#meleth

[a-tehta]

I did it! I finished a story I had started in 2014, and then abandoned!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

This is a pretty short (<10k) irreverent canon fixit about the gondolas of Gondolin, and how they (sort of) save the city. Here is the first chapter (most are longer:)

“So, Ecthelion,” said Penlod, “we have a problem. Lord Turgon has decided to ban all beasts of burden from his new city.”

“Really? Why?”

“He will not have his pristine white streets befouled by their leavings.”

“I… see. But then, how are we to transport goods?"

“How, indeed? Fortunately, I have a counter-suggestion: what about developing an efficient road-cleaning method, instead? Like, say, flushing all thoroughfares with water several times a day? Would that work?”

“Well.” Ecthelion frowned. “With all the reported volcanic activity, we should have enough water pressure. But such a process would turn roads into shallow canals, and what would the pedestrians do then? Wait it out? Get their feet wet? Quickly leap aboard conveniently portable flat-bottomed boats?”

“Boats! Ecthelion, you are a genius!”

“Hardly! I mean, I have no idea what you— Ah! You propose to make the canals permanent? And use them for transport?”

“Yes. But not just for transport: for decoration. Just imagine it! Those glittering waterways would reflect all the marvels of the city, doubling their effect. As for the boats… our shipbuilders are sure to get bored, away from the sea. They would surely welcome a chance to craft vessels of incomparable beauty. And the whole world would envy the glorious boats of Gondolin. Our… gondolas!”

[whirlception]

Idril/Meleth, "May I not now spend my life as I will?"

A little drabble for the Day 11 prompts for @tolkienfemfeb

Prompt words: Skin, know, chase, rules, between Quote: May I not now spend my life as I will? Trope: Pining

It was the work of full, painful minutes for Meleth to gently fit the socket of the silver-plated foot -- made for Itarillë by Prince Curufinwe-- to the swollen stump of her ankle. Itarillë wept a little as they did so, Meleth sliding a hand up her shin in comfort from where she knelt at Itarillë's feet, and kissed the top of her knee gently when it was finally settled. "I can judge my wants for myself," Meleth said, pre-empting an argument they had had several times. "It is here that I would like to be."

[elronds-library]

Worshipful

by LawsAndCustoms (@jaz-the-bard)

Idril is venerated as she deserves.

Mature, No Archive Warnings

Words: 1,123

[panrao]

Oc stuff

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Favourite Female Tolkien Character Poll - Round 1, Match 15

Pick your favourite!

Meleth

Evranin

Voting ended onAug 5, 2023

Meleth

The nurse of young Eärendil in some early versions of The Fall of Gondolin.

Evranin

The nurse of young Elwing in some early versions of The Silmarillion, who helped Elwing to escape the Second Kinslaying, and also smuggled out the Nauglafring [Nauglamír].

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Lace & Attention - Idril x Meleth

Written for @jaz-the-bard...a pairing I had never written before (which usually doesn't stop me).

Please, have a bittersweet slice of wlw from me!

Lots of love!

Words: 1 030

Characters: Idril x Meleth

Warnings: Sadness, longing, jealousy, disrobing, relative nudity, sexual innuendo

Meleth frowned as she left the boy’s room; she had not sought to distress him, but her heart oft misgave her, and she found herself helplessly afraid of the lingering shadows beleaguering their once fair city.

It surely was better that he knew, she thought frantically, and yet she couldn’t shake the memory of his innocent face, marred by fearful, uncomprehending tears as he listened to her paralysing, terrifying tales of woe and warning.

“Is he asleep?”

On some nights, Meleth would have preferred to be addressed with the absent-minded politeness her Lady displayed when dealing with other servants and helpers, and she resented herself for her weakness.

The one who had been named after a love she would never fully call her own nodded demurely, avoiding Idril’s gaze in the polished mirror like a coward.

“Have you seen Lómion tonight?”

Stiffening, Meleth now shook her head.

Yes, at times, she wished to be invisible and unheeded so as to be spared the searing heat of that luminous gaze, and the reference, no matter how passing, to her Lady’s cousin always made her flinch.

“I wonder what preoccupies him so,” Idril mused aloud. “He’s seemed distracted of late.”

I care not, the handmaiden wanted to scream. Why should I waste a single precious thought on that sneaking thief?

