I am an Orthodox Christian with an unyielding love for mythology 🥲🩷
Hobbies: drawing, reading, writing (poetry on occasion), gardening, listening to music, researching, taking walks in nature.
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I'm not going to write any DNI's as interacting with me is your own choice. I'm just a person learning to see the colors in life again after what could be considered chronic depression and doing so through art and experiences in life.
I'm open to asks and requests! I love hearing from people.
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♡ Scattered poetry EcthelionxReader
♡ To the voice in the wind ArgonxReader
◇ Sea-shells AegnorxReader
Note: yes the fics will come out eventually, currently dealing with private stuff. 》 HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
A casual doodle for today: Idril, Glorfindel & Ecthelion. I imagine the elves had lots of festivals even in Beleriand, perhaps even a cultural food festival. ....And yeah I HC that Glorfindel owns a carrot apron. You can't change my mind.
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A young Maeglin, unknowingly setting himself up for doom. Can you spot the influences of Morgoth?
Colored pencil on 120g/m² paper. For the skin coloring style I went with inspiration from old school anime (I honestly really loved the coloring of Rose of Versaille).
Prompt: Can I request a melancholic Maedhros x femreader about a lost romance? Where Maedhros is reminiscing a romance from beleriand that was short lived or forbidden. Thank you!
Requested by: anonymous
A/n: Thank you for your request! I've tried my best to make it melancholic. I hope you like it! 🩷🥰
Warnings: melancholic, mentions of death/war, angst (sorta)
The night was cold and and the roads slippery from the pouring rain. A thick fog hung in the air and made it hard to see even one's own hands. Maedhros trudged forward along the narrow forest path. The hairs on his neck standing up every other second when the fog appeared to look a little too much like people he once knew. The forest was eerily quiet for this time of year; no owls hooting, no creatures rustling the leaves along their way home. Only the sound of his own breathing, that now too, almost sounded foreign to his own ears. His breathing resembled more that of an ailing old man on his deathbed than a young elven lord.
As Maedhros persisted along the road he heard numerous thunder strikes. Not just a small burst of rain, this would soon become a storm. He needed to find cover. Because his destination was still far from here.
Maedhros ran as best as he could until at some point he collided with something solid. He was greatly wearied and bleary eyed, looking around to try and find what he had walked in to. Only to realize it was a young mortal woman. A short one at that. Not to mention soaked to the bone. "She must've been out here for hours." He thought. Maedhros kneeled down, attempting to make his imposing figure less frightening. It didn't do much, as all the scars, the silver streaks in his hair and the white fire burning in his eyes made him far scarier than anything else. His voice came out raspy and almost hollow, from lack of use; "Do not be afraid mortal. I come in peace. Are you hurt?"
She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Shaking your head no. But as soon as the next thunderclap sounded she froze up like a deer in headlights. Afraid of thunder. Maedhros had seen this exact expression many times before. When some of his siblings were still small elflings. He helped her stand up and put his cloak over the both of them. Shielding himself and her from the pouring rain, while searching for a hiding spot.
Soon they found a spot to hide; a small cave among some trees. There they sheltered for the remainder of the night. During the night they would converse and Maedhros found himself liking the the mortal whom he now knew was named 〔y/n〕. A kindred spirit he had found in her. Both had overcome a lot of things in a short period of time. As soon as daybreak arrived Maedhros and 〔y/n〕 continued on their way. Parting ways at a crossroad.
A few months went by, and Maedhros came by your home often. It was a small haven of peace and rest for him. He'd often find you sitting on the patio, busy with your own little hobbies and trinkets. He found it endearing. His favorite excuse to visit was the rain. "It rained, so I came by for shelter. I hope you do not mind." It had become a sure sign of his appearance for you. Every rainy day you'd await his appearance like a child waiting for a present to arrive.
