Hi, I'm Em (she/her) and I decided to create this blog to share some of my writing! I mostly write about the Fëanorians, in the form of letters. I find letters to be a very therapeutic means of expressing emotion. And what could be better than imagining your comfort character reading them?
Here's my masterlist :)
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Characters I write for
For now, this is a blog dedicated to the House of Fëanor and Glorfindel, basically the characters I feel closest to lol. I will update this when I expand my character list!
Requests (are open!)
Feel free to share your thoughts/request stuff! I'm not super active on here, as I'm just posting my writing for fun, but there are some rules if you do wanna request something:
apart from letters, I also write reader-inserts as well as headcanons, drabbles and oneshots
no NSFW requests
no graphic violence, I don't feel comfortable writing about that. This blog is mainly about conveying emotions to your comfort characters. I can make some exceptions depending on the context of your request.
don't be afraid to be specific with your thoughts! It makes the writing a lot easier.
English is not my first language - just putting that out there lol
Hi everyone, happy to report that I'm feeling very creative again!
I began writing letters to my sister as a way of processing her passing and I felt like sharing because this is the first time I actually reached out to her directly through my writing. I was really afraid of seeking her out, because I couldn't handle the emotions that would come with it. But in a way, it feels right. Instead of writing letters to comfort characters, I've been writing letters to my sister <3
Also, I started posting fanfic on main the other day (for now it's just Star Wars) and honestly, it's been fun writing a bit more loosely. Main is straight up chaos and that makes it easier to post more because it doesn't have a concept like this blog. I am a perfectionist, especially when there's a theme going on. The multifandom action makes it easier to get back to writing freely, which I love!
I hope you're doing good, take care! And feel free to request, I'm feeling active again hehe
Tags: Angst, TW character death, TW sibling death, hurt no comfort
Summary: The Ambarussar are no more.
A/N: Long time no see :) been writing a lot about grief lately and it feels freeing
Quenya translations:
Aira - red, copper-colored, ruddy
Háno - brother
Enyasse amya hára - There, far away, dwells my mother
Nai hiruvalyë valimar - Maybe thou shalt find Valimar
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“Enyasse amya hára…”
Minyarussa’s voice was nothing but the hint of a whisper, he almost did not catch it. And it made him cry, for their fate had been sealed the day they had followed their father to these lands. He had always been their mother’s child. Even in the face of their father’s horrid oath, his brother would yearn to be held by her more than the others.
But right here, in Atyarussa’s arms, his brother’s fearful eyes staring pleadingly into his own, the older twin nodded. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, nose and chin at the thought of their mother in Valinor, their droplets descending onto his brother’s face, which even in the shadow of his demise looked radiant.
He did not wish to depart. Their time spent in this realm had been so painfully short.
But worst of all, he was aware they could not lay their eyes on her, in the end.
“I’ve grown weary of this world, háno,” Minyarussa continued hoarsely, and it tore Atyarussa’s heart to pieces.
“I no longer wish to suffer. I wish to be released from this torment.”
A lone tear slid down his cheek at last, and he took another ragged breath before his eyes fell shut, eyebrows knitting ever so slightly.
“Everything we have done… every ellon we have slain.. I cannot bear it anymore, háno.”
Oh, he was fading.
The realization hit Atyarussa like the tallest of waves of the Western Sea. An ice-cold, merciless body swallowing the one he had been inhabiting whole. There was nothing to be done.
“I promise, I will see you again.”
It sounded more like a plea than a promise, the way Atyarussa’s words escaped his quivering mouth inbetween the sobs he had been trying to fight for the sake of his brother.
“I do not know how I will do it, but háno, I will not rest until we find each other again.”
He laid his lips on his brother’s forehead, and time stood perfectly still. For just a moment, Atyarussa took in the last remaining warmth Minyarussa’s body was giving to him, and he imagined they were back in their childhood bedroom, across the Western Sea, and he was kissing his younger brother good night.
“Nai hiruvalyë valimar…”
A cool gust of wind swept across the field he was crouching in, like a punishment for his daring to dream of what once had been.
A/N: Some of my Silmarillion musings, which come in handy when writer’s block is harder to overcome than usual. I decided to type them up, just in case my handwriting’s too messy :’)
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Maitimo (left)
There is a lot to unpack with Maitimo. Not only is he the eldest prince, but it seems to me that the relationship to his parents is not at all what it seems to be. You would think the eldest prince is the house’s pride and joy, but I feel like there is a darker, sadder side to it. I read that Fëanor and Nerdanel didn’t necessarily prioritize Maitimo as their child, but rather as an accomplishment.
Naming him Nelyafinwë (Third Finwë) and Maitimo (Well-Shaped One) may allude to them not thinking about him as an individual, but as something they — the accomplished craftsmen — made.
I cannot imagine the pressure resting on Maitimos shoulders. Being the firstborn prince carries responsibility after responsibility, the duty of always remaining diplomatic and agreeable. And at the same time, lonely. Terribly lonely and afraid. He is next in line, therefore he cannot allow himself to slip up. He wants his parents to see him for who HE is.
Maedhros, son of Fëanor and Nerdanel. NOT the third Finwë, NOT another one of his mother’s sculptures.
He must feel so isolated from the rest of his brothers. While I imagine them looking up to him and idolizing him, as well as each one having a special relationship with him, I picture him to constantly have this dark shadow in the back of his mind, telling him that no matter how close he is with them, he will never be on their wavelength. He will always be the firstborn prince. Born to eventually rule. Born to be perfect and lead.
