#celairant

[find-the-path]

Month-long fic challenge using these LOTRO Rangers + Situations prompts collected by a-lonely-dunedain. Minimum of 100 words, no particular adherence to timelines or canon.

5: Idhrien and Celairant & human sacrifice

“Dragons hunt at night at this time of year,” Idhrien told Celairant in a low voice. The Dunlendings crouched in the brush a safe distance away probably couldn’t hear her unless she shouted, but she had little wish to invite more taunts than absolutely necessary. “They mate in the spring and hunt during the day to feed their young, but by now last year’s clutch is old enough to hunt by starlight.”

She didn’t say, Unless they still have runts. She didn’t say, Unless the Dragon-clan knows more about dragons than a healer from the north, and know what they’re doing setting us out here at barely noon.

It was barely noon, and even in the chill of January sweat was prickling at her palms and gleaming on Celairant’s brow. Together they were tied hands and throats to a scratched old pole atop a foothill of the Misty Mountains. Bait set upon a lure. The pole had already been claw-scratched and dragon-scorched when the Dunlendings tied them to it, and unless someone realized they were missing it would soon be again.

[hallothere]

11 for langlas & celeraint :D

11. clinging to each other

His world had shrunk down to a single point. He couldn't widen his awareness if he wanted to, if he tried. Though, there wasn't energy to try. He was a cornered animal to them. Lucid enough to fight, to claw, to kick, to bite, to panic. Any other sensation that filtered in was brief.

A steady drip. Footsteps echoing, somewhere. A scream, two.

He huddled in what might be leaf litter. Floundered in dirt. He took water when he could, for there was no food and no reason to think any was coming. The Falcons needed their provisions for war, after all.

The battle had seemed outside of time. It was over in a heartbeat, but the clash of blades and the sight of blood lingered for hours. Spectres of the dead chased his thoughts in circles but left plenty of room for whoever was next. The dead, the dead were everywhere--

Fighting once more overtook his thoughts and he bent double on the floor. Metal rang against metal, boots pounded on the cold stone, mail hammered against--

He sat bolt upright and nearly kept going straight back onto the floor. The Falcons wore no plate and mail. After all, the Company had helped make... As if out of his thoughts, a soldier in armor stepped around the blind corner and began to work at the cell door. It opened at this... impossible apparition's command. But the man did not enter the cell.

"I need one of them." He called back into the hallway. "I don't want to lose a hand." To Langlas, he turned and gave a grim smile. "No offense meant, my friend. You look a man horse-kicked with too much fire in your eyes."

Two figures in friendlier dress rounded the corner and Langlas was on his feet. Faeron. Celairant.

"Easy. We must go." Faeron's voice was low and urgent, but Celairant charged into the cell without fear. Whatever his young brother said was lost into his shoulder, but Faeron was right. They were both swept up into the escape. The race to the surface.

Next Langlas heard words instead of bleary noise, it was a question. "Celairant? Langlas, is he hurt?" Calenglad's words shocked him mind and body, but Celairant himself was able to answer.

"No, I am well." A little, delirious laugh bubbled up. "But Langlas as not seen fit to let me walk since he laid eyes on me. I think he may need--"

Awareness hit him in rapid stages. The air was crisp and fresh. It was quiet, and open with a breeze that raced down the side of the mountain. It was cold. Celairant wasn't cold, and he was talking, and his chest rose and fell with breath and life.

Langlas became himself again, and tried to set Celairant down. Celairant realized this too, and refused to go. The arms thrown about his neck in relief tightened with the renewal of the feeling. Langlas abandoned all thought of letting go.

When his knees became suddenly cold, Calenglad's hand was there on his shoulder.

"Langlas. Let us help you to stand."

Langlas tore his eyes from the top of his brother's head as reason threatened to go again. Calenglad's face was marked with their trial, and to his surprise, he found Faeron looking worriedly down at him. They had joked, often, to fear the thing that could worry Faeron. It was no laughing matter now.

He stood, and stood Celairant with him, but did not let go.

[poetry-draws]

hey so I'm very normal about the way you draw Langlas (lying). if ever you find yourself in need of more rangers to draw I would love to see more of him and his best bro! I mean I know you *just* drew them so feel free to put this on the back-burner, I just wanted you to know that I love him and the way you draw him

probably not what you meant but

sir, that's your brother. in 20 years you're gonna be inseparable

[a-lonely-dunadan]

Lotro au where everything is the same but Celairant lives instead of being killed offscreen for no other reason than to break my heart specifically

Also I hate that he was killed offscreen and only mentioned a grand total of TWO TIMES after that. I didn’t even realize he was dead until Minas Morgul when he’s offhandedly mentioned by another character! He was so much more important than that!! (To me at least)! The devs did NOT give him the respect he deserved, so y’know what? I’m adopting him. He’s my ranger now. The devs were too mean to him and now they’ve lost Celairant Privileges. He survives the story and goes on lots of fun adventures with Langlas. This is cannon now. This is no longer a post about an AU I’m mad at the devs for hurting my boy so they’re not allowed near him anymore.

[incorrectlotroquotes]

Celairant: That’s the longest worm I’ve ever seen.

Halbarad: That’s a snake.

[arafins]

- Celairant -

[find-the-path]

Month-long fic challenge using these LOTRO Rangers + Situations prompts collected by a-lonely-dunedain. Minimum of 100 words, no particular adherence to timelines or canon.

16: Celairant & fall damage

Celairant focused on breathing deeply and evenly, and willed his hands not to cramp. Langlas was going to kill him for getting into trouble within a day of their arrival.

Though, he thought, he might not have to if he finds me at the bottom.

He didn’t dare twist around to look down. He had glimpsed scattered walls and a cracked courtyard a hundred feet below before he had slipped— not a fun surface to hit from free fall.

How dumb, how stupid he was to have wandered up here alone, when Nethraw had known at a glance that Harndirion was unstable. So of course Celairant had gone all the way to the top to admire the view, too used to the living Elven refuges of Ered Luin to fear the very edge of a balcony. Without Elves to sing strength to the Age-old stones the edge had crumbled beneath his feet.

He should shout— the camp was just below and around the building— but fear seized his lungs and he couldn’t gather breath enough. He could only suck in enough air to not black out, keep his grip, and pray the edge wouldn’t crumble further. And, incidentally, that someone would find him here instead of at the bottom.

[find-the-path]

Month-long fic challenge using these LOTRO Rangers + Situations prompts collected by a-lonely-dunedain. Minimum of 100 words, no particular adherence to timelines or canon.

7: Langlas & defenseless

“Langlas!” His own name catches his attention from the maze of clangs and shouts filling the prison-caves of Tûr Morva. It’s Celairant, grinning at him with bloody teeth, and quite suddenly his lungs of stone release and breathe once more.

“I found you something a little better than your fists,” his brother says, and shoves the hilt of a sword in his hand as he nears. “One of ours, I’m not sure whose—” Langlas knocks the rest of the sentence off without care, crushing Celairant to his chest with the meager strength left to him.

“Hey, watch the bow!” Celairant laughs— the brightest sound these halls have heard in weeks. He brandishes his own bow at Langlas, unharmed and restrung with a (doubtlessly stolen) bowstring. “I shall have no cause to beg Penglir’s forgiveness again. Come on!”