#ichisideblog

[well-traveled]

Here is my gift for @ichisideblog for the @tolkiensecretartexchange Secret Santa. :)

Thingol with one of Melians nightingales. Who knows what they are talking about xD

I hope you like it and i wish you a very merry Christmas! :)

[swilmarillion]

Prompt: Anything Melian

@ichisideblog this one’s for you. Hope you like it! :)

“I will throttle him,” Thingol promised, wringing his hands before him as though to demonstrate.  His feet carried him along the length of his bedchamber in an incessant arc, back and forth along the wall as he fumed.  The guards had long since departed from delivering their news, and still the king of Doriath raged, sending vitriol across uncounted leagues to a man who could not hear him.  “I will have him hunted, and I will have him brought back to this hall in chains.  Curse the son of Barahir!  What right has he to elude Elu Thingol?”

“Do you forget,” asked a soft voice from the corner, “it was your demand that sent him forth?”

Thingol turned to face his wife, anger seething across his face.  Melian was unmoved, her face bent to the needlework in her hands, her fingers steadily working needle through cloth as she stitched.  “I am still king in Doriath,” said Thingol, spite sharpening his words.  “Such tasks are mine to set, as I should wish.”

“As is your right,” said Melian blithely.  “Though perhaps you should not begrudge those who seek to do your will.”

“I have no quarrel with the quest he pursues,” said Thingol. 

“Only with your daughter’s part in it,” said Melian.

“And why should she have a part?” snapped Thingol, still pacing distractedly.  “I did not raise her to such recklessness, to fleeing in the dead of night, to outright deceit—”

“Your daughter has grown, my love,” said Melian, carefully piercing the needle through the cloth in her hands.  “She is wise enough to know that her doom lies now beyond the reach of Doriath.  She has given her heart to Beren, much as it pains you.  You cannot ask her to abandon him now.”

Thingol scoffed.  “A man,” he said derisively.  “How can she give her heart to one so beneath her?”

“There were those,” said Melian, calmly pulling her next stitch into place, “who asked the same of me.”  She looked up at last, meeting Thingol’s gaze as his steps ceased and turned to face her.

The king of Doriath had the grace to look contrite, a flush creeping over his face as he dropped his eyes away from the unwavering gaze of his wife; though he would never admit it, those eyes could still unsettle him, even after all the long years of their marriage.  Thingol shook his head and sighed.  “How can she do this?” he demanded mournfully.  “How can she break her father’s heart?”

Melian smiled, though the gesture did not meet her eyes.  “Children will always disappoint their parents,” she said softly.  “It is the nature of such things.”

“Nonsense,” said Thingol.  “I don’t believe it.”

“The truth,” said Melian, “cares little for your belief.”  The sadness that worried its way onto her face echoed in Thingol’s soul, and he shivered at her words.  “We give our children the best of our lives, and in return we place upon them the burden of our hope.  It is a cruel exchange, and I fear it can be far too easy to forget there is life to be lived beyond the expectations we place upon them.”

“So it is your advice,” said Thingol bitterly, “that we must simply accept our daughter’s fate?”

“It is my advice,” said Melian, “that you accept the choices our daughter makes.”

“Her choices,” said Thingol, “pull her ever closer to danger.”

“And yet,” said Melian, returning unconcernedly to her work, “they are hers to make.”

Thingol watched her work for a moment in silence.  Then, heaving a sigh, he made his way across the room and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands.  “She goes to danger and death and ruin,” he said, the edges of his voice fraying into worry.  “And in the end, she goes at my behest.”

“She goes where she is called,” said Melian.  Setting aside her needlework, she reached out to Thingol, pulling his hands from his face and holding them in her own.  “Love is a strange thing,” she said softly.  “It can rarely be understood by those who are not involved.”

Thingol raised her hands to his lips and brushed a kiss against her fingers.  “I fear,” he said hoarsely, “that I have sent her beyond all hope.”

“Not all,” said Melian.  “For she is, after all, your daughter.”  Thingol looked up at her then, and she smiled, a fey light in her eyes.  “And mine.”

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[thebakerstboyskeeper]

ichisideblog reblogged your post and added:

A fiiiccccc~ I’ll write a proper response soon. I...

I’m so glad you liked it!! :)