His fate, to me, is one of the most tragic ones. I simply cannot imagine the pain he must have suffered upon realizing that his father’s oath was forsaken. That everything him and his brothers — of whom only one survived alongside him — had to endure was in vain. How he must have felt upon realizing that there was nothing left for him. That he had no purpose, that the one thing he had sworn to do, the one quest he had vowed to fulfill, had been nothing but a painful ending. His failure had caught up to him.
And how ironic is it for him to cast himself into that fiery chasm along with the Silmaril — finally surrendering to his father’s oath for good, now completely following in his footsteps.
Maitimo had always been on the calmer side, I believe he was most similar to his mother out of all his siblings, but in this moment, I imagine him to be completely overwhelmed by the amount of emotion running through his heart. The rage, despair and terror. He has no choice but to leave this realm just like his father did. Encapsulated by unbearable heat, going up in golden flames.
He did hold his own until the very end, at last. Like a true king.
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Makalaurë (right)
What I find tragic about Makalaurë’s fate is that I imagine him to never actually have wanted to fulfill the quest for the Silmarils. He was a singer, a passionate musician. He had a wife whom he had to abandon amid the quest. His nature was so very gentle and sensitive compared to his brothers. Yet, at the same time, he was a warrior — bred for war like them. And when the inevitable moment had come, he had been forced to leave his musings and joy behind.
Why yes, I do believe him to honor his family more than anything, it pains me to think about the life he could have lead. The people he could have met, the music he could have made. And although he did deliberately participate in the kinslayings, making him a murderer like the rest of his siblings, I believe he took it the hardest.
It seems to me also that music was the only thing keeping him somewhat sane when pursuing the oath. It served as a coping mechanism for the innocent blood that was spilled over the jewels. And isn’t it cruel how it is the only thing left for him after the War of Wrath? He witnessed all of his brothers die, one by one — only to be left condemned to wander the shores of Middle Earth for all of eternity.
Sometimes I wonder if his voice can be heard in Valinor. If the wind carries it across the Western Sea to his mother. If she, the only one of his surviving family members, listens to his lamentations and cries out to him just as much as he does.
Doomed to wander, never allowed to go back.
In a way, he deserves his punishment, with all the blood that is on his hands, but I am mourning the potential. I am mourning the life that had been taken from him the day he had agreed to swear that oath.
I hold out my hand for you to reach, only to see you turn your back towards my countenance.
Do you believe people can change?
I have grown weary of patterns I recognize from liaisons past. Patterns that take me back to a place of impotence.
They say people cannot change. But Carnistir, how can I be certain? Just what am I to do with the ache in my heart? It shoots through my body so very vividly.
It's been a while since I last updated you on my situation and I'm happy to report that I am doing better. Writing's not as easy as I hoped it would be, but I'm not completely burnt out yay!
I'm also looking into therapy (grief work to be specific). I've been suppressing my emotions for a long time since my sister's passing but they've recently started to emerge again and although it's really painful, I'm kinda relieved that I am in fact not "broken" and do still possess the ability to feel things, which makes me confident I‘m ready to talk about it.
Also, I just created an account on ao3 (under the same name) and I've decided to post my longer fanfics there! I recently learned about the ao3 curse but lowkey it can't get worse than this so I might as well upload on there too lol. So yeah, other than that life's pretty normal which is nice for a change :)
Author’s note: A drabble I wrote at 4 am. Whichever son of Fëanor resonates the most with you shall be who is mentioned here. Fírima (Quenya), meaning mortal, one apt to die🥀
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Your hand was still, securely gripping the delicately embroidered cane. He watched you with intent, eyes scanning your stoic face for any sign of discomfort, before reaching out to gently grasp your hand. Soft, silky skin on rough, leathery one — nimble fingers intertwining with boney ones.
When you raised your eyes to meet his wistful gaze, the decades between you two seemed to had faded into the night. For a moment, you had just come of age again, and everything had stayed the same.
In a way, his eyes had miraculously encapsulated the very essence of your shared youth. While it brought you comfort, knowing that it would forever be safeguarded there, that selfish part of you wholeheartedly wished for it all to be but a dream, to wake up to your love, whose eyes were drinking in your smooth, untainted skin with nothing but lust in them as if it were the very first night you would spend together. Oh, to be desired. You remembered how his lips would lay themselves onto your own with such urgency, as if he had been parched for weeks, finally able to immerse himself into your amorous waters again. How his breath would shake and his voice would quiver when you would reciprocate his affections. He would be an open book and his deepest, most desperate desires would be written all over him; from his flushed cheeks to the smile tugging at the corners of his beautifully shaped lips. From the way his heart pounded from inside his chest against yours, which would be all pressed up against him, enveloped in a passionate embrace. Never would you have thought he would ever cease to display these sentiments.
The longer you stared into the hues of his all knowing irises, the more you believed it to be true. The deeper you dove into him, the more you thought you would find.
But in the end, there it always was. That split second of worry glossing over his once so longing eyes at last, reminding you that day was swiftly approaching. Silently, most deadly. It made you cover every inch of yourself out of fear. Those days seemed so distant all of a sudden, like a long forgotten tale of a feeling you were trying to hold onto for dear life before it would vanish into the depths of those eyes, never to be found again.