She knew that she was being unfair to the King’s nephew—a pitiful orphan who had found refuge in Gondolin like so many others—but she couldn’t help the burning resentment and spite, rising like acid within her fair throat every time her mind but brushed the mere shadow of that untrustworthy creature.

“Do you require my aid?” she asked hastily, moving deftly to Idril’s side to help her unpin the golden coils of her hair and undo the many intricate fastenings of her lavish gown before the other could either accept or refuse her offer.

Once upon a time, Meleth remembered, she had been the only one to gaze upon the delicate lace of Lady Idril’s undergarments, and she bemoaned the loss of that privilege more often than she wanted to admit.

Of course, she had always known that their love—self-evident and tender as the clean river water in summer—had been inevitably doomed to run dry before long. Idril was the king’s daughter and heir after all; matrimony and motherhood were her hallowed duties, and not even she could outrun her fate.

Thus, Meleth had made her peace with Tuor for it made no sense to begrudge one who had been foretold by every sign—he and Idril had been fated, and all the desperate devotion in this marred world could not have altered the course of destiny.

“Do you remember this one?” Idril hummed, letting her long, slender fingers travel along the beautiful filigree of the fabric hugging her firm breasts.

“How could I forget?” Meleth whimpered. The intimate garment had been made by a true master, and, upon picking it up for her beloved, she had caressed the impossibly fragile web of silken threads with wide-eyed wonder for much longer than was appropriate or commendable for one of her station in life.

Back then, before the arrival of those accursed males who had depleted and polluted the source of her joy, Idril had chuckled that she had commissioned the underwear as a gift for Meleth.

“To be beautiful for you,” she had said, her eyes as radiant as the midday sun, cutting through the endless blue of a cloudless sky.

Meleth recalled that she had wept, confessing fervently that Idril would always be the most gorgeous to her. Every movement, every kiss, every sweat-stained embrace that had followed were burned into her memory indelibly, but she was too proud to repeat words that had lost their weight and meaning by being reduced to a faint echo of the confessions and declarations Idril now heard every day.

“You’ve always taken such great pleasure in lace,” Idril went on, blissfully unaware of the turmoil ravaging her former lover’s heart and soul. “And you take such good care of my beloved son—I wondered whether…Do you ever miss me? Us?”

At that very moment, as all the dams broke, Meleth realised that the torrent of her ardour had not been quenched by having to share Idril with those whose attentions were so much more legitimate and welcome than her own.

“Always,” she admitted tersely. “Nevertheless, I completely understand…”

You are married now, and you’ve given him a son. You are bound to them and to that miserable miscreant by blood, which is so much more powerful than wisps of lace and a steady stream of earnest, unpretentious love.

She didn’t speak those words, though, for she knew only too well how little they would change, and she wanted to spare both of them the pain and humiliation to recognise their own helplessness in the face of Powers far greater than their own.

“You cannot give back what you didn’t take from me,” she added softly, folding Idril’s rich, luxurious garments with meticulous care to distract herself from the raging storm of unadulterated pain lancing through her whole body.

“You’d rather lose me than share me?” Idril asked sharply, and Meleth sighed. How she adored Idril when her gaze grew fierce and gleaming like an unsheathed blade!

“I’d take anything you’d grant me—I am not beyond being selfish and proud. However, many are vying for your attention and goodwill nowadays, and I am woefully aware that I could never compare to the glory of their births and deeds!” Meleth spat, ultimately unable to contain the poison of envy and hurt flooding her dry mouth and drowning her from the inside.

Instead of answering, Idril rose in a cloud of fragrant warmth and slung her soft arms around the stiff frame of her friend and eternal paramour. “Don’t be silly,” she whispered, letting her full lips espouse the curve of Meleth’s flushed ear. “My husband will not join me tonight, hence why I asked whether my wayward cousin has been sighted. Either way, why don’t you join me? After all, I am wearing your underwear to entice you! Did I succeed?”

@fellowshipofthefics And another one!

As ever, devotedly yours!!!

Lots of love and well-wishes!

-> Masterlist

[xxnoeraxx]

These Violent Ends

'You're a bastard for disappearing on me for so long, you know' Kaleth types out the text, his gaze hard and enraged on his phone. It's been an age since Relioth texted him anything. Usually he spams a million times per day, which annoys Kaleth to no end, but Gods dammit, not being spammed a million times per day annoys him more.

