#edain summer

[theserpentsadvocate]

Brandir, son of Bregil and Arachon, of the House of Beor. Text mine.

That is the last one.

[vefanyar]

Kind of sad Edain summer is over. Can't we continue with the non-Edain humans and Númenoreans next month? 

[vefanyar]

Women of the Haladin

Hunleth, daughter of Hundar, Meleth, daughter of Enthor Hathal, daughter of Larnach, Avlin, wife of Dorlas 

[crocordile]

 'Kill him, lord!' she said. 'Kill him too! And then come with me. If you bring their heads, Larnach my father will not be displeased. For two "wolf-heads" he has rewarded men well.'

[houseofhaleth]

Healer

Late fic for Brandir day!! Whoop whoop. Didn't manage to get his cousins in, I feel bad for Hunthor, I'll have to write a story about him some time.

And I know only like two people and me give a damn but that is enough. That is enough people.

Anyway this is what happened when I realised how few of the Haladin made it back from the Nirnaeth, and that this meant either: a) Brandir's father Handir had very narrowly escaped death, and now needed to tell everyone that everyone was dead (including telling his mother that his father was dead) OR b) he had stayed behind and was now undergoing ONE OF THE BIGGEST CASES OF SURVIVOR GUILT ON RECORD .

*****

He didn’t know what had happened. They were saying the men had returned from the battle, but they were also saying they hadn’t returned. Some were back – but without the others. Some people said it was less than twenty. Or it was ten. Or it was three, or one. His mother had left the house the moment word arrived, telling him to stay put, and she’d be back in a moment when she found out the truth.

  She was gone a while. The scariest part wasn’t not knowing – it was that so many adults didn’t seem to know either. People were calling, running past the window, until finally it was too much, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

  They were gathered outside Haneth’s house. Some were calling questions, some trying to shoo people away, some calling for healing supplies, several arguing with each other adults crying…

  He caught sight of his father, white-faced, and his mother with her arms around his shoulders talking intently into his ear. Handir nodded once, but didn’t seem to be listening properly – he was looking at his mother. Grandmother Glóredhel was being held up by aunt Hunleth, grim faced, who was calling for help to carry her home. He couldn’t see Grandfather, although he looked a long time for him. Perhaps he was already inside Haneth’s house. He hoped Haldir wasn’t hurt badly.

  At the back of his mind, a voice whispered that he could be dead, but he forced it down. Don’t want to think about it – can’t think about it. I want to get to mother and father-

  The crowd was thick, and as he watched a strange man – no, an elf! It was an elf! Tall and dark haired, he gave orders to two other elves, who disappeared into the crowd, and started calling for healing supplies and organisation in much louder voices. Brandir watched as the chief elf returned to his mother, who gave him a nod, as if they’d agreed this. With that, she tugged gently on his father’s shoulder, and pulled him towards Haneth’s house. Guards had appeared, but they let them through.

  With a plummeting heart he realised they wouldn’t let him in. His mother had promised to come back…although father looked very pale, and probably needed her more, he decided, reluctantly. She’d probably send a messenger back to the house…

  ‘Boiling water, to clean bandages, and the following herbs,’ someone was shouting. Brandir raised his head.

I know what that looks like. If I bring some – Haneth will let me in!

*****

It must have taken him an hour to collect just two types of herbs people were calling for. Fortunately, he knew where they were likely to grow. When Haneth had been healing his foot, she’d explained all sorts of things to him, to keep his mind off the pain, and to exercise it she’d taken him to fetch herbs.

  He limped up to her hut, holding out the herbs to the guards.

  ‘Haneth’s very busy-’ One began, but the other reached out.

  ‘Good lad, give them here, then.’

  Brandir froze, fingers wrapped tightly around the wilted leaves. ‘Can I…’

  ‘Sure they’re right?’ asked the first man, sceptically.

  ‘We can ask her,’ he said, quickly.

  ‘She’s very b-’

  ‘Haneth! These the ones you’re after?’ the second guard called.

  She appeared at the door. There were flecks of blood on her apron which Brandir found he couldn’t look away from.

  ‘You found these?’ she asked him.

  ‘People said you needed…ashberry and spearroot,’ he said.

  Haneth looked him in the eye. ‘Remember how to chop and crush them?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Come in,’ she said.

*****

  His parents weren’t there.

  ‘They went home,’ said Haneth, realising. ‘You can go to them if you want…’

  ‘Who’ll chop the spearroot?’ Brandir asked. Haneth winced.

  ‘No idea.’