One night Maedhros didn't come by. You waited all day, but he never came. And the next day and the day after. And so it continued for weeks. Weeks turned into months, and months turned in to years. With each year your heart grew heavier and wearier. You felt abandoned, to be honest. You never got to know what had happened. You felt like you'd lost a friend. Perhaps more than a friend. Now wishing you had spoken out earlier, about your feelings, hopes and dreams. For a future that now could never be. He was gone. Without a trace.
By the time you reached 80 years of age, someone came by your home. Clad in elvish armor and carrying a single letter. The elf spoke in what you by now knew was Sindarin. "The lord of Himring has perished. We were notified by remaining acquaintances of your existence. Farewell I bid you, and my condolences." The ellon was curt and spoke quietly. As if mentioning Maedhros' name was dangerous. As soon as you grasped the letter, the ellon turned on his heel and vanished back in to the forest. Leaving you alone and bereft. He died. Maedhros had died. He had kept the war with Morgoth a secret from you. The singular letter in your trembling hands was handwritten by him. With explanations for everything. The very last of the letter read; "〔Y/n〕, if you read this, know that I have perished. Either in battle or from the torment of my own mind. My brothers have all perished before me. Except Maglor. In whom I hope you might find some consolation. I distanced myself early. For your sake and mine. I loved you. Please forgive me, if I am deserving of your forgiveness. If you think me undeserving, I will accept it to be so. May Illuvatar protect you."
Your last years were spent in a blur of grief and foggy memories. The cause of your death being grief. It was too much for your old heart to withstand.
Many an age later in Valinor was reborn a certain copper haired elf. Maedhros had been allowed to be reborn. But something still troubled the noldorin prince. And many elves whispered and speculated. Whatever could have possibly made the noldorin prince choose to sit outside on the patio, in the pouring rain? Every time it rained, Maedhros would sit outside on the patio, getting soaked to the bone. Perhaps it was also a cover for his innumerable tears. Tears he'd shed for hours in the rain. Mourning a love he had both been robbed of by circumstance and his own stubbornness. The rain would forever remind him of you. And he wished each time in vain that it would rain forever. Because if he closed his eyes and sifted through his mind, the memories of you and him together in the rain would feel all the more real. As if he had never left your side.
A/N: This had originally started off as a small fic and then it festered into more words before I could stop it. Oopsie
Warnings: fluff, modern human reader in middle earth, humour
Words: 2.3k
Synopsis: You tricked Ecthelion into following your make-up human remedy to cure your fever.
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You felt like you were in a sauna. The linens had been changed twice already, yet the heat still clung to you like a second skin. Sweat dampened your brow, matting your hair to your neck as you lay curled beneath the lighter sheets they’d switched to once they realised how furiously your body had begun to burn up. You didn’t remember getting back to your room—only that the last thing you saw in the kitchen was the blurred edge of a table, and then the sound of shouting before the world had tipped.
Now, the room was spinning faintly when you opened your eyes, and above you was the stone ceiling of the room appearing too bright even in twilight. Groaning at the flooding sensation of that light, you grimaced and licked you lips, only to realise that your mouth tasted stale. Your lips were cracked, and your joints were aching with a dull, simmering pressure. Breathing felt like a reluctant task you were performing for someone else. You swore an elephant was tap dancing on your chest.
And sitting beside your bed, still as a statue but with silvery-grey eyes as focused as a falcon’s, was Ecthelion.
He wasn’t shirtless and sweaty this time. Instead, he wore a layered silver-blue robes, softened around the shoulders and sleeves; thr sleeves slightly pushed up to his elbows in a way that was too casual for the head of the household. His long ebony hair was drawn back in a single plait, and his fingers were curled lightly around a cloth he had clearly been using to dab at your face. Quickly darting your eyes around, you noticed there was a bowl of water on the small table beside him, no longer steaming, with a few herbs you vaguely recognised as things Lord Galdor had once mentioned during a short medical alert for injuries in the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” you groggily croaked.
“I am not moving until your fever breaks,” he announced as though he knew that you would sneak away the moment he turned his back or departed, leaving you under professional support—because you would and had before. “You’ve frightened everyone.”
