#maethrxl

[tofindthesun-archive]

Little life snippets 4/???

Rumors

Tuiwel is in a state when she reaches the gardens, with her sisters right on her heels. Never have they seen her move so quickly, nor abandon her studies because of an off handed comment. Yet as they reach the small garden of their home in Tirion they share a quick worried glance.

“You don’t think...?”

“—Barathî forbid.”

They surge forward, making quick work of closing the distance between themselves and where Tuiwel now stands in front of their atû. He looks startled to see the three of them, which is not surprising. All three of them were supposed to be away from the house today, Tuiwel busy with her studies and the twins off applying for apprenticeships. The trio met up for lunch, as per usual, and everything was going so smoothing until a half whispered rumor caught Tuiwel’s attention, which led the three of them here to the gardens.

“It’s true, isn’t it? The rumors.” Tuiwel is shaking, hands balled into white-knuckled fists as she tries to keep tears at bay.

Legolas brushes the dirt off of his hands with a cloth rag, exchanging a confused look with Tathrê as he does so. Tathrê is now sitting up now, his book discarded to the side. The once prince’s gaze returns to his children, brow furrowing. “Darling, perhaps you should be more specific. There are a lot of rumors floating around.”

All that escapes Tuiwel is a pained little whimper. “The one about...” Nóruihel glances over to Tathrê, then back to her atû, unsure of how to continue. “You and him. An affair,” Minuial chimes in helpfully, finishing the elder twin’s sentence.

Though Legolas is unsurprised that there is a rumor of that sorts, what does surprise him is that his own daughters have seemingly bought into it. He and Tathrê are close yes, perhaps too close in the eyes of the Noldor, yet this is the way they have always been, a bit more subdued because of his marriage to a Noldo, but the same. And they would not change it for sensitive sensibilities. Elrohir might have held his heart, but Tathrê has half of his soul.

Whilist he struggles to compose himself and get over the shock, Tathrê, meanwhile, pretends he hasn’t heard a thing of what the girls have just all but accused, suddenly finding a certain patch of flowers incredibly interesting to look at.

“There is no affair. Do not listen to those rumors. I respect your father and his customs more than that.. Tathrê and I are close, yes, and we were once betrothed, but that changes nothing. He is my best friend and my fargwanur, my hunt-brother and he always will be. Always has been. If someone mistakes that for an affair and begins these rumors, then they have little else to do and no sense about them whatsoever.”

A little sniffle escapes Tuiwel, and internally she curses herself for being so sensitive towards the numerous rumors that surround her atû, to which he seems so unwavering towards despite their cruelty. A brave face, a front perhaps, but it is a good one. “So you love father then, right?”

“I...care for him, yes.” Though he doubts he will ever profess his utter infatuation for Elrohir as he once used to again. What, after all, was the point?

The twins nearly wince at the hesitation, and Tathrê is now inspecting his nails, almost certainly hoping the ground will open up and swallow him at this point if it meant escaping the terrible awkwardness of this little family drama.

But the answer seems to quell Tuiwel’s fears for now, and she glances to the grass beneath her feet, shoulders losing their tension at last. “I am so sorry, atû. I was just— caught up in it all and I never should have—”

“Hush, child. All is forgiven.” He stands then, moving to embrace his youngest. “Perhaps we should spend some time away from the city. It might do us all good.” A kiss is placed on Tuiwel’s forehead and he pulls back, giving her a reassuring smile. “Now go convince your father.”

Near immediately a mischievous look is shared between the twins and they giggle to each other before running towards the house in a chorus of ‘Father!’, as Tuiwel struggles to keep up with them.

With a sigh, Legolas sinks back down onto the soft grass, running a hand through his hair. Huffing softly, he cuts his eyes towards Tathrê. “You could have helped, you know.”

A wicked little grin that he tries — and fails to hide tugs at his lips. “Hm? Sorry, I must’ve been day dreaming. What just happened?”

The only response he gets is Legolas’ dirty hand rag hitting him squarely in the face.

[tofindthesun-archive]

‘But even as Aragorn they are courteous, if they break their silence,’ said Legolas, ‘And have you marked the brethren Elladan and Elrohir? Less sombre is their gear than the others’, and they are fair and gallant as Elven-lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elrond of Rivendell.’

happy belated birthday kelsey, happy birthday luca!!!!! @maethrxl & @peredhellen

[vezely-a]

@maethrxl | closed

          ❝It was good of you to come to the betrothal announcement.❞            CERTAIN she is not in breaking avoidance, but a chance             to bridge a vast divide between them is seized nonetheless.            ❝You have my gratitude.❞

[mindsmade]

                       ❝ My Lord Elrohir. To what do I owe the pleasure? ❞

                                                closed / @maethrxl

[tofindthesun-archive]

@maethrxl wanted some angst

         Quietly he paces, back and forth in front of the fire place before taking a turn about the room. Bed is where he should be, resting after yesterday’s spell. He cannot remember most of it, the shaking, the restlessness, the sobbing. If he said anything at all, he knows it was begging for just one more year in Ithilien, just one more. One more year has turned into five years thus far, but the Longing is only becoming worse. Sometimes it seems as though it is a near constant roaring in his ears that threatens to drive him mad and he knows, knows that after fighting it for so long, over a century, that he cannot fight it forever.