It felt utterly humiliating, indecent even, feeling his hand grasp yours now, knowing you were trapped in this frail, decomposing prison of a body. A body that could not even stand upright by itself anymore. A body that so very clearly yearned to be separated from the mind inhabiting it, but to no avail. There was no lust in his gaze, no fire. Instead, every one of his movements seemed calculated and too attentive. Concern and an estranged, washed out version of the love he had once harbored for you, that you could read when you looked at him.
Countless nights had you prayed to be pardoned for the mortality that had been bestowed upon you. Surely there must have been a reason for you to have met each other — there had to be. Countless years had passed with no signs from the divine. Your pleas would always fall on deaf ears, causing you to grow bitter over time, much to his dismay. Where there had once been a god merciful enough to grant a warrior their last dying wish, he had abandoned you, maybe even found pleasure in your desperation.
Summary: In his final moments, Carnistir reflects on his brothers and their collective fate.
Author's note: Niënor (Quenya), meaning mourning. I love tragedy. Can u tell who's my least favourite Fëanorian? Lol
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A single, hoarse breath left his lungs as his gaze drifted up towards the ceiling of the fortress, and he wished it were not walls of stone staring back at him, but the blue sky.
The air was cold. It seeped through his armor onto his pale skin, past his lips and infiltrated his body with a quiet, dreadful determination. He knew there was nothing left to be done. He thought about his brothers and instantly, the ache in his heart threatened to overshadow the mortal wound etched into his throat. They knew. They could feel it. There was no one left.
He forced out another ragged breath as his tears ran down the sides of his face. It sent a scorching wave of pain down his gullet. What he would do to have someone hold him in his suffering. To ease away the pain before it would be time to face divine judgement.
He knew he would not awaken and yet, he was dwelling in the unknown, even in this very moment. His fate had been sealed the day he had sworn the Oath. Still, the inevitable consequences of his horrendous actions throughout this long, aching age could not compare to the fear rushing through his veins when he realized he would have to leave the last of his remainig kin behind.
What had once been a strong, able body with the might of a dozen soldiers was now facing its long awaited end. Carnistir would have to admit that in the end, the only thing separating his existence from the ones he had always thought of as beneath him, had been his upbringing and the poisonous seeds Fëanor had planted in his mind. The path his life had taken after his father’s defiance of the divine. The defiance he had been forced to endure until this very moment. Often had he thought about his father’s selfishness. His utter lack of love and consideration for his children, who would have never chosen to follow such a sinister path. Images of his brothers’ lifeless bodies flashed before his eyes. If he had known how everything would have come to pass, he most certainly would have voiced these thoughts out loud, hell he would have fought his father with bare fists if it meant to keep his beloved siblings out of this. He felt the tips of his fingers tingle, only for it to be replaced with a bone-chilling coldness.
In desperate moments like this, he would find himself imagining what their realities could have possibly looked like.
Maitimo would have lived the ordinary, quiet life he had always longed for; hidden away out of the House’s reach, in a whimsically tangled garden. Carnistir hoped his eldest brother was still out there — still had a chance of saving himself. And Makalaurë would have made the finest musician, with a voice recognized across every land and sea. One day, his brother’s melodic strings would have serenaded Carnistir’s very own wedding ceremony, at least that was what they had promised each other when they had freshly come of age. Atarinkë would have forged rings and emblems, according to ñoldorin tradition. What an honor it would have been, wearing his brother’s priceless creations, crafted purely out of his very own visions — free of their father’s influence, which had always tainted and overshadowed the undeniable genius of Atarinkë’s mind. How Carnistir wished he had voiced his admiration out loud for once in his life, instead of always nagging and lashing out on him. As for Tyelkormo, he would have surely found his rightful path. What pained Carnistir the most was the lost potential, especially of his silver-haired brother. How the jewels had deceived him, twisted him into a downright brute who had respect for no one but himself. All he imagined was for him to regain his honor, and to use his linguistic gift for diplomatic purposes such as pacifying conflicts if needed. But perhaps the most tragic of all were Minyarussa and Atyarussa. Carnistir had to admit that he could not imagine anything certain for the twins, because of their significantly younger age. More tears slid down his cheeks and the sides of his neck — two clear, salty rivers flowing into a growing, deep red sea that was surrounding him — he wished he would drown in it, for he had no recollection of ever asking his elfling brothers about their hopes and dreams. Each breath he took began to hurt more than the last, and so did the ache in his chest.
Those dreams had been full of potential. Full of hope. He did not know whether he had harboured them as to cope with the madness that was beginning to cloud every inch of his brain as time passed, but deep down, Carnistir knew they would make fantastic nightmares. He would never know what would become of his eldest brother and frankly, he knew he had let him down. Because now, it was going to be Maitimo who would have to shoulder the entirety of the Oath on his own, because there was no one left to help him carry it. He had been slain, left to choke on his own blood, to taste what he had done for the testimony of his father. His father, who had never once considered his children but instead turned them into his very own soldiers, destroying their prospects of a happy life, deliberately erasing every bit of goodness left in them to achieve his selfish goal.
What had once been a strong, promising lineage had now become nothing but a shadow. Makalaurës once mighty voice would forever be sounding weak and broken. Wailing, laced with such unbearable torment. Atarinkë would never again forge anything for the sake of love, for he had been infested with a hateful obsession which had been wrongfully implanted in his mind; clouding his once so innocent urge to just create. The world would never know the Ambarussar as individuals, for they had been too young to unfold their wings on their own. They would forever be denied an independent existence, always be regarded as an entity instead of young ellons with dreams. Carnistir was not even certain if they had ever voiced their aspirations out loud and he wished he had spent more time with his youngest siblings and made room for them to share their thoughts. He had failed as an older brother, failed to perceive them, to really see them.