“I’m fine,” you reassured casually, trying to turn in your spot. Unfortunately, the motion caused more harm than good as it made your stomach lurch. “Just overworked. Been on my feet for three days. Galdor wanted a feast.”
“Galdor,” he corrected, “wanted venison stew and grilled peaches. Not his cook fainting into the basin of boiled lentils and smoked beef.”
You would’ve laughed if it hadn’t felt like your chest had been stuffed with hot cotton. Worse, your limbs didn’t want to obey you. The ache decided to crawled down your spine, and better yet, blinking started to feel like it took effort. You weren’t used to being sick in this world—rarely caught anything, and when you did, it was usually solved with an hour’s rest and a few drinks of miruvor. This was something else entirely.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you gently reminded again, letting your head flop to the side where the pillow was cool. “You’ve probably got angry murder geese and a fancy diamond fountain to supervise.”
“My swans can survive without me…not sure about this new fountain you speak of, but I can whip something up,” he replied with the faintest arch of one dark brow and a twitch of his lips. “However, I was not going to let the most interesting person in Gondolin die of their mortal affliction like…fatigue.”
A smile pulled lazily at your mouth. “So I’m interesting now?”
“You’ve always been interesting. I simply tried to keep my thoughts to myself.” He wrung out the cloth in the water again, leaned forward, and brushed it across your forehead with careful pressure. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone who could slice a boulder in half with his sword. “But you make that very difficult.”
“Mmm. Sorry,” you murmured sleepily. “I didn’t mean to collapse dramatically just so you’d come flirt with me.”
He froze momentarily, doing his best not to panic internally at the very true accusations. “This isn’t flirting. This is disaster control.”
“Same difference.”
Shifting your body under the sheets, leg twitching with some half-dreamt memory of the kitchen ovens, you were beginning to feel warm. Too hot. And yet your fingers were cold, your skin prickled uncomfortably beneath the gown someone must have helped you out of your uniform into. You hated feeling like this—so useless, pinned down by your own body while someone like Ecthelion, graceful and composed, hovered like some shining guardian waiting for you to slip away into death.
“Would you like water?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Or more of the willowbark?”
Grimacing, y shook your head weakly. “Oh god! No more bark, please. Makes me feel like I’m high on cloud nine.”
Opening his mouth to question your unusual phrase, he shook his head and considered it the fever talking. “It is a sedative. It would make one feel drowsy.”
“Hey, I thought elves weren’t supposed to know much about human sickness.”
“I asked Glorfindel.”
“Glorfindel!—” If you had the ability to sit up, you would. Instead, you opted for staring at him concerned. “—You’re putting my life in his hands? His solution to everything is wine and a very sharp sword.”
“And yet he’s still more knowledgeable than I am by advising me to ensure you remained in bed.” He leaned back, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Your species is incredibly inconvenient, you realise. You work yourself to the bone, you refuse to eat enough, you forget to sleep, and then you fall into bed with a fever like a wilting flower.”
“You sound like my mother,” you sighed.
“You had the healers in this house running in circles for the first hour. They had no idea what to do. I started thinking you had some incurable mortal affliction.”
“Just overworked,” you lightly reminded again, trying to move and regretting it immediately. “Tell Galdor to let me sleep more next time.”
“He has already been informed. Somewhat loudly.”
You turned your head toward him, blinking through the sweat. “You yelled at Lord Galdor?”
“I didn’t yell,” he corrected politely. “I lectured. Sternly.”
The image of it made you smile weakly against the pillow. Ecthelion, tall and formal, walking into Galdor’s kitchen with all his might just to scold a lord unintentionally for working his cook to the bone, and then staying—still here, hours later, watching you like a hawk as if you might disappear the second he turned his head. You probably you have.
“You don’t have to keep watching me,” you suggested. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. You mortals have a very dramatic way of collapsing without warning.”
“Still mad about the stew?”
“I’m mad about the state of you.”
His thoughtfulness made you soften. “You care?”
He looked briefly startled, like the words had escaped him by accident. And yet, his expression shuttered immediately, as he politely looked away to hide his face. “I do.”
