Welcome Traveler

All my best fever dreams live here ⭐️

[wareagleofthemountain]

Hey there and welcome to my page! You can call me Eagle. I’m a 21 year old (she/her) fanfic writer and I share my works here on Tumblr as well as on AO3.

I LOVE asks and requests! Both are always open. Feel free to hit me up with a story you’d like to see me write or just to chat about whatever. ✨💖🌸 Before you do though, please check out my blog rules.

Fandoms I currently/plan to write for:

The Lord of the Rings Masterlist

The Hobbit Masterlist

Hellboy Masterlist

[wareagleofthemountain]

It’s time! 🎃

[loveandlessons]

not to be annoying or anything but,🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️ 🎃🦇🍂👻🕸️

[wareagleofthemountain]

Hello!! I found your acc not too long ago and I sae your requests are always open. I was wondering if you write for Orophin or Rumil? If not it's completely fine!! ^^

Hi beautiful soul! Yes, I absolutely do write for Orophin and Rumil! Feel free to request. :)

[wareagleofthemountain]

Hey! It's @creativity-of-death and @ elithilanor. My account got axed so like ...

here I am lol

Oh no! I’m so sorry to hear that. But it’s so good to hear from you again friend! :) I’ll give you a follow.

[lady-of-imladris]

So here’s how my last conversation went.

Grandpa: we’re going to  salisbury to visit Stonehenge.

Me: 🤯 Woah, that’s where  salisbury steak comes from!

Also… I’m kinda in love with  Switzerland.

Hahahaha I did not know Salisbury steak was a thing, but I have also been to Stonehenge before!!!

Switzerland is really just more expensive Austria 👀👀👀, but yeah the countryside in that part of Europe is REALLY lovely! Straight out of the sound of music! I love following your Eurotrip on Instagram!!!

[wareagleofthemountain]

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

[wareagleofthemountain]

Guess who graduated? 👩‍🎓

[southaway]

Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower

I used the same general design I've used for him before. Lots of gold and floral motifs. I wanted a flowing sense in his clothing and I wanted to make him look like he was dancing as much as fighting.

Glorfindel felt like a nice choice for the New Year.

[elithilanor]

@wareagleofthemountain

[wareagleofthemountain]

💛💛💛

[ewoksarecute-deactivated2024072]

make me choose: murrkwood-king asked:  wargs or eagles

[elithilanor]

Wargs or eagles made me think of you @wareagleofthemountain

[wareagleofthemountain]

Haha! 🦅

[wareagleofthemountain]

Happy Holidays! I hope you have a wonderful holiday season and a warm kind secure and joyful New Years

Thank you so much! You too!

[wareagleofthemountain]

Hey friends! I feel like it’s been a while. Let’s chat, catch me up on what’s new!

[ms-trash-panda]

For the Seven Days of Ficsmas prompts, Blind Man's Bluff (Victorian AU only), featuring Prince Nuada x AFAB reader. Smutty (trusting you to do him justice). Either enemies to lovers or established relationship, whichever you think would be spicier. Side note- I absolutely love your unique writing style and the impeccable world building you manage to churn out in all your fics! 😍 Everyone should add a bit of 'whimsy' to their day, haha. 😉

- T 🌱

Ahhh T 🌱, you have no idea how your words appealed to my vain little leo heart. Here you go. I hope you like this!

“Blind Man’s Bluff”

Pairing: Prince Nuada/AFAB Reader (Second Person POV | Established Relationship)

AU: Victorian England AU

Themes: Smut | Soft/Fluff

Warnings: Kissing | Blindfolds | Foreplay | PIV Sex | Sex in a public/Unusual place

Wordcount: 1.2K

Summary: A game of blind man’s bluff is given a wholly different ending one crisp, cold night at the manor.

Minors DNI | 18+ | This is also availble on AO3

Nuada evaded your grasp, slipping out of your outstretched hands like a fish in the water. The sound of vexation you made amused him to no end.

“You must try harder, my love,” he called softly, and ran toward the cedar trees by the eastern wall. “You will not catch me otherwise.”