He glares harder at their chat history as he hovers his thumb over the send button. The last text Relioth sent him that Kaleth had ignored at the time because he'd been preoccupied before this silence had been a short and simple one.

'I'll do anything, please'

He remembers what he'd thought when he'd read that text at the time. He'd thought there's nothing Relioth could do to make up for his lies. He'd never forgive him no matter what.

And yet.

Relioth being Relioth, the annoying, stupid, insane bastard that he is, found the one thing that would make up for his wrongs. And then did it.

Kaleth will never forgive him that either. He's not even sure what he's angrier about anymore, the fact Relioth redeemed himself or the way he did that.

He grits his teeth as a frenzy of rage overcomes him and he sends his text in a rush, heart lurching momentarily at how pathetic it may make him look, before he rolls his eyes at himself and casts that away.

It doesn't matter. It's not like Relioth will read it anyways.

Kaleth pauses as that thought fires through his mind like lightning, searing him just as much. His eyes sting. Relioth won't read these texts. He could write anything at all and it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change the situation with the foppish bastard.

He blinks away the unwanted tears, strangles his aching heart into shutting up and decides to turn the tables and be the one spamming for once.

Scream into the void, as it were.

If only the fucking void would scream back—

'I'm so angry at you. I hate you. I want to yell at your stupid lying face so much still. It's awful. I don't want to be stuck feeling like this, but I am. And it's your fault. Everything is your fault'

'Who told you you get to act heroic? How dare you even try that after being a murderous bastard for millennia? How dare you succeed at it?'

'And don't get me started on how stupid I got to feel for defending you in front of everyone who knew better than me that you were hiding things! Thanks for that, that was really what I needed amidst all the other crises I had to deal with'

'I thought I was supposed to stand up for my friend back then. But you were an awful friend too, you know! All you ever did is invite me out for drinks and sip your stupid fruity cocktails with those dumb cutesy umbrellas and crack the worst, most unbearably amusing jokes I never laughed at out of principle. Awful, you're awful on all fronts'

He types and types and types, unable to stop spilling all his bitterness into the chat history, spamming the texts one after the other. He hopes Relioth's phone melts from the overload, wherever it is right now.

"Hey, honey, are you okay?" Mel's soft voice snaps Kaleth from his frenzy, and he whips his head up to look at his husband, blinking in confusion at the question when he registers it.

"What?" he dumbly asks, his phone gripped in his hand so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

Mel sits on the couch next to him in their living room, his brow furrowed with concern, "You're crying," he says, watching Kaleth closely.

Kaleth bristles at that, face twisting into a grimace. When did that happen? He didn't realize.

"I'm fine, love," he nods to Mel and tries for a smile, lifting his hand to wipe his wet face, heart stuttering with pain all over again despite his best efforts.

Mel shakes his head gently, shuffling closer to him and putting an arm out to hug Kaleth to himself, "It's okay if you're sad about it, you know," he mumbles.

Kaleth curls into the hug, closes his eyes, "I'm not sad about anything though. I don't know what you're talking about," he nods firmly against Mel's shoulder, his voice barely stable enough not to give him away.

Mel sighs in response, and squeezes him tighter into his arms, silent for a moment before piping up again, "I—was about to head out to the cemetery. Will you come with me this year? It might do you some good."

Kaleth presses his eyes closed more firmly, shakes his head resolutely, "No, love, sorry. There's just nothing for me there," he insists, as he does every year Mel asks this.

Mel hesitates for a moment, struggling with himself, but then seems to give in and nods, "Okay honey. I'm just saying," he rubs Kaleth's back with a hand, his voice gentle, "I'm always here for you if you want to talk," he nods, repeating the same reassurances as always.

Kaleth lifts his head and smiles at him, "I know you are, love. You always are," he leans in and kisses him briefly, full of love for him just as much as he is full of rage for Relioth, "I'm okay though," he shakes his head, casting away the thoughts, "I love you," he lets go of Mel then, letting him get up.

Mel nods slowly, "I love you too, honey. I'll—be back soon. It's just—it's the anniversary, I feel like I should visit at least today, if no other time," he chews on his lip nervously, as if he ever needs to explain himself to Kaleth.

"Okay," Kaleth just nods, waving him on, "you don't need to justify anything, love."

Mel smiles, "Yeah, course, sorry," he stands up again, "See ya in a bit, yeah? I hope you're really okay," he mutters, his voice sadly knowing all the same.