A pregnant pause hovered in the room before another drop of sweat slid down your temple, prompting you to let out a low groan and reached weakly for the sheets, trying to shove them off with your trembling fingers. “It’s too hot. Can’t—can’t sleep like this.”
“You’re burning,” he said. “You need to stay covered to sweat it out.”
“For the love of all things good, I don’t need to combust.”
He sighed, and then pushed his chair closer to the bed, rolling the sleeves of his robe even higher as he leaned over to adjust the pillow beneath your shoulders. Once he was finished, he dipped the cloth into the water again, and then wiped your neck, gently pressing at the overheated skin.
“Why are your hands so cold?” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded as you stared at his wrist, trying to hold back a violent shudder and clearly failing.
“Because I haven’t been sick,” he murmured humourless. “Nor do my people tend to run temperatures unless we’re active or in the sun.”
“Tch. You’re so rude to me, Thel. I’m not dying.”
“That is not what your skin is saying.”
“Fine, then. If you want to cure me, then kiss me.”
The cloth stilled against your throat.
“What?”
Blinking up at him with a straight face and cracked lips, you met his eyes. “It’s an old fashion remedy from back in my world for temperature regulation. A kiss.”
Ecthelion looked at you as if you’d just said that you were the Dark Lord incarnated. “What nonsense is that?”
“It’s a human thing,” you stated faintly. “Secret healing technique that I believe works best with elf-lords after deeper…research.”
“You’re delirious.”
“True,” you agreed, leaning in slightly closer to him. “But it’s real. Helps equalise body heat by absorbing the cooler temperature, magic and...saliva or something. It’s science.”
“You’re using your illness as an advantage and too seriously,” he protested, but there was a blush and tightness around his mouth that suggested he was trying not to smile.
“Take the fever away,” you whispered dramatically, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Save me from the boiling curse, oh my noble lord.”
“I should uh…fetch more cold water.”
“Don’t leave me! I’ll die before you come back.”
You were clearly out here questioning his sanity. He didn’t know whether to walk away and hope that it was the fever doing to talking, however, the opportunity might never return unless he worked up the courage. Giving a long-suffering sigh, then dipped the cloth again and pressed it back to your collarbone with something bordering a glare.
“You are insane.”
“I am dying, as you claim.”
“You’re not dying, you’re melodramatic.”
Pouting at his response, you eyes close again, letting the pressure of the cloth moved to your jaw, then your cheek, lingered there a moment longer than necessary. His fingers were much more careful compared to a moment ago. It was clear to state that his gaze had wandered as he contemplated.
Feeling the lingering against your cheek, you opened your eyes, to meet his gaze on you, but softer—less rigid like something in him had begun to fold. He didn’t realise it yet, but he was leaning in closer, his hair slipping from behind his ear to form a small blind.
“You really are overheated,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
“Mmm. Too bad no one’s kissing me,” you taunted. “Ever heard of the phrase ‘A kiss from a handsome lord, keeps illnesses away?’”
His gaze tenderly flicked up to yours, eyes softening around the edges and making you realise just how beautiful his eyes were when indecisive. You could see it now—he was actually considering it. His brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a flat line, but the decision was making itself somewhere behind his eyes. Your fever must have been sky-high to think that Ecthelion of the Fountain was actually entertaining the idea of—
And then his hand, the one that had been holding the cloth, shifted to your jaw. Those cool fingers, that held swords and fought for victories, cradled your cheek. His thumb brushed beneath your eye, the gesture slow, contemplative and urging you not to look away. Gingerly, he leaned in just a fraction, and the air between you stilled.
“This is ridiculous,” he murmured.
“Not denying it works.”
“Just to be clear,” he whispered with an unreadable expression, “if I kiss you, it’s to cure you.”
“Whatever floats your boat, Captain.”
He didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your comment and instead, leaned in.
