Fëarillë

"Well. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"Could say t’ same about you, stranger."

The vampire gave a chuckle, pecking her on the nose. “How’s t’at’?

She gave him a long, dramatic sigh. "I suppose if that is all you have to offer..."

"Well. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"Could say t’ same about you, stranger."

"Is t’at all?" A step forward and he slid his arms around her.

Mell draped her arms over his shoulders and raised an eyebrow. "I believe I said 'at the least'. I will, of course, accept greater payment for your absence."

"Well. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"Could say t’ same about you, stranger."

#valiantfindekano #asks #I just had this idea #that as everyone decides to leave #to go after Feanor #or to explore #she slowly gets left behind #but they all promise to come back #and none of them do

"I am not the one who gets out of bed and does not return. I believe you owe me a hug at the very least."

You are worth every word of love. Worth every good deed, worth every smile, every tear of joy. You are worth the suns rays and the warm air, you are worth the happiness and the laughter. You are worth everything good and beautiful. Give everyone and anyone this message, go to random blogs, someone you don’t even know, stretch your ask limit, anon or not, tell them they are worth it. Because the world needs more love!

//-cuddles- You, darling, are fabulous.

"Do you trust me?" [because omg you on my dash again ^u^]

Fëarillë looked upon her cousin with great trepidation. Findekáno was not known for foolishness. Of her many cousins, he often proved to be among her favorites. He probably ranked as high as Laurefindil, if not higher. He was smart, kind, and wise. This, however, struck her as extremely foolish.

"Of course I do! But… I cannot let you go alone, Findekáno. At least let me go with you!" First her father insisted on leaving, and now Findekáno? At this rate, she was going to have no one left. "If you do not let me go with you, I will follow you," Fëarillë threatened. Though she was still considered a child by some (even though she was a very respectable eighty-five, thank you), Fëarillë felt she was completely capable of making her own decisions.

If those decisions led her to Alqualondë with her cousins, father, aunts, and uncles then she would accept full responsibility for those decisions, regardless of whatever promises to return they may make.

"You're so graceful."

Mellandwen smiled and wound her arm around her Ranger’s waist. “I am no more graceful than any one of my kind.” It had been a night of dancing and food and celebration, and Mellandwen was inclined to think Abrazîr had a touch too much to drink. The true test would be if he agreed to get up and dance with her.

"Though I believe I could be more graceful with you in the lead." Stepping away from him, she held her hand out and gave him her best pleading look. He was the only one who would get to see it - ever - and it damn well better work.

#ofbladeandvalor #a falling star #asks

❝ Mending The Tethers ❞

The plush touch of his fingers over her flawless skin. It was whole in most areas, thought tainted by the blotch of blood and fading bruises and it made his lips tug into a frown, working grooves into the lines of his cheeks as his eyes continued to sweep over her spoiled clothes and dented armor. “Do not so easily discount your own wounds,” Abrazîr pressed, tracing a finger over the edge of a particularly nasty looking tear in the sleeve of her shirt. There was no power in all of Middle Earth that could ever stamp out the worry that would bleed for Mellandwen from his heart. It came naturally to him, as naturally as it was for a horse to graze or a fish to swim and even as the elleth drew attention to his busted hands he had no eyes but for her.

"It is nothing a few wraps and water will not cleanse," The Ranger defended, though there was little fight in his words as he was tugged along by the end of his elbow. All they needed was fresh bath water and a clean set of clothes and Abrazîr would be feeling worlds better, but he knew better than to argue with that of his love. A stubborn man he may have been but he knew his boundaries and knew them well.

"Mellandwen a moment, wait," His hand reached up, and he caressed the edge of her jaw softly before he pressed forward and dusted his lips over her mouth. He could taste blood and the prickle of sweat but beneath all of it he could taste her and her skin. It quieted that buzz in his chest and he breathed out when he broke away, pressing his forehead to hers. "I am glad you alright."

#a falling star #last reply

When their lips touched, all of the tension ebbed from her body and she practically sagged against him. She would not relax until he was healed and they were clean and somewhere safe for the night, but knowing he was at least alright enough to try to protest her concern gave her some sense of relief. Mellandwen closed her eyes and carefully raised the least injured of her arms to rest her hand against his chest. “Guren glassui. Iston i nîf gîn.” She would stay plastered to his side if it were not for her armor. She would hold his hand if it were not for his injuries. All she could do was stay by him and wait until her touch would no longer hurt him further.