And Carnistir would gladly allow these visions to haunt him in the unpredictable afterlife — anything so he would not forget about his family and most importantly, the consequences of their actions. He needed to see their faces, their eyes — even if it meant to never see their smiles again for all of eternity. If it meant to be reminded of the countless ways he had failed them, over and over again. If it meant for their names to haunt him endlessly. To punish him for as long as Mandos intended. Yet again, his fate would be out of his reach, in another one’s hands.
The numbness in his fingers began to extend to his lower arms like clockwork, slowly and steadily wandering further up, with no intention of ever halting and the sharp, merciless cold accompanied it. Hand in hand, they reminded him of a sword and armor — fighting the enemy until they succeeded. His eyes stared straight ahead, gradually losing their focus on the delicately carved ceilings of the fortress with each fiery breath he took.
Ill-fated Carnistir, the dark and stormy prince of the House of Fëanor. Doomed to die for his sins by the sword of his kin, because of an oath he had never meant to swear. Because of a family he had intended to protect, only to realize all he had done was support a construct intended to fall apart, intended to trap him until his very last breath and everything that would come afterwards. He had never been free, nor would he ever be.
Author’s note: I’m a big fan of the Cara embroidery trope!
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The air is dry and warm in front of the fireplace when you lean over his shoulder to watch Carnistir‘s fingers intently.
“See how I stitched it right here? It has to be symmetrical,“ he muses, showing you the collar of the tunic laying in his lap. The embroidery slowly begins to look like a tendril holding flowers the more stitches he places on the fabric. His hands are calm and controlled, not trembling one bit.
“Do you want to try it? It is your tunic, after all,“ he looks at you expectantly, a small smile playing on his mouth. You hesitate, trying to remember the patterns he taught you moments before. “Alright, but be patient with me.“ He chuckles, reaching over to place the tunic in your lap instead and handing you the needle and thread after. You begin to pierce the fabric carefully, looking up at him every once in a while to make sure you are doing it correctly, to which he nods his head in encouragement.
“Very good. Now poke it right here and pull the thread through to there. Remember to keep it symmetrical.“ his voice is soft and patient, something you greatly appreciate. Turns out, your hotheaded husband has a hidden talent for teaching. You remember when you found him in front of the fireplace, in his silky lounge wear, finding out he spends his evenings embroidering fabrics for himself and his brothers. You think it adds yet another fascinating facet to his character. All the more grateful are you now, having him teach you his techniques. It‘s oddly fitting, this pastime of his. You slowly continue to weave small flowers into the ends of the tendril on the fabric, until it reaches the edge of the fabric. Carnistir‘s hand comes up to take the needle from your uncertain fingers. “Excellent. Let me do the finishing touches. Do you wish for me to add some beadwork, as well?“
Nodding enthusiastically, you clasp your hands together to watch as he pierces the needle through the spots you missed in your inexperience, before threading dark blue beads onto the centers of the flowers you just embroidered. A quick peck is planted on your temple by the prince, as he works away to the sound of the fire crackling in front of you. And before you know it, he holds up the tunic triumphantly.
“There, all done!“ A big smile graces his usually so serious features and you jump up excitedly, grabbing it out of his hands before stepping up to the nearest mirror in the room to admire the finished product. Behind you, Carnistir‘s gaze is proud and supportive. “We should do this more often,“ you feel his arms snake around your frame from behind, pulling you into his chest protectively. Another kiss is being planted on the top of your head, to which you agree wholeheartedly. Anything you get to learn from him, you consider a precious gift.
Can i request a second part for Ambar? Where reader and Maedhros meet again in Valinor. Please (*´∀｀)ﾉ
Ambar - Maedhros x reader Part II
Word count: 3.6K
Tags: TW attempted su!c!de, Hurt/Comfort
Summary: You finally make it to Valinor, ready to leave everything behind and come to terms with your lover's demise, or so you thought...
Author's note: This one has been sitting in my drafts for the longest time.. It got a little out of hand, but I hope you enjoy it still! You can find Part I here.
Quenya translations:
Ve fanyar - like clouds
Háno - brother
Órava omessë - have mercy on us
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Blue was the sky above, blue were the waves beneath.
Blue, a color you had always harbored strong sentiments for. A long time ago, it would have certainly comforted you or brought a smile to your face, even. It would have made you feel safe and guarded, seen and caressed.
But that was a long, long time ago.
A long, long time ago, you would find yourself living in it to one day pass on to become it.
You were leaving the earthly realm now, only not to become the blue you had been hoping for, but instead a faded shade of grey. Be it your ashen face or your limply hanging hair that would only reveal its once vibrant color in direct sunlight, which you avoided at all costs. You saw no benefit in wandering in Laurelin’s light. You were chained to the ocean, chained to the clouds and foaming waves, bound to drink in their lowly saturated shades of grey for all of eternity.
Ve fanyar, was said about your eyes. You had become the one whose pupils were trapped in a persisting dusk, residing in washed out irises which a storm seemed to have passed through centuries ago, and had taken away every inherent light in its rage to replace it with a thick fog concealing any other hint of a differently colored hue that could possibly be shimmering through.
