Heya! Sorry for the tardiness. (And for the poor shading). But I hope you like my present! I offer you, Glorfindel and Ecthelion, with their kids, Tyelcelure and Herectele. You can clearly see which one is the more level-headed dad, and which one is the not so level-headed dad. (Also let's appreciate Glorfindel's shouders for a moment). There was gonna be wayyyy more art than just this one, but I ran out of time so don't be surprised if I yeet sketches at you in the coming months sksks.
Summary: Mablung visits Beleg on the northern marches to spend some time alone together before the summer festival.
Gift for @lycheesodas for @gatesofsummerexchange
Read on AO3
“I will need you in Menegroth when Melian and I depart for the summer in Neldoreth, so I am glad to grant my Captain leave to visit his own beloved in Dimbar,” Thingol said, with a flicker of warmth in his eyes.
The spirits of the king – of the whole forest – always lifted as the buds of Spring grew plump on bare branches and unfurled their leaves and as Esgalduin’s banks rose to the swelling of the river’s song.
Mablung nodded and extended his open palm in a gesture of gratitude . “Thank you,” he said. “Though, I would clarify that I do not go only–”
“You need not pretend for my benefit,” Thingol said, rising from his seat beneath Hírilorn, a chair of living roots that twined up from the earth before curling down below once again. “I know why you are going and I do not begrudge it.”
Thanking the king once more, Mablung took his leave and made preparations for the journey to the northern marches. It was not, in truth, only to spend time with Beleg that he was going. It was also an opportunity to offer his encouragement to the wardens who guarded Doriath’s most dangerous border. Beleg would be in Menegroth with him soon enough for the summer festival – but it was always most pleasant to be with his husband among the wild borderlands that reminded them both of the years under the stars when they first met.
The sounds of the waking forest spilled from every glade on the journey through Neldoreth and the night air was cool but soothing, the scents of rose and thyme and damp earth filling his lungs whenever he took his rest. He arrived at the huts of the marchwardens at midday, finding them at their meal in the dappled sunlight under a budding canopy of beech.
“Greetings, Captain, welcome!” said one, jumping up from her seat on a fallen log, and clasped his hand. Mablung returned her greeting and could not hide a little laugh at the ease of the wardens under Beleg’s command.
“Please, sit with us,” she said, waving her fellows aside with a hand and offering a plate of fresh currants and acorns. “We also have nettle tea – Merenor even has a flask of pine liquor that I am sure he’d be willing to share.” She cast a playful glance at the Elf in question, who raised his flask in agreement.
“No, thank you, Merenor,” Mablung said. “Perhaps this evening,” he added, not wanting to appear ungrateful for their hospitality.
“But of course, I am remiss!” the first warden said, clapping a hand against her forehead. “You will no doubt want to recover and rest before–”
Just then, a pair of strong arms descended on Mablung’s shoulders, filthy hands pressing against his chest and yanking him backwards.
“Melethron!” Beleg exclaimed, pulling himself around to plant an enthusiastic kiss to his husband’s cheek. Warm but all-too-boisterous laughter broke out among the wardens. Mablung straightened and gently tried to shrug him off, but Beleg clung to his waist, looking up at him with that devilish grin that he knew full well drove Mablung to distraction.
“Very good, you have outwitted even the Captain of Doriath with your stealth,” Mablung jested for the benefit of their audience, nonetheless casting a warning glance at his husband when he spoke his own title – a reminder that, yes, after all these years he still did not want to be embraced in front of those under his command. Beleg elbowed him in the side as he released him, his face still split into a smile.
“You’ll have to excuse me, my fellow hunters,” Beleg said to the crowd. “It seems my Captain has come all the way to Dimbar to consort with me. You’ll understand that I cannot deny him.”
At that, Beleg turned, dragging him towards his hut by the wrist. Mablung submitted to being led off like a blushing lover, won over as he had been for millennia by the charm of his untamed husband.
Once in the hut, Beleg cast his hunting gear, belt, and quiver onto the floor. Only Belthronding was handled with care as he placed the bow in its place on the wall.
Mablung put down his pack and sat to remove his own travelling gear less hurriedly, scanning the pile of weapons and clothing that Beleg was adding to even now. He clicked his tongue and Beleg’s eyes darted over to him.