“Please see the healer. You know my skill with Athelas is not great and I would not see your injuries get infected,” Mellandwen pleaded. Of all the beings and creatures in the world, her Ranger would always hold her heart, her worry, and her attention the most. Sometimes she felt as though he was made of fragile glass and though she knew he frowned upon that sort of thinking, she could not help but feel like one day she would turn around and he would be gone.

The she-elf brushed the back of her hand against his stubbly cheek and gave him another smile, this one more sincere than the last. “Next time, we stay together.”

❝ Mending The Tethers ❞

The flesh along the Ranger’s knuckles had been filleted, blunt swords had come to scrape and rend scores to the bone, start washes of white marrow splintering beneath blackened blood and bruised skin. Pain was there, beneath the panicked thrum of worry in his chest, but it dull. There was a flickering thought in the depths of his mind, a quiet, sullen reminder that he had sustained far worse that busted knuckles, but the pain for that was dim too. There was the heat of blood on the side of his head, matting often unruly curls to the side of his face, a gash hidden somewhere beneath the mop of black. Mending it would need, catering too but that was hardly on Abrazîr’s mind in the moment. His elleth had taken claim to his thoughts, and would not rest until the cool of night where they were safely coiled amongst one another beneath thick sheets.

The soft call to his name had his head snapping away from the horizon and relief flooded him like a turbulent surf, the sight of Mellandwen distressing in its own merit, but she was whole and she was alive. The blade in his hand was sheathed and he was bounding down the short incline, skidding through the slick grass to a clumsy halt before he was reaching for the slump of her shoulders.

"How do you fare?" Zîr swallowed down those last frays of his worry, let his relief settle in warm and quiet in his breast as a hand rose to press the pad of his thumb to the rise in her cheek. The Ranger’s eyes swept over her furiously, noting the stains and blotches of red, frowning deeply. "Your wounds, how severe are they? Do you need the healers? They are not far."

#a falling star #last reply

Standing under his searching gaze, the she-elf felt infinitely better. He was alive, he was whole, and he was fine. Mellandwen gave him a tired, perfunctory smile and shook her head. He was so concerned about her and had so little regard for himself. It would be worrying if she didn’t find it so endearing. “I am fine. I will heal soon enough. You, however, will not.” The smile quickly turned to a frown as she caught a glimpse of the mess one side of his head had become. With careful, gentle fingers she turned his head ever so slightly to the side to get a better look. “If anyone needs a healer, it is you.” With her own hawk-like gaze, Mellandwen scoured his body for more injuries as he was prone to ignoring them for extended periods of time. When her eyes caught on his hand, the elleth hissed in sympathy. Her body would knit itself together in the next few hours, with some food and meditation, but his would continue to bleed the longer it remained.

“Nimach, Abrazîr! Hammaden agarwaen, melethron tiraharw baur athelasi," she scolded, though she couldn't be completely mad at him. Mell had been just as worried about him as he had her, otherwise she would have healed herself already. The difference, however, was that once he died, she would never see him again. That was not necessarily true in the reverse case.

Moving her grip from his hand to his elbow, Mellandwen began to gently pull him away from the hill and towards the healers. They could have their touching reunion once he wasn't so full of holes.

nostorybook

Loving you was like going to war, I never came back the same.

Warsan Shire (via nostorybook)

#ofbladeandvalor #a falling star

❝ Mending The Tethers ❞

Men lay in mangled heaps at his feet, some had long gone cold with the pallid wash of death while others still choked, gagged past wells of blood in their mouths until they went still. The cries had dampened, flickering out until it was only the distant keen of a dying man carried by the lulling breeze. The air carried with it the stench of blood, an acrid taste of copper that lingered at the edge of his teeth and bled into the buds on his tongue. It made him sick. For a man who had seen death many times before, this— it was different. There was a familiar pitch in his stomach, the churn of bile and the spare pieces of bread he’d managed to nibble before the battle, and he knew the feeling to lead to a purge. With three swift steps, Abrazîr broke away from the small group of men whom he’d stayed close to through a majority of the fight and let his stomach empty into a patch of grass already tainted with blood.

