Due to moderator illness, signups have been extended through TUESDAY, June 27!
From the Years of the Trees through the Fourth Age – it’s time once again to make your Tolkien FPS fanfic dreams come true…
Have you always wanted to read a certain pairing or scenario, but couldn’t write it yourself? Have it written for you – specifically and especially for your own sweet self! And share your own gift in exchange!
That’s right, it’s time for Ardor in August! The exchange focuses on the Elves, Men, Dwarves, Valar and Maiar of J.R.R. Tolkien’s legendarium. Maybe it’s Gildor and Glorfindel you love, or perhaps Boromir-on-Theodred strikes your fancy… or maybe Lúthien and Thuringwethil is your OTP? From the Years of the Trees to the Fourth Age, from sultry tales of the Silmarillion to romances in the Ring Wars – spread the word, recruit your friends and fellow authors, and have some fun!
**It is NOT necessary to have a Tumblr, Livejournal, or Dreamwidth account to participate!! All fic will be posted to AO3, and we can post your story if you do not have or do not want an AO3 account!!**
Critical dates:
Sign-up period: June 11 - June 27
Assignments to be distributed no later than July 9th
what do they do when they’re away from each other?:
Glorfindel hunts orcs with the twins and Erestor gets all up in everybody’s business.
nicknames for each other?:
Erestor does NOT find nicknames amusing. That doesn’t stop Glorfindel from calling him all sorts of things, most of them diminutive and kind of insulting.
who is more likely to pay for dinner?:
…..neither of them? I don’t think there are many restaurants in Rivendell.
who steals the covers at night?:
Erestor, and Glorfindel is totally okay with that. He thinks it’s kind of cute.
what would they get each other for gifts?:
One time Erestor gave Glorfindel a book about the fall of Gondolin. Glorfindel went through and corrected it. Erestor did NOT find that funny.
who kissed who first?:
Glorfindel kissed Erestor, much to Erestor’s everlasting dismay.
who made the first move?:
Glorfindel.
who remembers things?:
They both do, but Glorfindel pretends not to because it makes Erestor happy to be right all the time.
who started the relationship?:
Glorfindel. He’s kind of the unstoppable force, whereas Erestor is the immovable object.
who cusses more?:
Glorfindel, definitely, but never where Erestor can hear him because he values his life.
what would they do if the other one was hurt?:
Erestor would nurse Glorfindel back to health. Glorfindel would go kill some bitches.
Ghosts, Part the First: In Which Glorfindel's Glorious Death is Interrupted by a Particularly Chatty Dark Elf
A (hopefully) short lord of the rings fic which will, in its stride, become a glorfindel/erestor, with some meddling from a dead smith. Has absolutely nothing to do with my canon Eol and everything to do with rereading some of epkitty's fics.
---
"I did warn you."
He is on the edge of darkness. He can feel it, a precipice from which there is no withdrawal. The pain has faded and he supposes he is glad for it.
"But no, don't listen to the dark elf. He has nothing of value to say. Screams at the top of his lungs that his son's a little shithead but APPARENTLY you're all deaf. Must be a cultural thing."
The face that swims into view over his is grim, and pale, black-haired and black-eyed. The last time he remembers seeing it it dropped suddenly out of sight over the edge of a cliff, a choked scream cut off by a sickening crunch.
"I said it straight to your pretty face, you know." Eol Moriquendi informs Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, who is dying in the mud and snow.
"What were my exact words? Flowers and fire don't mix, I said, look out for the tower flaming, I said, but no. Half my breath wasted on you pointy eared twits."
"I'm dying." Glorfindel doesn't know if he says it or not, but the thought is there and that is apparently what counts.
"Well yes, you idiot, you are, and if you had any sense at all you'd shut up and go quietly." The black eyes blink. "but you don't have any sense which is why you're not deadyet,more's the pity, you murdering son of an orc."
Yet? What does yet mean? Dead is dead. Even now he can feel the pull of the gates of Mandos.
"Yet means don't get comfortable, you big idiot of a noldo. SOMEONE needs to look after the Peredhel."
Peredhel? Tuor, Idril. Had they made it? Had the forces rallied? He makes to sit up but can't. Weight is on his chest, all around. Everything is getting dim.
"When you make it back, Noldo, you'll have your job to do. But you owe me something."
There is a rasp of a black metal gauntlet across his chest and for a moment, pain flares anew. He feels a heaviness, a strength he had not known.
"You killed me, and I do not forgive, and I do not forget. So there's a task you need to do, when you come back. Nothing difficult. Nothing hard. Just someone you need to pull from perdition, lest you want me haunting your steps for the rest of eternity."
"I owe you nothing." Glorfindel cannot see anymore. There is a dark and terrible laughter.
"We all owe one another something, my Lord. You took my life, unfairly. I demand reparations."
"How?" Everything is becoming muffled.
"Don't worry. Even someone so hide-bound as you should be able to figure it out. Do it right and we're both in the clear. Remember this: red as blood and black as stone, soul you seek run far from home. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off. Lots of work to be done before the end of the world. And I haven't seen my son in an age."
Glorfindel hears the doors of Mandos open, feels great claws close about his middle, and he sees all turn to silver glass.