You laughed despite your frustration and followed the sound of his voice. “Where are you, my prince?” you asked, your hands continuing to clutch nothing but air while you stumbled your way across the vast and silent country garden. “Where have you gone off to now?”

“I am here,” Nuada answered from beside the fountain. Then he sprinted to the hawthorn hedge far behind it with a speed no mortal possessed and said, “I am here.”

“You are wicked, my prince,” you huffed, stopping. The night was as cold as a December night ought to have been. Frost crunched beneath your slippers, and an icy wind nipped at your cheeks. Nevertheless, you continued, your eyes covered with a strip of silk, your body garbed in a heavy woolen robe and a nightgown meant only for sleeping. It was a game Nuada was told about while dining with your family, and it was a game he very much wanted to play, but only with you, and only after the others took to their beds. “Please do not drag this on so.”

The elven prince chuckled and crossed over to the trees. Even in the moonlight, no one could see anything here, certainly not through the low-hanging branches weighed down by icy particles. Then again, no one was expected to come out and see. Not with the spell of deep sleep he carefully wove over the rest after they had retired for the night.

“I am not being wicked,” Nuada teased. He stepped away from roots jutting out of the earth and sat on the little path running around the trees, utterly at ease with the frost-hardened stone beneath him. The time, he decided, had come to end the present diversion and begin a new one. “I am simply obeying the rules of this game. But you are close. Very close. Follow my voice, my love. You will find me.”

There was little else you could do but to blindly fumble forward. “Closer, my love,” Nuada said as you drew near. He kept a watchful eye on each step you took. The little path may have been free of roots, but it was not free of uneven stone. He did not want you to fall. “Closer. I am right before you now.”

Suddenly, you tripped over a pebble. Nuada rose with blurring swiftness and caught you. “I have captured you,” you declared, giggling in his arms. “Or is it you who has captured me? I do not know.”

“I do,” Nuada said. He sat back down and drew you onto his lap. “It is plain that I have captured you. And, as you mortals are oft fond of saying, to the victor goes the spoils.”

You could not answer, for he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was sweet; it tasted of the charlotte russe he had for dessert.

“I was counting the minutes until midnight,” Nuada murmured. He made haste to unfasten his cloak and lay it on the ground. Then he kissed you a second time, growling softly when your fingers tangled themselves in his hair. “I was waiting until the others retired to their rooms,” he said against your lips. “Are you angry with me for taking so long?”

“I am not, my prince.” You gasped in surprise when he lowered you onto his cloak and moved on top of you. “Is this the proper place for us? It is too open and too cold.”

“It is more than proper,” Nuada began, his nimble fingers making quick work on the sash of your robe and the buttons and ribbon on your nightgown. “The world is all but dead at this hour, and the others have been bewitched. No one will see us, or hear us, or disturb us. As for the cold… it is a trifling thing, but I will be quick, and I will not leave you out for too long. Leave the blindfold on,” he commanded, though not unkindly. “It will only increase every sensation you feel from here on out.”

The prince was indeed correct. Every sensation you felt was sharper and more powerful because of the blindfold you wore. The scent clinging to him was more potent. The strength in his hands was more palpable. The flashes of pleasure that surged up your back when he took one nipple into his mouth, and then the other after that, nipping gently at them with his teeth until they stiffened and ached, was unlike anything you felt. Even the cold that washed over your skin when your silks completely fell away felt wonderful.

“Will you stay a while?” You could not see what Nuada was doing. In truth, you did not have to. The rustle of clothes being removed was indication enough of what he was doing.

“Until the first chimes of daybreak,” Nuada returned softly. He undid the buckle of his belt and tugged his trousers low enough to free his erection. When he brought his body down on yours, he slid his arms around your hips to hold you close to him. “Then I must leave. The spell I cast will last only until then. But do not fret. I will return again tomorrow.”

He dipped his head and renewed his kiss. The warmth radiating from his flesh was a welcomed thing, as was the warmth from his touch. You circled your arms around his neck, and your legs you parted and entwined around his hips.

“Take me,” you begged. Heat pooled low in your belly, making you feel warm and feverish all over. It was almost impossible to bear. “Please take me, my prince. I am yours.”