He felt a hand reach for his shoulder and he rolled away from it, grunted through the sting of sick burning at his throat. “I have to find Mellandwen,” And he was gone, leaving those men to cull their brethren from the mounds of dead. And that thought alone made his stomach twist again and his grip nearly shook upon his blade.

He would not find her amongst the dead. He wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

The Ranger chewed at the soft flesh at the inside of his cheek, tasted blood and welcomed it because it was better than the sour of his own vomit. He strode through the masses for what seemed like hours, calling out her name, feeling that fear grip tighter and tighter at his aching heart. He paused at the crest of a foothill, looking out toward the destruction that had been left in the wake of the war and his knees nearly buckled. “Mellandwen?” He tried desperately to hide the strain in his tone, but there was no use, fear was gripping at his chest and he could feel the pressure of panic building.

“Mell?”

#a falling star #last reply

Mellandwen’s clothes were in shreds where they stuck out from beneath her simply assembled armor. Blood soaked into every inch of fabric, some Elvish, some Mannish, and some with the distinct tinge of ‘other’. She had no doubt that some of it was hers, or that it would make her breastplate stick to her when she finally removed it. She’d lost one metal bracer in a skirmish against several opponents at once, though the skin beneath remained largely unmarred. Though the war was over, there were many battles ahead. She knew from experience that the hard part was not going to war, but living after it. Staring up at the dark sky amidst those who saw no longer, the elleth tried not to breathe too deeply. The smell was sickening no matter how used to it she claimed to be. The odor of death and decay stained the earth and she doubted the stench would ever fade from the land or her skin.

Mellandwen knew she needed to get up. She had to find Abrazîr and make sure he was alright – for a moment she thought she heard his voice calling for her, but her ears felt somewhat clogged where they should have been sharp. Being an Elf did not mean she was infallible, and the injuries she had sustained in the heat of battle twinged as she leaned against some poor dead fellow’s sword to stand.

Once again she had been forbidden from interfering, and once again she had deliberately disobeyed for the sake of her friends and of Abrazîr. The golden, fire-tinged color of her hair was buried beneath a thick matte of blood, dirt, and sweat as she made her way towards the foothill not too far from where she’d ended up (in the thick of battle where she knew she oughtn’t be) laid out. Hoping to gain a better vantage point from the top of the hill, Mellandwen swiftly realized there was no need. Abrazîr stood atop the mound of dirt and she felt some of the tension in her chest loosen. It wouldn’t be soon enough that she could get her breastplate off.

“Down here, Abrazîr!”

winneydie

#happy tears #a falling star

amralime-deactivated20161123

Visit Original Link

My reaction when i heard Fili saying:: "I belong with my brother"

A small box containing this present is left on Mellandwen's pillow when she stops in her room one night. A note is attached.

"Dearest Mellandwen,

I found this one evening in the Riddermarket, and it reminded me of you. I hope you'll accept it as a token of my affection for you. When you wear it, think of me.

Affectionately your's,

Eomer"

Upon seeing the box laid on her pillow with apparent care, Mellandwen smiled and approached the box with equal parts excitement and trepidation. She opened the box and her face lit up as she read the note over again. The she-elf slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and carefully tucked the note in with her artwork. It was beautiful and she would have to find someway to return his gift in kind.

#childrenofeomund #submission #king of my life

mamutama-deactivated20190709

C I R C L E T S (x)

hermionegrangerandarocketship

I WANT ONE

#i feel like either 2 or 9 would be Mell's.

archerofdurin-blog

"Now I am curious. Of two things, precisely. One, have you ever mistaken /me/ for a male of my kind, and if so, would you consider me 'not bad'?" -teasing-

At that, the bowman burst into a fit of jovial laughter. “Fear not, milady. I have never confused you. You see, I wasn’t looking at his body for maybe if I had, I would have noticed the truth. Then again, perhaps not. Body shape is too varied for it to be used in discerning sex amongst Dwarves, I can only assume the same of Elves.”

Though he answered the first question with confidence, the next had his face flushing. “I—you…” The Dwarf scanned the table in a panic and quickly latched onto his flagon, nearly knocking it over in his recklessness. “You can’t come between a Dwarf and his mead, my friend. Ask that of me some time else.” he exclaimed before proceeding to near drown himself in the overpowering brew.