           A creaking noise sounds behind him and he turns, seeing Elrohir. He tries to offer an apologetic smile. “Did I wake you?”

[tofindthesun-archive]

I know I’ve written this across several threads already, but I thought I should make a proper post about it.

Really, Legolas didn’t have much of a choice to go to Valinor. Being a woodelf, the effects of Sea Longing on him were extreme and dangerous. It was no gentle call home, it was a sickness, because he fought it and he fought it for a hundred and thirty years. He fought it until he was too weak to fight it anymore. For the effects of Sea Longing on him, see this post. It isn’t pretty.

Besides his daughters and his husband, none of his family went with him at first. Luktiênê, his cousin, would show up ten years later. There was no one there to greet him they they greeted Elrohir. For a while he had Gimli, and he tried to settle in the best he could. His wolves roamed the woods behind the estate, the spiders which finally hatched were content in their little controlled area. His gardening was coming along. To be closer to Elrohir’s family they obtained a second home in the city of Tirion, bought with the money from raw silk he sold.

But then Gimli died. Mortal things don’t last long in Valinor, not with the overwhelming presence of the valar’s power. Legolas lost the one friend he had left in this world, and soon he went into a downward spiral. Gimli’s death lit the spark for his already ticking timebomb of misery and self destruction of having to leave nearly everything he knew and loved behind. 

Tirion affected him far more than Imladris ever did. In Imladris, at least they were polite, if only because Elrond was good and kind and they didn’t want to lose a trading partner. He was a fish out of water with his clothes, brightly dyed and so very un-noldor like, with his bare feet painted, his fingers painted, sometimes his wrists painted, sometimes in red sometimes in white, sometimes in green sometimes in black. With chopped of curls for mourning, with his tattoos of ‘odd’ symbols and his belly ring and nose ring and pierced nipples. He knows not all of the people in Tirion think of him the way he’d heard some talk in the markets. But at this point, in only contributed to his misery. He stopped going to the markets often. He stopped wearing his bright colors. kept his hair covered while out in the city. kept to the little garden or his office in the back of the home. Longed for his estate.

All the while he tried to keep it together for his girls. Because they too had left everything behind. He feared for them more than he feared for himself. The twins made fast friends. Tuiwel, however, was affected much in the same way as Legolas, but not nearly to the same extent. She focused on her studies, however, didn’t speak of it.

The boiling point came, at last, after an enlightening talk with Celebrían. Legolas went home, had a long talk with Elrohir, packed and few things and left to travel for over a year. And in that time he saw many places. Beautiful places. He found his people again, found friends again, found support from people who knew how he felt. He found his voice, his sense of self. And a little seed of rebellion.

Though he still hurt. And while that seed was growing and spreading, he went and laid down in the garden of Lórien for a while to rest. And in his rest a spark came back into him. He spoke with a certain elf who he probably shouldn’t have. Stayed a little longer than he should have. But when he awoke there was fire in him and he felt alive again.

He went home, he reunited with his family. But he wasn’t fully healed. He did, however, finally let his husband in on how he was feeling. Previously Legolas had never told him. Didn’t want to be a burden or trouble Elrohir with things he didn’t think Elrohir would understand, plus it was hard to let people in. Growing up with a bit of a distant father and an absent mother caused him to learn to internalize his feelings, especially when told that his mother leaving was simply “in her blood”.

It took a while, as these things sometimes do, but he is healing and he is growing. And he is building a place where his peoples’ cultures can grow and thrive without being crushed or put down. When in Tirion, he is going out to the markets again, with his paints and his jewelry and his bright fabrics. He seeks to teach those in Tirion about his culture, so there can be more of an understanding. In doing so, he really finds a purpose in Valinor, something he’d been absolutely lacking. His purpose becomes to give his people a voice, to give his culture a voice, to give them all rights in this land so they don’t have to hide themselves away to simply be themselves. It doesn’t happen over night. It isn’t widely popular among many of the Amanyar ( especially the Vanyar ) but I’m sure it has it’s allies somewhere ( like in Elladan, like the Sindar, like Nellas ). He becomes something like a king in his own right for his efforts.

There are days when he slips up and is miserable, but those days will happen. Only now he has his husband to help him, friends to help him. He has a support system in which he can place his trust in. The important thing is that he is trying and that he is making progress in his healing. A healing that was centuries in the making.

[tofindthesun-archive]

—cousins.

[amrunien]

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                I’m not cool enough to have Uncle ‘Ro following me tbh.