On this long journey, you had caught yourself more times than one, playing with the thought of just diving headfirst into the water, abandoning the surface for good.
It would make a poor replacement for the particular abyss you had consistently been yearning for all these years.
But it had the color of his eyes.
The longer you stared off into the blue, the more it made you indifferent about your past. It was like you had left it ashore with the rest of the world, finally letting it go.
Where this journey would take you, you did not know. Whether you would make it to the Undying Lands without being banned into nothingness, you did not know.
Why you had been so insistent on staying alive all this time, you now realized, you did not know. In the end, it did not matter. It never did.
And yet, you could not lose the tiny speck of hope that had been sound asleep in your heart for centuries. You would have cursed your optimistic nature if it weren’t for your condition. Although it had been in vain for all this time, nothing could ever extinguish it completely, even in your fading.
You remembered how excited you had been about eventually sailing into the West, imagining your arrival in Valinor. But as you stepped off the ship, finally touching down on these magical grounds you had spent your whole life dreaming about, you felt nothing.
The air was cool, but forceful. It seemed to have started to spin a web around you the moment you had set foot on the pier, to steady you in your exhausted state — as if it had a life of its own. Truly, a weight was being lifted off your shoulders, a pair of helping hands placing itself onto them instead. You could not deny how something inside of you began to stir, to come back to its senses, in a way.
To your surprise, your fëa reacted. You did not deem it strong enough to even show a flicker of emotion, never in a million years could you have imagined it. The Divine did not see it fit for it to fade completely, it seemed, because you were starting to sense more than a stir… but rather… warmth?
Your fëa felt. Not only did it feel, but it felt warm. And the more steps you took upon your arrival at the harbor of Valinor, the more it was beginning to fight the dangerous slumber it had been threatening to succumb to since that day.
The area around the pier was crowded. Your first instinct was to find the fastest way out of this suffocating amount of people. At first, you seemed to wander around aimlessly, looking for an opening in the masses, to no avail. You were trapped between families reuniting with their long lost members. Lovers meeting again. Even aquaintances recognizing each other after all these years.
It was odd, witnessing something you had never deemed possible. Not after what you had done and who you had associated yourself with. You had been sure of it, there would be no happy ending for you. It was all just an illusion to make you regret every heinous act you had committed during the sinister age of the Silmarils. Every life you had ruined. Every complicit being you had protected. The kinslayer you had loved. It would only be a matter of time until Eru Ilúvatar noticed your treacherous presence on his holy grounds and banish you into the abyss, once and for all.
You did not know whether it was your paranoid mind playing tricks on you, but you swore you had seen heads turn your way during your crossing of the Western Sea. They would recognize you. Spread the word. After all, you had betrayed them. You had sided with the traitor — left for Beleriand during Valinor’s darkest hour.
But the way you had loved him — still loved him — it was consuming. He was consuming. Each and every part of you and your fëa, he belonged to. And it hurt. After all these years, after everything you had endured, it still hurt. The haven only proved how indesputably dead he was. Dead, gone, never to be seen again. Doomed to never be reborn again. Only you had found your way back to where it had all begun.
Eru, how you wished it was all just a dream. A long torturous dream that you would awaken from any moment, and realize you were still ashore, watching the last fleet of Cirdan’s ships sail toward the horizon to leave you here as the only remains of your kin. Why you had boarded this ship, you did not know.
You had spent centuries wandering the shores in search of his brother, unsuccessfully. Perhaps that was the reason. Perhaps you had realized that you really were all alone, at last. That there was nothing holding you back there.
You had loved consumingly and you were to pay the price. Face the consequences of your reckless behavior.
A long exhale left your mouth as you were brought back to reality when someone brushed past you to embrace yet another cherished being. Like clockwork, a piercing pain shot through your head, urging you to leave this place. With your hands pulling your hooded cape tighter around your shivering frame, you began to look for a clearing again.
Your fëa seemed agitated as ever, keen on leading you out of the haven to safety. This time you did not wander, for it was pulling you through the crowd, like an electric string guiding you forward with a certain sense of direction. You did not question it.
Just as the first skeptical whispers were emerging from around you, you managed to slip away to a secluded shore not far from of the pier, which was hidden away behind steep cliffs. Here, the only audible sound were the seagulls and crashing waves.
Immediately, your feet carried you into the velvety sand, until you were knee-deep in the water, realizing that you were finally facing the East, after all this time.
The tears began to fall when the wind whistled around you. You still found yourself listening for his brother’s voice. How he would sing, cry and plea into the West, hoping his kin would hear. And although you were almost certain that even he had vanished off the earth, you could not bear the thought of him anxiously waiting for someone of his kin to acknowledge his suffering. You were separated for all eternity. Never to wander the same shore again. How cruel of a parallel this was to you, now that you had reached the other side.
It dawned on you that he was the only thing you had really left behind. The only part of your old life that could still be alive out there. Yet another person you had betrayed, at last. The only proof of his existence.
Your heart was beating faster than it ever had in the last century, when you realized. You had nothing to hold on to anymore. He was gone, every last memory you had of him, gone.
But still, you could not let the wind die down without yelling his brother’s name one last time, with all your might.
“Makalaurë!”
The tears were streaming down your cheeks and neck, wetting the collar of the intricately embroidered tunic you were wearing. And the wind howled with you.
“I am here! I hear you, háno!”
