almy nodded. She knew that he is talking not about dagger.
--------------------------------
If you're, just like Naro, curious what Almy did with her dagger: after about twenty attepts to break or at least bend it she came to Aule and ask him to crush it in his forge. She's everybody's favourite babygirl and that includes Valar.
@tolkienocweek - Day 4 - Very Alternate Universe (modern all-human au)
Ray Greenfield is a literature and sindarin teacher in brothers Noldor's new school and form mistress of Curufin and Angrod. She loves kids very much and always can find common ground with her students. Ray has just divorced after learning that she can't have kids so she threw herself into work and becoming close friends with family of one of her students means a lot to her. (Also she's probably a bit in love with this depressive brilliant physicist and single father of seven boys).
So how do you think Earendil reacts to getting sick?
Think about it. My guy is working year round and spends most of his time high in the sky (very cold, thin air) and the void (generally unhealthy) and he's half-human, after all. He has to get sick sometimes.
Like, do you call in sick from your job as the star of high hope? Do you take an elf advil and just suck it up? Do you ask your divine patrons (Varda and Ulmo) to fix you? Do they freak out about you being sick? Do they understand people well enough to understand how diseases work???
Well, if we have fun with the idea that the Star of Earendil is in fact Venus, a fun astronomical fact is that Venus becomes invisible from earth for a few weeks every several months when it passes behind the sun. Maybe that’s Earendil taking a break?
Forests of Dorthonion smell like moss, wet rind, morning mist and mushrooms. Bretta breaths deeply and greedily as she wants to keep this smell in her chest forever. As she wants to forget that sometimes forests of Dorthonion smell like blood and smoke. She inhales this smell nestling in Beren's shoulder while they are already decades or probably even hundreds miles away from home they'll never have again. But green blur spots of Doriath doesn't really differ from green blur spots of Dorthonion. Bretta who lives mostly in the world of smells and sounds is still home while her brother is nearby. She just hopes that her presence can return him at least small piece of home too.
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