His lips were cool, unexpectedly soft, and incredibly still at first—like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when your fingers reached weakly up and curled into the sleeve of his robe, he pressed closer. His lips were careful and undeniably tender—a far cry from the fevered mess of clashing mouths but something more…purposeful. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing beneath your jaw as he deepened the kiss slightly—just enough to steal your breath. And as if it was a mind trick, the heat of your fever melted under him for one brief moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were steady.
You breathed. “I’m still hot.”
“That is not my fault.”
“Should try again. For science’s sake.”
“Do you not have a sense of decorum?”
“Says the person who listened to my foolishness and kissed me.”
He quickly cleared his throat, sitting back a little and appearing flustered. “Do not think I make a habit of kissing semi-conscious humans.”
“I’m not unconscious.”
“Barely counts.”
You smiled again, even as your vision blurred. “You’ve got good hands for a warrior.”
“I have excellent hands. I simply rarely use them for wet cloth and feverish cheeks.”
“You’re better than most doctors I’ve had.”
“I should hope so. I am many times their age and ten times as intelligent.”
Saying nothing, you let your head fall back to the pillow while your body continued to ache. The fever still hummed beneath your skin, but there was something oddly comforting about the sensation now. The agonising ache in your joints and muscles were reduced—something about your kiss was extra magically with whatever elf-enhancements he added.
Peering at him through your lashes, his eyes were still on you. Even when you were semi-conscious, apparently, you half-wondered what else he’d done for you. As your thoughts began to fade into another drowsy fog, you heard him shift beside the bed, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. Another cloth dipped into the bowl.
“I’m going to sit with you,” he said quietly, like a promise, “until you’re better.”
“Why don’t you give me another kiss instead?”
“Firstly, get better.”
“Sounds like you really like me,” you slurred.
He didn’t answer.
But the cloth was cool on your brow, and his hand never left yours.
Okay so, as a fan of you XIX The Sun, I was wondering if I could ask for a modern girl in middle earth, because I got elves in earth. So Id be content with a little switch. And, I would love the character to fall in love with Caranthir. It would be super funny for her to fall in love with the grumpy elf, and him to fall in love with an skincare obssesed girl that puts on overly dramatic eyeshadow. THANK YOU <333
Prompt: Okay so, as a fan of you XIX The Sun, I was wondering if I could ask for a modern girl in middle earth, because I got elves in earth. So Id be content with a little switch. And, I would love the character to fall in love with Caranthir. It would be super funny for her to fall in love with the grumpy elf, and him to fall in love with an skincare obssesed girl that puts on overly dramatic eyeshadow. THANK YOU <333
Requested by: @burnetteofgold
A/n: Hi! Thank you for requesting. It was my first time writing for Caranthir so please excuse some of the characteristics. I hope you like it! ☺️
Warnings: (almost) drowning
It was a beautiful spring day, and you had set out to go on a picnic to a nearby meadow. The park was too busy these days with all the couples, parents and not to mention the little kids screeching at the top of their lungs. You wanted something quiet. Somewhere pretty, quiet and lovely for your picnic.
It didn't take you as long to prepare your basket as it had taken you to decide which eyeshadow look would be the best for the occasion. Green and pink? Yellow with sunflower theme? Baby blue? And the list went on as you sat at your vanity and stared at your reflection. Thinking long and hard about what would be the best combo for today. It was a well know fact to everyone who knew you that you loved colors and everything pretty. A magpie of sorts, attracted to shiny and beautiful things. And there was nothing wrong with that. Though perhaps your extensive collection of skincare would have liked to protest, if it had a voice to do so. Because skincare was another love in your life. Meticulous routines, extensive research on active ingredients and what was the best one for which skinconcern....you knew a lot. A walking skincare encyclopedia.
That same morning you had done everything as usual. Your morning skincare, haircare and all the little odds and ends you enjoyed before starting your day. Your day would however turn out very far from your comfortable routine. You were going to be in for a Rollercoaster and you weren't even remotely aware of it as you grabbed your bike keys and picnic basket. You didn't notice the slightly charged buzz in the atmosphere nor the way everything seemed to be so....on edge. Like something was about to burst, like a can of fruit preserves that's got too much pressure.