Your desperate voice echoed between the cliffs towards the ocean as clouds began to form on the horizon, gradually darkening the sky, and you swore you felt the same sense of impending doom that had infested you when he had decided to leave you behind forever. If Makalaurë would ever hear you, you did not know. But you hoped with all your heavy heart, that the wind would carry your voice to him, wherever he was, to ease his pain. To let him know he had been heard. And along the message you shouted into the sky, that tiny speck of hope still remained, secretly praying for your voice to be heard by more than one. How had it come to this? The once clear sky seemed almost sinister now. When the echo of your voice died down, so did your spark — as if you had sent the remains of your fëa toward the East to deliver your final message. How ironic. You wished it had ended when he had passed. You wished you had cast yourself into the abyss with him. There was no comfort in this final fading, not with the most cruel of lonelinesses plagueing your mind, hindering you to just let go of your earthly existence in peace. It had been Makalaurë who had kept you among the living all this time, this you knew. Perhaps you would have been able to live a somewhat unremarkable life if you had ever found him. In a way, you had been subjected to the same fate — forced to spent an eternity wandering, lamenting the crimes of your past — but you had done so voluntarily, in hopes of reuniting with at least one of your kinsmen, the last one left of the once glorious House of Fëanor. Now that you were no longer able to continue your search for his location, you saw no reason in further keeping this bodily form of yours. Everything was lost to you.
Exhaustion washed over you like the waves caressing your knees, making them weak to the touch, beckoning you to give yourself up to them. The tears were blurring your vision. And the roaring of the untamed ocean breathed a cruel cold inside of you only the Helcaraxë could measure up to. This is it, you thought, this is how it will end. This was how you would cease to exist, succumb to the centuries of suffering, searching, yearning. And Mandos would punish you however he saw fit. Your legs gave in, and the rest of you complied almost instantly. You waded into the ocean, until its cold water rose up to your chest, which was beginning to have a hard time rising and falling. Around you, you felt your cape and tunic start to float in consonance with the water. It must have been a wondrous sight, for the clouds on the horizon decided to pay their last respects. As you lifted your gaze towards them, a single ray of Anar’s light streamed down from above, bathing you in the warmth of Laurelin’s light for one last time. In the face of this striking moment, even Ulmo seemed merciful. The waves came to an eerie standstill and instead let themselves be illuminated from above, painting everything in the most vibrant shade of blue, as far as your eyes could see.
And in the midst of it all, the rivers on your cheeks found themselves merging into the waters of their origin. Into an abyss of their own, which was no fiery chasm, but that serene shade of blue that was beginning to consume you, at last. A blue closest to the eyes that had drawn you in centuries ago. Perhaps it was meant to end this way. You no longer felt bad for forsaking your once colorful existence if it meant you could spent your last waking moments like this. Releasing one last breath you had seemed to be holding in the deepest depths of your soul, you lost the ground under your feet, until you were completely submerged. You were sinking into his beautiful, loving irises, drinking him in, letting him swirl around you softly for as long as you could endure, for as long as it would take to make you become one with him again. And in the end, you did believe his eyes to be the last thing you saw before everything went dark.
In this semi unconscious state, a strong hand suddenly got a hold of your waist, and began to pull you back up towards the surface. You were pressed up against someone who seemed to be trying their hardest to get you back ashore. You could not get your eyes to open nearly enough to identify the source of your disturbance, but before they rolled back, you could have sworn it was-
The roaring of the ocean had ceased almost completely when you heard it. A low, muffled voice, trying to get through. Your limbs felt awfully heavy, as if locked in place, and it was no longer warm. The more you regained consciousness, the colder it seemed to get. The muffled voice grew louder and eventually, your ears cleared up just enough to perceive what was being said to you:
“Órava omessë…”
Praying. Someone was praying.
“I beg of you, Eru…”
You realized that you were no longer floating but laying on your back. A few more moments passed and you could feel a hand touch the crown of your head before caressing your wet cheek rather sloppily — a shaky breath fanned your skin from what you assumed to be the same mouth the hushed prayers had spilled from before.
The voice no longer was a whisper, but instead turned into a desperate string of sobbing and cooing, pleading for you to wake up. “Y/N… melmenya..”
You drew a sharp breath upon hearing your name. The name you thought you would never hear again, for as long as you should live. The name only one person was allowed to bestow upon you, in this lifetime and every one that would follow.
“Stay with me.. I beg you,” With all the strength you had left, you peeled your eyelids open, trying to catch a glimpse of your savior — and the second you did, your heart skipped a beat, you swore it would have stopped beating this instant if it weren’t for who was hovering over you.
Gazing into your eyes was a pair of orbs you knew all too well. Vibrant blue, deep irises with endless turmoils raging inside of them, baring a past full of battles and adventures long ago, a love lost and betrayal of the worst kind. You looked into them and were reminded of everything you had lived, suffered and lost, all over again. Only now, it was alive, right in front of you. His eyes were full of tears swirling around, pooling, and escaping upon your awakening. “Y/N!” he gasped. The frown on his forehead grew deeper and his beautiful face twisted into an expression full of agony and such indescribable sadness.