  As much as he wanted to see his parents – they were alright. And Haneth needed his help for the injured men.

  He counted the beds. But it couldn’t be right. Had the others gone home too? Had Granfather?

  Suddenly, he needed very much to grind these herbs, and do everything in his power to pound away the rising fear with a pestle and mortar.

*****

  It was hours later when he returned home. It wasn’t until he pushed the door open that he realised he might be in trouble. By then it was too late.

  His mother sat up – causing his father to sit up too, as they’d been sitting very close, his head on her shoulder. ‘Brandir! Where have you been, I’ve sent so many people asking after you, Hunthor said he saw you down by the stream! What have you been doing?’

  He found he was walking towards them, uncontrollably, and in moments was in his father’s arms. It felt better, although he had to blink back some tears that he didn’t really understand. ‘I had to help Haneth. She wanted herbs, and then she didn’t have anyone to help her grind them, and she showed me how, so…’ and I thought you were in there, he nearly said, but his throat closed over before he could get to anything like what happened? Where is everyone else? Is Grandfather really dead?

  ‘Look,’ said his father. He’d taken hold of one of Brandir’s hands. Blinking, Brandir looked down at it. His fingers were stained green with his work.

  His mother made a noise of exclamation, wrapping an arm around his waist.

  ‘You’re a healer,’ said his father. He still didn’t look right. But as soon as he met Brandir’s eyes, he looked better. He looked himself – and he actually smiled. ‘I couldn’t possibly be more proud of you, Brandir.’

  He felt his mother bend and kiss his head. With that, he needed to rub his eyes with his green hands.

  Looking back, years later, he realised that was the first moment he’d been absolute sure that he would, indeed, become a healer.

[theserpentsadvocate]

So today is also technically Dorlas day. >:[

And tomorrow is Hardang day. :[

And I am not doing anything else for those assholes.

Here's Hardang and Dorlas's kid.

(This is why.)

[theserpentsadvocate]

Self-Indulgent Rambling

…I’ve just realized I find the idea of teenage Brandir with a diary to be the most amusing thing ever. Like, he’s got the right variety of angst and he can get really bitter and resentful, which is perfect for that kind of thing, but he’s so inherently fair-minded… it would be full of stuff like this:

Hardang is the most horrible person in the entire world and I swear on the blood of Haleth that flows in my veins that if he kicks my cane out from under me one more time I’m going to beat him with it until

I really wish Hundad would stop giving Hardang everything he wants because he’s the most unmanageable child I’ve ever seen and if he’s not disciplined he’s going to grow up to be a tyrant.

or he writes

I am unlovely and unloved!!!

then stops and sighs deeply.

I am unlovely and unloved!!!

That’s not true. My mother loves me.

There’s a huge rant about how no one values him and he was born into the wrong time and place

People value skills like healing and singing and learning things when the person with those skills can walk, but with me it means less than nothing! One day, everyone will care about that sort of things and people who like to fight will be considered cruel rough boors!! Why can’t I live then? No one wants to be around me and I can’t blame because I slow them down. But none of them know what it’s like to be me! At least if people mock them or try to trip them up, they can run to get away! When I’m Chieftain – well, that’s not likely the way things are, is it? Father doesn’t understand what it’s like. Even my own family doesn’t want anything to do with me!!!

and then he comes back

Hunthor asked me to go fishing. I feel guilty about what I said before; none of it was true.

[theserpentsadvocate]

Kay. So Brandir's not unfamiliar with the snark, you know?

And it's widely accepted fanon that the Lord/Chieftain/Halad of whatever tribe you belong to is the one who performs the marriage ceremony. (Who else is going to do it?)

And we know from the narrative that when Brandir convinced Niniel not to marry Turambar right off, said gentleman was rather unhappy.

Given those things, I don't think anyone could deny that the conversation went like this:

Turin: *walks into Brandir’s house*

Brandir: No, really. Please do come in.

Turin: Do you intend to sabotage me at every turn?

Brandir: … Wow. Not even going to go there.

Turin: I cannot believe you are messing around in my love life. You should have just agreed to marry us!

Brandir: What? I never said I wouldn’t marry you, I just told her I thought it was bad idea. *bitter* At least someone listens when I talk.

Turin: Well… it’s not a bad idea! …So when she changes her mind, you won’t try to stop us?

Brandir:

Turin: Because when she does we’ll need someone to marry us, and it is your duty to –

Brandir: You know what? I’ve noticed that you seem to think you’re Chieftain here. Why don’t you marry yourself?