Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 12: Snowball Fight
It’s a snowball fight in Rivendell! (From top to bottom, left to right.)
Legolas is having fun because no one has been able to hit him so far. Aragorn is glad Legolas is on his team.
Merry's just hitting whoever he can for made-up "revenge", while Pippin can't resist nailing Gandalf in the face! (Against the rules, Peregrin!)
Gandalf has taken a snowball to the face but won’t be out for long!
Frodo has to stay low because Sam's pretty sure they shouldn't be hitting Frodo in case he hasn't recovered yet. (Elrond would agree, he’s sure.)
Gimli's too good at ducking for anyone to get a good aim at him (Legolas will prove this wrong, he swears.) And Boromir is just generally confused about his first encounters with this snow thing.
This is my entry for day 12 of the @officialtolkiensecretsanta advent calendar! It was supposed to be voyeurism but that... didn’t exactly happen, unless taken in a very non-literal way, so have some Galadriel pining instead.
Read it on AO3
Title: i’m a bundle of confusion (yet it has a strange appeal)
Pairing: Galadriel/Aredhel
Prompt: Voyeurism
Rating: Teen
Wordcount: 707
Tags: Introspection, Stream of Consciousness, voyeurism (kinda sorta not really at all), a bit of internalized homophobia, Pining, desired cousin incest, Adolescent Sexuality, Unrequited Love, (at least for now), TSS Advent Calendar
Summary: Artanis is entranced by Írissë, watching her whenever she can.
Artanis watched Írissë at every family gathering, every time they met on the way to the market - or the library or the woods or some other place.
Írissë was… how could she describe her cousin? She was gorgeous, quite frankly. Laurelin’s light shone on her face and just… wow. Artanis wished she could describe her more eloquently, but she didn’t have proper words for how Írissë made her feel, even less so when they interacted. That’s why she limited herself to simply watching.
She wondered if Írissë noticed. She kind of hoped she did. Sometimes at night, she would imagine Írissë, or sometimes one of her brothers or one of her friends, noticing and confronting her. Artanis liked the idea that she was obvious with her affection toward her cousin, that it was so strong and uncontrollable it spilled out of her, like a visible thing. She liked to fantasize that she couldn’t hide it if she tried, even though if she was actually discovered, Artanis might hide away forever in shame. Though if she was actually found out by her parents, she didn’t know what she would do.
Sometimes she grew over-bold and spoke to them of Írissë in ways that could be called over-enthusiastic, bordering on infatuation, always praising only her skill with a bow and arrow, and a horse, or how much Artanis admired her. She acknowledged that the excitement with which she spoke of Írissë might be somewhat incriminating (maybe you shouldn’t use that word, she thought. No need to make yourself feel worse — but it was the word she had always used) but it thrilled her all the same. It made her feel so very alive. Sometimes she would do the same about women she saw in plays or passed on the street, speaking of their beauty in ways that could be described as based in admiration or “simply an acknowledgment of a fact.” It thrilled her to openly get so close to what she was trying to say, so long as there was plausible deniability, so long as she knew that her actual feelings would not be imagined.
For the past year or so, she had been feeling something… she supposed it could be called desire. It was this persistent humming in her body, always there, but sometimes dimmer, sometimes louder; it distracted and surprised her in equal measure. It always became stronger when she was with Írissë. And she couldn’t turn it off or take her eyes away. When Írissë was close, Artanis was always at attention, regardless of what she had been trying to do or what she still pretended to be focusing on. She was filled with warmth, then, much like she was when in the heat of Laurelin’s glare sometimes it made her feel languorous, like she just wanted to lie back and float, have no thoughts: be lost in the overwhelming feeling. Other times it made her feel sharp - so sharp she thought she might crack, or else burst out of herself, the opposite of the languorousness, not pulled in but pulled out, in a way that required action and sometimes the filling of her mind with racing thoughts.
Today, Artanis looked out of her window and saw Írissë making a call at her house. She felt instantly giddy and high-strung. Artanis smiled and jumped around, and then chided herself for being ridiculous. Should she let Írissë in? She waited, and let her father do it, but she came down the stairs to stand with him nonetheless, trying to pull her face into a calm and friendly, and polite expression she didn’t feel inside.
“Welcome,” she said to Írissë, somewhat breathlessly. Írissë was explaining to her father why she had come - something about how her parents wanting to bring over a certain type of spice for Artanis’ family to try, and also how they hoped the Arafinwëans would come over sometime for dinner around a fire. Artanis forgot herself as she watched Írissë — the curve of her neck as she spoke, the way her long fingers fidgeted restlessly. She would work up the courage to talk to Írissë more, if nothing else to strike up a closer friendship, even though it scared her. She had to.