Unable to keep his composure, he cradled your head in his large hand and buried his face in the crook of your neck, releasing cries he had seemed to have kept locked away in his heart for as long as he could remember. You could not believe it. And yet, instinctively, your arms immediately came to rest around his shaking frame, holding him close as if you had never been separated. With your eyes still open in shock, you took notice of his copper locks spilling all around you, framing your vision field like the fieriest of sunsets. And it began to dawn on you, slowly. It dawned on you when you felt the warmth of his cheek against your neck. It dawned on you when his voice was all you could hear. It dawned on you when his scent crept into your nostrils, and with it every single memory of mornings and nights spent in each other’s embrace. It dawned on you then, that in this very moment, hunched over your rigid body, holding on to you for dear life, was none other than him. Alive. And you cried out. For the first time in centuries, you cried for him, his existence, his return to you. With a grip as strong as iron, swearing to never let go of him again. How you wished it wasn’t a dream. How you prayed you were living this moment and not just imagining it, desperately trying to hold on to any memory you had left of him. His head slowly rose from the crook of your neck, resting his forehead against yours instead, and lovingly rubbing his nose against yours as his tears continued to spill on your face. He was all around you. His love was all around you. His fëa was all around you.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like this, entangled in the sand, but gradually, you caught your breaths until you were able to truly study each other’s faces after all this time apart. His gaze was made up of nothing but devotion and concern, hopelessness and so much worry. You could tell he was just as scared as you were, to suddenly awaken and find himself alone again. You wanted to pinch yourself when your eyes wandered across his copper brow and freckled skin which, in your memory, had been nothing but bright and silky. Now, it seemed almost leathery-looking and somewhat ashy, even. His mouth had stayed like you remembered it; lips full, although now dry and chipped, as well as the graceful curve of his cupid’s bow you would always trace with your index finger most intimately. His cheekbones still sat high as ever, though the sides of his divinely sculpted face were now hollow and telling of malnourishment. The bags under hiseyes spoke for nights filled with endless terrors and no way of finding solace. His nose, straight and strikingly similar to his father’s, still had a small scar stretched over it horizontally from one of the many battles he had fought beside you. Eru, you wanted to capture each and every fiber of his being for eternity. Even in his disheveled, battered and bruised state, you found yourself utterly enchanted, like you had upon first laying your eyes on him ages ago. A single, quivering breath came from between your pale lips when you spoke for the first time.
“Mai…”
His hand slowly came up to your cheek and stroked it with such a feathery touch, brought the tears back into your eyes all over again. No words were exchanged when his lips laid themselves onto yours almost timidly, as if newly making their acquaintance. His kiss was soft and slow, so hauntingly familiar and invigorating, breathing life into you again like you had never felt before. And your hearts began beating in unison at last. You broke apart carefully, silently reminiscing about every memory made with each other, now that you were reunited.
How much time passed, you could not possibly tell. Only when the sky began to darken again and Laurelin made way for Telperion, did you feel the cold of the ocean in your bones again. Sitting up, you let your One hurriedly drape his woolen cape over your trembling shoulders before rising to his feet to assist you getting up. You raised your gaze to take in hisphysique, towering over you like the tallest tree in all of Ëa. And when he extended his scarred hand, you felt it. Warmth emerging from where you heart sat bashfully in your chest, and the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of your mouth.
Unbeknownst to why the Valar had decided to let you return to their Undying Lands, all you did know was that you were reunited at last. You could see it in his face, in the spark of hope glimmering now, after everything else had been so dull. You could feel it in your fëa, which seemed to regain more and more of its strength the longer you stared into Maitimo’s eyes. The time had come to face your fates, together now. Taking his hand, you prepared yourself for whatever it was that would come to pass upon leaving the shore. For taking on the responsibility of your actions before Valinor, before Arda, before Ëa — hands clasped tighty together with the intention of never letting go again.
Author's note: She's back with a cutesy set of headcanons :)
-
Maedhros
This is the most peaceful you will ever see him
His nights are long and sleepless, filled with terrors and discomfort
But in the earliest of morning hours, just before the sun rises high enough to wake him, that is when his forehead is free of his nightly frown
Copper tresses are spilling over his pillow onto yours, tickling your nose with their softness
And you awaken to see him sound asleep in a sea of orange
The faint sunlight dances over his freckles and you have to stop yourself from tracing them with your index finger
He needs the rest, you think, his terrors have been particularly heavy lately
So you decide to snuggle up to him and enjoy the feeling of his for once relaxed body against yours; no tense muscles, no shivering, no groans or jolting awake
His breaths are even and full and when the first bird starts his morning song, you look up to see him come to his senses
His eyes are like the fog at sea, clearing up ever so slightly as time passes
And the tiniest of smiles begins to form at the corners of his mouth, which you mirror almost instantly
“Good morning, Mai.”
“Morning..”
Caranthir
He’s most likely awake already
Cara is definitely a morning person, don’t get me wrong, but that doesn’t mean he wants anyone to utter a single word or even breathe in his direction
He tends to have rather scheduled mornings
You seldom catch him in a deep slumber, but he has pillow lines on his puffy face every morning, reassuring you of his well deserved, successful rest
Your eyes are still closed when you feel him stroking your hair gently as not to wake you, before the bed dips, signaling his dreadfully awaited leave
He lets out a soft gasp when you grab onto his tunic as to pull him back into your arms, and gladly lets you spoon him like a backpack
You can feel him smile against your cheek when you bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale his indescribably comforting scent, sighing into his skin
He laughs, quietly. His voice is hoarse and has a boyish ring to it when he tells you “Good morning, melmenya,” and proceeds to turn around again to catch you opening your sleepy eyes
His arms envelop you in a most affectionate embrace
This morning, you awaken rather quickly to tell him about a dream you had last night, to which he listens intently, musing along to your thoughts
“That’s rather strange, don’t you think?”