You took one last look in the hallway mirror, you had your comfy jeans on and a favorite t-shirt that gave you joy every time you looked at it. The makeup you wore was a pastel pink and green look inspired by the pretty tulips you had seen at the store yesterday. It brought out your eye color and gave you a boost of confidence to tackle the day.
You arrived at the meadow in no time. The sun was already high in the sky, making it pleasantly warm. The flowers of the field bloomed and lifted their fragrance in to the air, making it smell sweet. You had found your spot quickly and sat down. Enjoying your picnic for a long while.
The enjoyment of sitting down didn't last long however. Soon enough your mind began to itch for a little adventure. Getting up from your spot you ventured out further in to the meadow. On the hunt for pretty trinkets. You often found colorful rocks and small trinkets here. There was a river nearby as well. Since it was warm enough today, you decided to venture out to the river. Maybe read a little by the riverbank.
Standing by the riverbank you didn't get any time to recollect your bearings as in a split second the ground beneath you fell away in to the river. Throwing you in to the waters. You had no idea what was happening and panic started to set in. Flailing wildly against a current that you were certain was not so strong just a moment ago. You were dragged under the water roughly and struggled against the current. The temperature of the water suddenly became multiple degrees colder. As if you had jumped in to an icy lake instead of a warm spring stream.
You managed to come up for air and screamed as loud as you could for help. Through bleary eyes you could just about vaguely make out something or someone speeding towards you on what seemed to be a horse? You heard a deep masculine voice call out to you in a language you couldn't possibly understand even if you tried. But the urgency in his voice was universal. Withing moments your freezing, soaked body was hauled out of the waters on to dry land. You were shaking from both the cold and the adrenaline that was still coursing through you. When your eyes finally adjusted you saw to your great horror that you were not in the meadow anymore. But in some vast plains that resembled a winter landscape with an even larger river that was deep and dark. And you were sorely underdressed for the frigid temperatures.
You would later find out that you had nearly drowned in the river Gelion. Close to the border of Thargelion, kingdom of Caranthir the dark. You finally lifted your gaze and were met with a sight that made you freeze up. You were being held up by what looked to be a man who could put models to shame from back home. A long thick mane of unruly pitch black curls cascaded down his back and shoulders. His eyes reminded you of the blueish frost on the windows during a snowstorm. And his skin was soft and even. Aside from one large port wine stain birthmark, marring his beautiful features. But even that, to your half delirious state from nearly drowning, looked more like a peony than an ugly mark.
Caranthir spoke to you in a language you didn't understand. Which did not make any of this easier as he was after all the harshest of his brothers and the quickest to anger. And this man's patience....it grew thin. To Caranthir's great relief you could understand common. Which gave you some leeway in to calming him down. But he was not going to let you off easy. You had nearly drowned on his lands, were severely underdressed for the season and looked completely out of your mind. At least to him.
"Who are you and what ails you? Why were you in the river Gelion in this time of year?" Caranthir spoke through gritted teeth. He had to try his best not to kickstart his temper as it was already starting to smolder under the surface. Who in their right mind, dressed as such, would venture out in to an icy river? In the dead of winter! Caranthir was exasperated with you already, but he still had kindness in him. So after you spent 10 minutes explaining your situation he wordlessly hoisted you up and on to his horse. Wrapping his cloak around you to protect you from hypothermia.
The ride to Thargelion was not too long, but it was agonizing in more ways than one. First of all you were still soaked through and freezing. Secondly you were pressed up against what to you was possibly the most handsome man you could imagine. You were definitely not okay. It was unfortunate that this handsome man was also a cactus personified. The whole ride through he kept pestering you with questions and occasional barbs that made you think that perhaps he was entirely made out of poison. Caranthir wasn't too good at holding his tongue.
In the healing wing of Thargelion you were soon warmly accommodated and cared for. A healer was always close by to check on you and a maid kept you company for as long as her schedule allowed. Soon you had learned her name; Lanyarë, and became friends. Though for the most part of your friendship you'd end up calling her Lanya.
