#dior; threads

[menelvagor]

Continued from here. For @fainloth.

The peredhel gently nuzzled his wife's face upon noticing the faint blush over her skin, adoring her all the more for it. "Me neither. I suppose - or hope - that it is an extra blessing for us," Dior answered, thumbs brushing over her belly. "One for us each to hold, Nim." He moved his hands lower to hold her closer to him, and ease her charge.

[menelvagor]

Happy Holidays, dear family. @lumecalar / @eluredlost / @elurinlost / @fainloth

Dior had worked in secrecy to create a gift which would please all of his family, from his wife to his children. Naught had he told of his plans, except for craftsmen he charged with creating what he had imagined. The family lived now in Doriath and in the underground palace of Menegroth, which was so very different from their previous home. They all so adored the clear streams, green meadows, and majestic trees from where they had come from. Wherever he could, he found what was similar in their new home. He had found what pleased them about the kingdom of his grandfather.

The Heir of Thingol led his family out into the woods, footfalls soft on the blanket of snow. He told them to close their eyes as he led them under trees to a clearing. Already, perhaps some of his present had been revealed for here the cries and calls of the birds increased to a symphony of birdsong.

"All right, everyone look!" he announced with a smile and a flourish ahead of them. Hanging from the branches of large, old trees, and standing atop wooden posts, were intricate birdhouses and feeders, already stocked with nuts and seeds for the birds to treat themselves to. There were many different types of birds all about: robins, blackbirds, starlings, thrushes. They sang their differing songs to one another and it echoed about the white clearing. Perhaps this could be something to spark their interest and their love for Doriath.

From under his flowing icy blue cloak he produced small pouches of some more gathered seeds and handed one each to Eluréd, Elurín, and Elwing.

"Happy Yule and winter solstice, my sweetest darlings," he said, pulling all of them into his sweeping arms and then straightening again and moving close to Nimloth for a short kiss. "And to you, my Queen."

[menelvagor]

❛  we should try to find a way no one ends up dead.  ❜ / lindóme for dior ! -✧- @freewillds

Dior did not look up at Lindóme as she spoke, and seemed lost to his own mind as he considered. Any way he looked at the situation, all he could sense was death. Despair. Dishonor. Even if he had returned the Silmaril into the hands of the Fëanorians, how would he know his family to be safe? If they would slay their own kin over swanships to make passage to Middle-earth, why would they not take the Silmaril and then promptly murder them all for having kept it so long from them? Was that not all part of the horrible Oath they had taken?

It could be seen as a disrespect to give up the prize won from the very crown of Morgoth, by his mother and father, over which his grandfather had been murdered. How would they look down upon their heir, giving up that which they fought so hard for? He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, then looked up at Lindóme who awaited his reply. Dior sighed deeply.

"I would wish for nothing more than that, as you should know. No more blood should be shed for these gems. But how can we know they wish to avoid any more death? If they will fight for the Silmarils so, I will fight equally as hard to defend them and my family, and my people. I cannot but feel I would tarnish the memory of my predecessors by giving in so easily."

[menelvagor]

Procyon  —  Sender  grabs  Receiver’s  hand  before  they  can  leave. Elurín to Dior -✧- @elurinlost

Dior stood ready with his sword in hand, having taken the twins and Elwing deep within the caverns of Menegroth, where they might be safe with the incoming attack of the Fëanorians. Rage and duty spurred them on as if they were the beasts of hell unleashed now upon the forsaken Doriath, without her Girdle.

The young peredhel king had risen to leave his children with their servants and guards, to take his wife to meet their enemy. However, he was stopped by the gentlest, warmest touch on his hand. Little fingers gripped tightly around his own and Dior looked down into the face of his dearest Elurín. How the majesty of his own grandfather had descended down to his boys. He sighed deeply but knelt down to be closer to his son's height, drawing him closer. If only he did not have to leave his children behind.

"Your mother and I must leave you, Elurín. You and your brother and sister will be safe deep within these halls. It is where you must stay so that you do not come to harm. We can handle ourselves, worry not," Dior assured in a soft tone, even as anxiety thrummed beneath his own chest in frantic heartbeat, the drum of doom.