It was all Nuada needed to hear. He entered you as gently and as tenderly as he could, growing drunk on the sound of his name parting your lips. Then he moved. He was quick, just like he said he would be, but his thrusts still drove you to wilder passions. The cold no longer mattered. Being out in the open no longer mattered. What truly mattered was him and his vise-like hold, his nectarous kisses, and the skill of his lovemaking.  And it ended as quickly as it began, with his orgasm cresting and consuming him as you slowly drowned in yours during a shared moment of blinding ecstasy. Nuada moaned as he emptied himself of his spend. He relished the feeling of your nails raking his back. Then he thrust until softened, and pulled away.

The world looked a strange and eerie place after you were freed from your blindfold, all hushed and white and devoid of most life. The prince rose, and pulled you up with him when he did so. He set your nightgown and robe to rights. Then he placed his cloak over your shoulders, to better shield you from the cold.

“Will you come inside, my prince?” You said, turning to face him. “There is quite some time left until daybreak.”

Nuada picked up the remainder of his clothes after having fastened his trousers. “Of course, I will,” the elven prince assured, smiling. “Lead the way, my love,” he said, taking your hand into his, “and I will follow.”

[lamemaster]

Jingle Bells and Chaotic Elves

Request: @wareagleofthemountain I’m new to your blog and love your writing! If it’s okay, may I request a fic where Glorfindel and fem reader are newly weds and, as they begin to build their life together, reader gets a letter from her friend who is a horse trainer. The friend informs her that they have a colt in need of adoption and the reader knows that Glorfindel is in need of a horse. So they take a trip to pick up little baby Asfaloth and raise him! Thank you! 💕

Genre: fluff

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader

Summary: How best boi Asfaloth came to bear the canonical bells

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I am sorry for being so late but writing animals is something I am still learning! I hope you like it🐴he's bby I love him (had to go back and add asfaloth pov becoz I'm stupid)

It had to be a surprise. Convincing Glorfindel to stay behind while you traveled was no easy feat, and escaping the entirety of Rivendell, an unrivaled hub of gossip proved an even harder bargain.

The only viable plan was to leave during his week of patrol duty, a decision you knew would be a shock upon his return. But you dearly hoped the letter you left, reassuring him of your safe return, would ease the blow.

Once your errand was done, you would seek his forgiveness. A month away, you promised him in that note. Surely, he could wait just that long.

The surprise? A colt.

Your friend Gwendel of Rohan had written to you urgently, detailing how he’d stumbled across the abandoned creature during an evening stroll. Despite his best efforts to find the mare or its owner, no one came forward.

Some had tried to claim the colt, but its fiery temper rejected them all, even Gwendel, whose every act of kindness had been met with resistance. Worse still, the colt refused to eat, its health deteriorating rapidly.

Normally, such an errand would have fallen to Elladan or Elrohir, but Gwendel’s letter stirred something within you.

Glorfindel.

Your beloved had never fully accepted another horse after losing his steed in the First Age. Asfaloth’s absence haunted him, and though his rebirth had brought him back to Middle-earth, his companion’s loss weighed heavy on his heart. Glorfindel grieved for Asfaloth as a father might for a lost child.

Gwendel’s letter had to be a sign. A colt abandoned in the world might find the love it needed in Glorfindel and perhaps offer him some solace in return.

That was your plan.

Until you reached Rohan.

The frail creature that greeted you from the corner of Gwendel’s stable wasn’t just any colt.

It was Asfaloth.

The beautiful snow-white steed that Glorfindel still mourned stood trembling in his stall. The colt’s amber eyes fixed on you, brimming with a light of recognition.

And then, as if time and space had never separated you, he stumbled toward you on wobbly legs, butting his head against your leg.

“Asfaloth,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes as your fingers tangled in his soft mane. “It’s truly you.” Bending down, you kissed the top of his head, your heart soaring with love and joy.

You couldn’t wait to tell Glorfindel. He would be over the moon.

That was the plan.

Until the mountain dumped its snows onto Rohan, trapping you there.

From weeks to months, your surprise turned into an adventure, long surpassing Glorfindel’s begetting day. The snow had made travel impossible, and you could only hope that the eventual reunion with Asfaloth would soothe any ire Glorfindel might feel at your absence.