“What?” Beleg said. “Now, now, I will have none of that.” He raised his brows and pointed a finger. “This is my home, I will order it as I please.”
“Order it?” Mablung smirked. “I do not think you have ordered it all winter.”
“That’s not true at all!” Beleg extended his arms and strode towards Mablung, taking a seat beside him and pulling off his boots. “You should see the cupboards. I spent the whole winter carving boxes to separate the grains, herbs, nuts, and dried berries. I had clay jars brought in for the pickles and preserves. I even had names engraved on the sides in Cirth. They’re quite impressive, I’ll show–”
Mablung stopped his chattering mouth with a kiss, which Beleg received without hesitation, dropping his boot to the floor to take Mablung’s face in both hands. No doubt he would have continued gladly, but Mablung had other ideas about where to take his husband for their first reunion in nearly a year. He disentangled himself from Beleg’s arms.
“Don’t you want to know what I am doing here?” he asked, tension he didn’t know was there unwinding when he met Beleg’s eyes.
“Oh. I assumed for me,” Beleg said, brushing a calloused thumb over Mablung’s cheek.
“Mm.” Mablung pulled the hand down from his face and examined the lines of his lover’s palm. He considered making up another pretext for his visit, but settled on a simple, “Yes.”
Beleg sprang up lightly and walked over to the cupboards, pulling out many jars and boxes, just as he’d described.
“Shall we prepare some things to eat this evening?” Beleg said as he assembled the containers on the counter. “You did intend to take me to that glade with the pool?” He glanced at his husband, biting at the side of an acorn to test its freshness.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he responded to Mablung’s silent question. “It’s an obvious choice, and do not think I have forgotten the position of the stars when we first spent an evening there.”
Of course he’d known. After many long years as lovers on the journey from Cuiviénen, it was in that grove where, having found a land to call home at last, they had called upon Eru to recognise their bond as marriage – and though there had been no Sun or Moon in the sky then by which to count the days, the Elves of Beleriand had still kept time by the cycling of the stars. The years had become much briefer under the light of Anor, but the memory always surfaced more vividly when Spring spread its blanket of colour over the land.
They packed bread, cured meats, berries, and a bottle of the pine liquor, of which the marchwardens in the North seemed to have a much greater share than the other borderlands. Menegroth’s stores were nearly empty, though there was a plentiful supply of wine, as well as Dwarven ale and strong spirits brought in from Belegost for the upcoming festival. Mablung wondered if they were not making the liquor themselves here. But he supposed the stout bowmen of Dimbar had earned it.
“You’re not seriously worrying about supplies of liquor, are you?” Beleg read his thoughts across the thread connecting their minds, smiling wryly as he stuffed his pack. “Thingol has more than enough for weeks of celebrations holed up in those caves. Anyway, since when has festival preparation fallen under the duties of the Captain of Doriath?” Slinging the pack over his shoulder, Beleg leaned over and kissed Mablung’s cheek. “You work too hard,” he said.
The grove was buzzing with bees and white moth wings shimmered in the sunlight. They had built a talan in the trees there many years ago, and they climbed up now, rolling out their blankets in preparation for the evening. Above, the canopy of unfurling leaves was still open to the sky and they would take their rest looking up at Elbereth’s stars and the waxing glow of Ithil.
Mablung hopped down from the tree and dug through his pack, pulling out his carefully-wrapped gift.
“What do you have there?” Beleg was already wading into the creek, and he turned to Mablung with a curious look.
“I had it made for you.” Mablung unfolded the silk from around the book, bound in canvas dyed a rich purple.
“A book?” Beleg cocked an eyebrow. “What am I supposed to do with that?” he teased. “You know I prefer listening to reading.”
“I know,” Mablung said. “And I will read it to you every day on the journey back to Menegroth for the festival, if you insist. But I wanted you to have this to enjoy when I am not here.”
“That is sweet.” Beleg returned to examine the book, brushing his hand gently over the cover. “What is it about?”
“It is the story of a great bowman and a warrior,” Mablung said.
Beleg looked up, mouth curled into half a smile. “Oh is it?”
“They live in a beautiful woodland realm, free of danger, but they are restless. One day, they set out alone together to make war on a terrible Enemy.”