Of course he can sense the bond ringing.

Kaleth simply ignores that, however, "Of course I am. See you soon," he waves to Mel, watches him leave their house.

When the door clicks shut behind him, Kaleth turns back to his phone still in his hand, and sighs, suddenly so exhausted and aching all over. Stupid heartbreak.

He types another two texts, sends them, and then deletes Relioth's number from his phone and throws it aside, exchanging staring at it for staring at the wall blankly.

'You wanna know what you're most awful at though? Staying fucking alive apparently, despite doing it for thousands of years. Fuck you. Come back'

'Please, Rel'

------

Fin

[yellow-faerie]

Idk if you're still taking those writing prompts, but if you are, #40 with young Earendil & Elwing (fluffy)? <3

So long as the prompt list is pinned, I'm always taking prompts! And this is a really sweet one, how could I not write it?

From this prompt list.

40 - "Its raining! Come on [name], let's go play!"

Eärendil is a free spirit, his mother always tells him. It's easy enough to see, for Eärendil has always been easy with smiles, even after Gondolin fell and his Uncle had-

Eärendil likes to look on the positive side of things. It's a trait he inherited from both his parents and in such an adverse world as this, he thinks it's quite useful actually.

For example, he could be sad right now that his home was gone and his grandfather and almost all his friends were with Mandos now, but he prefers to think about how if this hadn't happened, Eärendil would never have met Elwing.

And Elwing, in Eärendil's opinion, is worth it.

Elwing has lost her home and her friends and her family too, and Elwing is very melancholy.

She's sad and Eärendil has made it his personal mission to cheer her up: after all, if she is the one being sad for the both of them then he must be the one to be happy for them.

The day is grey and their tutors have kept them inside since they woke up, working on their maths. Elwing has been staring out the window wistfully and Eärendil can feel the oncoming storm against his skin and can't sit still.

Evranin gave up on them learning anything sometime around lunchtime, and now she sits by the fire with her knitting.

Eärendil is sitting next to Elwing in the window seat, pretending to read his book. Really, he just wanted to be near his friend and he knows her well enough to be sure she wouldn't want to play with his wooden boats.

And then the first raindrops hit the window.

Eärendil has always liked the rain. There's something electric about heavy water falling from the sky and landing against his skin and it's utterly thrilling.

"It's raining!" He exclaims, scrambling up to his knees to press his face against the glass. The sea outside is a churning mass of grey and blue and a lightning bolt threads the sky somewhere far out towards the horizon.

He jumps up at the following thunder and turns, bright-eyed, to Elwing. She blinks, a little taken aback by his excitement, before her face breaks out into a tentative smile.

"Come on, Elwing, let's go play!"

She nods, the smile growing stronger and surer, and lets Eärendil take her wrist to drag her out of the room and down the spiral staircase.

They pass Meleth, on her way up with a pot of something warm and delicious, and Eärendil only pauses long enough to apologise for nearly overbalancing her. They skid through corridors, past servants and courtiers and everyone in between and have nearly made it to freedom before strong arms swing down and pick him up.

"Oh no you don't," his father says, throwing him over his shoulder.

Eärendil shrieks. "Da! This is so unfair!"

"Mhm? It won't be unfair when you both catch a cold."

"Dressed like this, you absolutely will. And you shouldn't go near the rough sea without an adult, you both know that." Tuor puts him back down on his feet next to Elwing and smiles. "How about we get you both coats and hats and boots and then we can go out?"

"But Da!" Eärendil complains but it's mostly for show as he lets himself be bundled up into the waterproofed fabric and have his feet shoved into the welly boots.

He and Elwing make quite the pair, both dressed in bright yellow, but his father doesn't look like he'll agree to let them take any of this stuff off.

"Now, Elwing - you take my right hand - and Eärendil - you take my left. There, now we're all set."

Elwing opens the door and it bangs open with the wind. A maid walking past exclaims as the pile of clothes she's carrying threatens to turn over.

"Sorry!" Tuor calls over his shoulder but Eärendil doesn't let him hang around in that hallway. He's sure the maid will be fine and he wants to see the sea before they're inevitably told it'll be too dangerous.

He shares a look with Elwing as the wind tears at their clothes and she is grinning.

She must feel it too, Eärendil decides, the electricity before the storm. It's nice to have someone to share that with.