After your first encounter with Caranthir you had not expected him to be so generous. He had ordered a room to be prepared for you and for all your needs to be perfectly met. By nightfall you had cozied up in some pajamas after a warm bath and a filling meal. Any wounds you had gotten were treated and were healing quickly.
"What a day...I think I'm slowly going mad." You muttered under your breath. You by some sick twisted fate nearly drowned and ended up in Middle earth. "It might be best if I just go to sleep. Hopefully this is just one really realistic hallucination..." you mumbled before drifting off to sleep, surrounded by the many smells and sounds unfamiliar to you.
Come morning you awoke with the sorest limbs you'd ever had in your life. Not so unexpected after the events of the previous day. The day went by in an uneventful fashion; mostly staying in bed and being treated by healers. And the occasional interrogation from the elf you now knew was Caranthir. "He should have a plaque on his forehead; beware, barbed tongue & volatile." You'd grumble time and time again.
The next few weeks passed by speedily. Much to your surprise you'd come to like your grumpy host more than you'd dare to admit out loud. And after 2 months, it looked a lot like it was mutual. You'd find random flowers on your bedside table at ungodly hours of the morning. Which at first was admittedly creepy, but he was perhaps more emotionally constipated than you had thought. You frequently found yourself lavished with favors and privileges some other guest weren't getting. And the small embroidered squares of fabric here and there with sweets in them were puzzling. Until you one day had come to ask Caranthir for help, finding him in his office. Handling a needle and square of fabric with impressive precision. The silence in his office felt heavy, stifling, almost. He had all but sunk in to the floor. All it had to do was open up beneath him and Caranthir would've jumped straight in. This was by far the most red you'd ever seen the face of the lord of Thargelion. A cherry would be ashamed if it had to compete with him. The needle clattered on to the floor. A sound that was now much louder than it should've been. And a slight tremor could be seen in his hands as he rather abruptly stuffed the embroidered fabric into a pocket of his robes.
"What business do you have in my office at this time mortal? Have you no sense whatsoever?" He barked out. But it lacked conviction. He stubbornly held your gaze, unwilling to show weakness even in the face of being discovered.
"So...you are the one who's been sending me those pretty embroideries? Not Lanyarë?" You asked quietly. A little confused, you hadn't expected it to be him. Of all people.
"Yes. Yes it was me! What of it? Who did you think it was you obtuse creature-" His usual snide remarks started to resurface. It seems like he can't hold his tongue even with those he loves. Perhaps even more so with those he loves. He doesn't like deceit after all.
"I thought it was Lanyarë...you know, her name means weaver in your language, right? So I thought-" you were cut off soon after by an exasperated caranthir.
"No! By illuvatar you obtuse, dense, senseless mouse! It was not my maid. It was ME. How do you not recognize the handiwork of the lord of Thargelion? I sought counsel from my brothers, and asked countless elven ladies!-" Caranthir ranted for five minutes straight about you being denser than celegorm after too much elvish liquor. And you'd be tempted to believe him considering you had almost glossed over the fact that he had just confessed his feelings to you.
"Well at least it's mutual then." Was all you managed to mutter before slamming the office door behind you and walking back to your room with a heart beating faster than that of a mouse. He liked you too. That's all that mattered right now. The rest? You'd figure that out later. Your stay in Middle earth suddenly got a whole lot more fun.
To kick off my return to the silmarillion Fandom after a hiatus I'd like to pick up where we left off! There was a tie between flower & slice of life series for the elves so I'd love to see which one will be the winner.
Drop a comment which elves you want to see!
Art/writing requests are open once again as well and completed ones will be added to the queue for August 🩷
A roundup of PJO doodles with 2 of my OCs: Sofia Braeburn and Dina Monterey. With a much loved appearance of Leo Valdez if they had Instagram available at camp.
Recently rediscovered the PJO Fandom and have been nosing here and there. Got inspired to create these two ocs. One is a daughter of Apollo and the other is a daughter of Ares.