Nestled beside Asfaloth in the stable, you braided his soft mane. His health had improved greatly, thanks to Gwendel’s care and thanks to Asfaloth finally allowing himself to eat.

“Oh dear, I hope Glorfindel isn’t moping in the halls of Imladris,” you mused aloud, to which Asfaloth unhelpfully shook his head, undoing the braids you had just finished.

“I know you miss him,” you sighed, feeding him a carrot. “But you have to be patient. You’re still too young to travel in winter.”

But Asfaloth had other plans.

Without warning, he stood and dashed out of the stable, hooves crunching over the snow. You ran after him, calling his name as the rest of the stable looked on in chaos.

And then he heard it—the sound of bells.

It was the bells he had heard first. The delicate tinkling of your bracelets, clear and familiar, ringing through the snow-covered valley.

Glorfindel had found you.

It had been months since you left, and while the logical choice might have been to wait for your return, Glorfindel’s patience had faltered. At the first clearing of snow, he had set out from Rivendell. If you were in Rohan, he would spend the winter with you.

And there you were, your laughter and bells filling the air.

But as his gaze shifted, his knees nearly buckled.

Standing before him was a colt. A tiny, beautiful Asfaloth neighing in excited greeting. Bells wrapped around the colt’s neck jingled with every delighted prance as Glorfindel knelt to hug his long-lost friend.

“You followed me once again?” Glorfindel whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt before the colt, his arms encircling Asfaloth.

The small steed, now nestled against his chest, let out a soft, contented whinny as Glorfindel buried his face in Asfaloth’s snowy mane.

The bells tied to the colt’s neck jingled faintly with the movement, their merry sound mingling with the shallow breaths of a warrior brought to his knees by the return of his oldest friend.

“You found me,” Glorfindel murmured, his voice breaking as his hand trailed down the colt’s neck. “Even after all this time… you found me.”

Behind Asfaloth, your bracelets jingled similar to Asfaloth's as you ran to meet him. The sight of you and Asfaloth together filled Glorfindel’s heart with a joy he hadn’t felt in ages.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Glorfindel whispered. His tears fell freely now, vanishing into Asfaloth’s pristine coat. “But you followed me, as you always have.”

Smiling through the tears shining in his eyes, he cradled Asfaloth closer, his hand stroking the colt’s mane. When you reached him, arms wide, Glorfindel rose to meet you, his golden hair catching the sunlight as you embraced.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “You brought him back to me.”

“In the wake of your begetting day, I fear my present was delayed,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “But it seems you found him by yourself.”

“There is no celebration without you,” he replied, his hand lifting to caress your cheek, flushed from the cold and his nearness. “This is the best present of all. I shall be forever grateful.”

Before either of you could say more, Asfaloth squirmed between you, nudging Glorfindel insistently with his head and making his annoyance at being ignored well-known.

Glorfindel’s hand trembled as he stroked Asfaloth’s mane, his touch gentle yet desperate, as though afraid the colt might vanish if he let go.

“You’re my dearest friend,” he said to the colt, his words cracking under the weight of his emotions. “My brave Asfaloth. You’ve returned to me, and I will never let you go again.”

The colt nickered in response, leaning into Glorfindel’s touch.

Months later ~

Chuckling, Glorfindel reached into his satchel for yet another apple, discreetly feeding it to the colt. “What’s with the bells?” he asked, as though to distract you from his indulgence.

Surrounded by the fresh blooms of spring, you laughed, watching Asfaloth now a lively yearling attempt to stomp on an irritating bee buzzing too close to his hooves.

The memory of his infancy in Rohan came rushing back. The trembling colt, spooked by every shadow and sound, fleeing in a desperate, mad dash.

Whatever sorrow had clung to him, whatever shadow had haunted his young heart, had left him terrified and alone, wandering the dark woods.

The bells had been your idea.

You started small, looping one around his neck, letting it chime softly with every step he took.

The sound startled him at first, but soon, the gentle, repetitive ringing became a companion to his movements. A constant he could rely on.