Unfortunately, this bliss is short lived, because as soon as he hears the slightest commotion outside your chambers, he’s back to responsible prince mode
But before he inevitably leaves to attend the meeting scheduled for this morning, he makes sure to plant at least a dozen kisses all over your face
“We have to part for now, but I will see you at breakfast, my love..”
who has been reading my works and following my blog,
This past year did not go how I expected it to go, at all. When I created this blog, I felt so motivated to finally share what I loved; writing.
I have always been a writer, but I never dared to actually post my works anywhere, because I was afraid of judgement. Sharing my writing feels so vulnerable, especially when the works center around heavier topics.
A lot of unfortunate things happened to me this year and I just wanted to let you all know how grateful I am to still receive notifications, even after being so inactive.
Truth is, I am struggling a great deal at the moment. My sister got diagnosed with cancer around last year and she sadly did not make it. The time from her diagnosis until her passing was horrible, and I could not possibly have written anything substantial during that time. I am not going to go into more detail here, but I felt like sharing this with the few people who are still here, and might care, because this year really did affect my writing in a way that I never imagined it would.
Now, it is almost 2025. Time flies.
I think the new year, in more ways than one, should be a clean, fresh start. I want to get back to where I was when I started this blog, and not disappear for months on end, not knowing when or if I will ever write again.
So, my new year's resolution is to write more, and to find the motivation that I lost along the way. I hope everyone who reads this has a wonderful celebration, and I am sending each and every one of you so much love and look forward to sharing more with you soon!
Do you take requests for Gwindor or Beleg Cuthalion?
Hi Anon, I currently only write for the House of Fëanor and Glorfindel as well. I'll update my character list (it's on the navigation post) when I decide to expand it :)
I know reqs ate closed, but would you please consider to finish Oialëa series when they are open again? My Cara simp heart is dying for it (and for some Fëanor drama hehe)
Hello lovely, I've been working on it! It's not quite finished yet but we're getting there :)) The Fëanor drama has to be good hehe
Also, requests are open again! Feel free to share your thoughts <3
Author's note: It's been a while, time really flies these days. I hope you're doing good, wherever you are :)
-
A lot has happened over the past few months, my dear, that I cannot believe how much time has passed since I last thought of you.
Sometimes, in the darkest, most quiet hour of the night, when it seems like I am the only soul awake, my thoughts wander into worlds and universes far from my own and I am being haunted by my imagination.
Although I lay awake, I do not raise my eyes to look at the moon. Although I feel a bittersweet loneliness residing in my heart, I do not attempt to contact anyone close to me to tell them about it.
But this loneliness is a different one. One I have never felt before.
When before, I used to shed tears at the thought of being all by myself at night, I have grown to appreciate the silence. In a way, I believe it to be some sort of compensation for my busy, hectic days.
I seem to be scattered everywhere, all at once.
It finally makes sense to me, when I remember you telling me how you feel trapped in time's grip. Sometimes, I feel like it is the only thing keeping me sane. Running around from one end of town to the other. Making endless acquaintances. Talking about each of our unique experience of this lifetime we share.
My heart has grown wistful. I find myself reminiscing about moments I am experiencing in real time, instead of leaning back and enjoying them to the fullest. Perhaps that is the reason I choose to keep my eyes open when night falls and revel in its quiet serenity, because each darkness is the same. There are no places I need to travel to, no people I need to meet. I can lay there, all alone and content. And I am allowed to be consumed by each and every memoria praeteritorum bonorum, no matter how insignificant, without failing to appreciate the present.
You are a child of the night, that I know. How it comforts me when I lay awake. Somewhere, sometime, our thoughts will collide in a loving embrace, that is when we shall meet again. I am certain of it.
People always claim they could never imagine themselves in your shoes.
That your life and your responsibilities would overwhelm them and they would not even last a day as your substitute.
I used to believe them. I used to think I could never measure up to the things you do — I could never stay afloat like you. I used to think I would sink and succumb to the unbearable weight of your duties.
How unjust is it for us eldest children to bear the burden of responsibility, the sole reason being the time of our birth?
What makes us so different from our younger siblings?
What made our parents think they could take away the most precious thing — our childhood — and replace it with the worrisome truths of adult life?
Lately, my life has been swamped with these feelings, these seemingly unfulfillable duties. And Eru, I wish I could just disappear. I wish I could melt away into a loved one’s embrace and not think about the future, or how everyone will depend on me if anything bad ever happens.
And yet, it is my deepest, darkest desire to be taken care of. To not be taken for granted. To be treated as though I was one of my younger siblings and not the eldest for once.
And it embarrasses me so. This desire, this childish urge of mine to be swaddled and caressed. To be told how proud one is of me, after I have spent my entire life proving to myself that I do not need anyone to lean on. But that never happens. And so I continuously wander this never-ending circle of yearning and accepting the loneliness that will never fade — the soles of my feet are blistered.
I see you and I see each and every little sting it took to forge you into the person you are today: honorable, wise, reliable. Even-tempered, diplomatic, just.
Maitimo, my copper headed dear one, I just want you to know you can rely on me. You can let it all go if you want to, because I am here and I understand. Every eldest sibling is, that is what I wholeheartedly believe.
We may not have our families to lean on, but we have each other. We are interchangeable, we are aware of the attributes it takes to be the eldest because we had no choice in the matter.
And I assure you, we would last significantly longer than just a mere day if we were to be put in your shoes.