“Sounds unlikely.” Beleg’s eyes had that glimmer of starlight as his smile softened and he opened to a page. “Ah, it is in verse!”
“Yes, of course. It can be narrated or sung.”
“Excellent, I will teach the birds to sing it to me. Speaking of which,” Beleg placed the book in his own pack, “I have a gift for you, also.”
He tilted his head up to the trees and whistled, two slow rising notes and then a trill. At once, a thrush came gliding down from the trees and perched on his outstretched hand.
“Pedwin will go with you to Menegroth. She won’t live in the caves of course, but I know you need practice with their language, and she will teach you. Then you can send a message to Dimbar whenever you like.”
The bird flapped her wings and landed on Mablung’s shoulder. She pecked delicately at his neck.
“See, she can even kiss you for me.” Beleg breathed a soft laugh, petting the bird’s head with a fingertip. “Come,” he said, and Pedwin flew off into the trees, “let’s swim. Then you can read to me from that book.”
“I think we had better leave that for bedtime,” Mablung said.
“Why?” Beleg paused midway through lifting his tunic over his head, looking charmingly affronted with both arms twisted to one side, still stuck in the sleeves.
“I fear you’ll fall asleep well before Anor passes down into the West, and we cannot have that.”
“With you reading to me? I would not!” Beleg protested, tossing the tunic onto the grass.
Mablung felt a tug on the corners of his lips. Possessed by that playful spark that only his husband could ignite, he lunged at Beleg and tumbled them both into the deep pool. Beleg shrieked, sounding more like to the animals he conversed with than a captain of the marchwardens, and Mablung laughed. The sight of Beleg’s half-shocked, half-beaming expression when he bobbed to the surface, silvery hair clinging to a face spattered with glittering droplets, far outweighed the inconvenience of their soaked clothing.
For the @gatesofsummerexchange for @puelhathnofury
Húrin wedded Morwen, the daughter of Baragund, son of Bregolas of the House of Bëor and she was thus of close kin to Beren One Hand. Morwen was dark haired and tall and for the light of her glance and the beauty of her face men called her Eledhwen, the elven fair. But she was somewhat stern of mood and proud. The sorrows of the House of Bëor saddened her heart for she came as an exile to Dor-lómin from Dorthonion after the ruin of the Bragollach
The Children of Húrin, Chapter One “The Childhood of Túrin”
I’ve spoken about some of these ideas before so feel free to look through the character tags for more!
The wedding of Húrin and Morwen occurred in the spring of 460, First Age of the Sun following a year long courtship and a still longer friendship between the two. The mother of Húrin, Hareth of the Halidan, spent much time with the refugees of Ladros when first they arrived among their people. Morwen and her cousin through her father, Rían the daughter of Belegund and Glaereth were among a small group of children who had survived both the invasion and destruction of Ladros and the journey undertaken by Emeldir to reach safety. Both girls were orphaned during the Dagor Bragollach at the ages of twelve and five.
Húrin Thalion had returned from the wilderness with his brother nearly a year previous and the matter was still a popular source of speculation though it was treated with far less urgency now. The subject of his courtship was uncharacteristically slow to enter the domain of Dor-lómin gossip.
Húrin, newly lord of Dor-lómin was forced to spend much time away on duty for the Noldor King Fingon leaving Lady Morwen and at times his brother, Huor, to see to some of his duties.
Morwen was aided in this by her growing friendship with Aerin, a young woman who was kin to Húrin. Aerin had grown up around the political scenes of Dor-lómin and in addition to providing Morwen with details on the goings on of their people, her familiarity with the Hadorians was a valuable tool. The two would occasionally walk or ride together on rare quiet days.
Less formal words:
I talked about Morwen’s mixed feelings on being called Eledhwen in a few posts namely here and here. I do think she allows it from Húrin without any resentment.
There was definitely some contention regarding their marriage because Morwen was an outsider who was well, Tolkien says somewhat stern of mood and proud, another might say, not particularly social or warm seeming (affectionate) But many if not most grew to at least respect her for her courage and intelligence.
gatesofsummer replied to your post “i know i can’t draw for shit, but if you’re reading this you should...”
Hands are always a good thing to practice! Let your non-dominant hand rest on a table or something and practice looking at it and sketching out the general shapes that it makes.
I'll definitely do this! I need to get over my fear of drawing hands lol