With time, you tied more bells to his halter and to the saddle as he grew. You ran with him, letting the bells ring in harmony with your laughter, teaching him to associate their sound not with fear but with joy and safety.

The bells became a lullaby of sorts, drowning out the forest and glum world that once weighed on him and masking the harsher sounds of the dark he’d feared.

He stopped flinching at every rustling leaf or snapping twig. Step by step, he grew braver, the chiming bells now a comforting melody that guided him toward home.

But such tales were not to be shared with Glorfindel. This lifetime did not deserve such sorrow.

Instead, you smiled, shaking your wrist so the bells on it chimed in harmony with Asfaloth’s. The colt perked up at the familiar sound, his ears twitching as he trotted closer to nuzzle you.

“He’s such a pretty boy,” you said, stroking Asfaloth’s snowy coat with unabashed fondness. “We just wished to match our beauty.”

Glorfindel laughed, a sound rich and bright, as he slipped an arm around your waist. He tilted his head, gazing at you and Asfaloth with a softness that made your heart flutter.

“You’re both too beautiful for me to bear,” he teased gently, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “How is a simple elf supposed to compete with this?”

You chuckled, the bells jingling again as Asfaloth nudged between you both. Glorfindel turned his attention back to the colt, scratching him behind the ears. “It suits you both perfectly,” he added with a fond smile.

And so it was that Asfaloth, the steed who would one day carry the Ringbearer to Imladris, came to bear the sweet sound of bells

Asfaloth wandered, searching for his master.

He was smaller now, his once-proud form reduced to something frail and unfamiliar. The world seemed vast, darker than he remembered, and far more unkind.

He searched the forests, retracing the steps of his past, the places where he had once woken as a youngling. He had expected to find his master nearby, but the only thing that greeted him was the haunting echo of a distant horn. Startled, he had bolted, fear carrying him into the depths of the unknown.

For weeks, he roamed, driven by a desperate need to find the hidden city, the glimmering sanctuary where his lord resided. His heart clenched with unease at every shadow. When the forest buzzed with life, he would whine softly for his master, unable to keep the yearning at bay. But in the eerie silence of the darker woods, he dared not make a sound, fearful of what might lurk there.

His search came to a halt when he encountered a human.

The man had found him and, against Asfaloth’s will, led him away from his wandering. The human’s presence was strange and unwelcome, but Asfaloth was weary.

His strength had been diminished in this fragile form, and fear gnawed at him, keeping him tethered to the company of the human’s herd.

But he would not forget.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how many comforting gestures the mares or the other humans offered, Asfaloth could not accept their touch. His soul burned with loyalty, and he refused to bow to the men who came to claim him.

He fought them off, biting and rearing. He ran from the mares who tried to soothe him with soft nuzzles. Only one was worthy of that closeness. His master.

And yet, exhaustion wore him down.

One cold morning, the frost nipping at his bones, Asfaloth felt hands combing gently through his mane. Too weary to resist, too tired to keep fighting, he leaned into the touch.

It was warm.

For a moment, he allowed himself to succumb to the comfort, to let go of the ever-present ache in his heart. He had grown so cold, so terribly cold. And he missed his master with every fiber of his being.

Then, a soft sound stilled him. The faint, familiar chime of bells.

He froze, his breath hitching as a scent drifted into his senses, sweet and unmistakable. His heart surged as the scent enveloped him, filling him with a bittersweet hope.

It wasn’t his lord.

But it was you.

You, the one dearest to his master. The companion who had been his lord’s closest friend. The bringer of treats, the gentle presence he had trusted so deeply in the past.

At once, the cold vanished from his heart.

For Asfaloth knew.

He knew that if you were here, then his master could not be far behind. His lord—the one he had been seeking would come.

[wareagleofthemountain]

Thank you so much for this sweet story! It had me smiling from beginning to end!

[elithilanor]

Pre-Relationship Glorestor Drabble

For Scribbles and Drabbles SFW 2024 artwork #148 by Zhie for Imaldris/Rivendell

"So this is where you've been all day, Counselor. I have to admit, I did not know you were an artist." Sounds Glorfindel's voice as he steps into Erestor's light on the top of the summit, his golden hair catching the fading sun as it flows freely around his silhouette.

Erestor raises an eyebrow. "You speak as if you know much more about me than your few years here in the valley would indicate."

Glorfindel grins, a bright and sunny expression, and gestures at the sketchpad Erestor had been working on. "Most speak highly of your talents in the written word and the occasional musical piece, but never of your hand at the physical arts. One could assume that this is a relatively unknown talent of yours. I am honored to have seen your work."

"Yes, honored to have stalked and snuck up on me for a chance to see it." Erestor responds dryly as he gazes back upon the abundant valley he now calls home. He sighs as he realizes he's lost the last of the best light of the day with Glorfindel's distraction and begins to collect what he'd brought up the mountain with him.

Glorfindel falls into step beside Erestor as they make their way back down to Imladris.

"Tell me, Counselor, have you made plans to take your meal this evening?" Glorfindel asks as he assists Erestor on a particularly steep footing.

"No, I have not." Erestor responds, ears tipped red at the proximity to him. Ever since Glorfindel's arrival less than a century ago, Erestor had been both intrigued and vexed by his presence in equal measures.

Glorfindel's eyes seem to shine brighter with the Light of the Trees as the world around them dims. Erestor finds himself hard-pressed to look away.

"Would you care to share the meal with me in the gardens?"

"I suppose I can find the time. " Erestor pauses and makes a split-second decision. "You may call me Erestor, if you wish."

[wareagleofthemountain]

There he is! My favorite elf! 💛

[elithilanor]

It's too early for this

Scribbles & Drabbles SFW Prompt 62 by Melpomaen

Melpomaen and Rúmil just want some coffee before being stuck in car for ten hours. If only they had the correct currency. Based on artwork by the wonderful Melpomaen and on some scenarios experienced during my several years as a barista

Tags: Modern Rúmel!

"I can't make change for a one hundred dollar bill, if that's what you're going to ask." The barista states tiredly, setting Melpomaen's half-caf, iced vanilla oat milk latte with whip and sprinkles onto the counter next to Rúmil's large black coffee. "It's 6am and we don't have the change."

Melpomaen waves his hand and mutters, "No, no. Not a hundred," as he distractedly sorts through the various currencies in his side bag; none of which are standard bank notes from the last millennia.

"What's the problem?" Rúmil asks as he steps up behind the shorter elf.

"I'm sorry?" The barista blinks at Rúmil. "I don't speak…Swedish?" They ask with uncertainty.

"Finnish." Melpomaen states confidently. He turns back to his husband and replies in swift Sindarin. "We forgot to go to the bank before the trip. Again. If we had decided to open those accounts in the 60s -"

Rúmil sighs and rubs his temples. "No. We don't need whatever Nazgûl-cursed magic that lives within those tiny debt cards. Valar knows Legolas has gotten himself into enough trouble as it is."

Melpomaen shifts, watching the line form behind them despite - or perhaps because of - the early hour. He turns back to the barista, who is anxiously tapping their fingers on the counter.

"We don't have," he pauses, searching for the right words, "the cash with us. Can I leave my ring while we get some?"

The barista gives him a flat stare. "You don't have a card or something?"

Rúmil snorts and Melpomaen glares at him halfheartedly. "No."

The café door slams open and the brisk air rushes inside as Orophin steps in, wincing at the crash. Modern doors were much lighter than their ancient counterparts. The barista rolls their eyes. "Ah, sorry! Are you guys ready? We need to leave."

Rúmil pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, "He's never going to let me live this down."

Melpomaen sighs. "Yes he will."

Orophin looks at the exasperated barista, his brother in law's flush at the tip of his ears, and the line of caffeine-deprived regulars behind them. He grins brightly then laughs. "You did it again, didn't you two?"

"...Maybe he won't."

.

.

.

Lórien bros tags: @wareagleofthemountain

[wareagleofthemountain]

lol! I am literally Melpomaen in this situation! I’m loving these drabbles, thank you so much for sharing!

[elithilanor]

The Bird Warden of Lórien

For Scribbles and Drabbles 2024 SFW Prompt 158 for Melpomaen

Summary: Recent orphans and transplants to Lóthlorien, Haldir and his brothers, deal with a slight difference in bird culture between the predominantly Silvan customs of their homeland and the more Ñoldorin culture of Lóthlorien. Loosely based on one of my potential hcs for the history of the Lórien bros who were orphaned during either the Ruin of Doriath or another loss in the Greenwood. Featuring: a young Orophin and a mildly injured bird, a very out of his depth Haldir, an absent Rúmil (sorry), and an attempt of cultural expose via birdhouses hanar - Sindarin for brother honeg - Sindarin for little brother

Orophin's lip trembles as he peers over the sketch book that he took from Rúmil's chest and ties the next piece of wood to the curved frame. He inspects the work as he strokes the feathers of the hawklet in the small box next to him and nods resolutely. "I won't let them force you to stay outside. I don't care what they say. You're a baby and babies need help when it's cold!"

"Honeg, who is leaving babies outside?" Haldir asks with concern as the recently matured elf steps inside their talan, shaking the snow from his oversized cloak before hanging it by the mantle. He shivers in the frigid air inside their home and sets to lighting the hearth. The mallorn branches crack as they flare to life and Haldir grimaces. He misses the smell of the forested oaks and firs of Eryn Galen.

Orophin rushes over and throws his arms around Haldir with a tight squeeze before flying back to the table and bringing the hawklet closer to the warming fire.

Haldir watches Orophin with an exhausted smile and runs his fingers through his little brother's hair, combing it back into a semblance of order.

"Are they leaving hawklets out in the forest, honeg, or are there other babies I should be worried about?" He pauses then sighs. "And where's Rú? I left him here to watch you."

Orophin's face scrunches as he frowns. "I don't need anyone to watch me! I'm not the baby!"

Haldir snorts and Orophin waves his hands in the air before pointing at the hawklet. "Rú went to get another bandage because his wing is broken. Hanar, hanar", he repeats in distress, his bright eyes filling with tears. "They were going to leave him outside to die." He hiccups as his sobs grow. "Th-the other elves said even though he was hurt that that's what nature intended and that he should DIE."

A rage grows inside Haldir at the idea. All elves had the responsibility to nurture and protect Yavanna's creatures, especially ones so young. To think that Orophin would be encouraged to abandon an injured hawklet was an insult to the Fruit-Giver.

"Who said this?" He asks, jaw clenched.

"The shiny, sparkly elves, hanar!"

Haldir sighs, a smile tugging at his lips. They did wear an unnecessary amount of jewelry. You could hear them coming up the paths during celebrations. Truly, while the Sindarin customs here in Lórien were of some familiarity to him, those of the prevalent Ñoldor often confused him still and were difficult to adapt to.

"The Ñoldor, honeg."

"That's what I said!" Orophin chirps back and Haldir knows he's lost the battle for the evening.

"Is that why you're building the houses?"

Oropher quiets and fidgets with the hem of his tunic. "I remember what they looked like when Lady Lúthien hung them in the trees and I wanted to try."

Haldir blinks back his tears, heartstrings tugging painfully. He wasn't sure his brothers had been old enough to remember much of Doriath, but he shouldn't have been surprised. The Eldar had long memories.

He clears his throat.

"You're right. I haven't seen any hanging here. But I don't see any hooks to put it up."

"It's too cold to put them outside, hanar. That's why I wanted to bring him inside. But the sparkly elves said I couldn't bring him to the infirmrary."

"Infirmary."

"Infirmary!"

Haldir smiles. "So you brought the hawklet home?"

"Mm! I know we don't have a lot of space, but -"

"It's alright. You're right, Oro. It's winter and it's our duty to keep our injured friends safe." Haldir had long resigned himself to Orophin's growing bird obsession. He was sure that by winter's end their small, shared talan would be inundated with fledglings. It would cause some strife with Rúmil who was struggling here, but they would work it out together well enough.

They always had.

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Gen Haldir tags: @wareagleofthemountain @glassgulls

[wareagleofthemountain]

Oh my goodness this is adorable! I love the “shiny elves” lol. Orophin is the cutest! 🥰

[creativity-of-death]

Reblog to give prev a little hope and warmth in the world and to pass on some kindness and joy