Gone long ago, alas!

A bit of willow-slash for Femslash February. 

Treebeard discussing his willow friends, while they were still alive:

Why, I know that pair of old willows down the Entwash! They are quite hollow, almost falling to pieces, but they are as quiet and sweet-spoken as a young leaf. When my heart grows sad about the loss of the Entwives, I go there, to hear them whisper endearments to each other and gentle words of welcome to me. It does my heart good to see them support each other, their branches entwined, nearing the end of their lifespans, but in beloved company and content.

But—burarum—there are nasty gossips among the trees in the valleys, sound as a bell, and yet bad right through! Maybe, in truth, they envy my good willows, but are too clutching and grasping to share earth and water with anyone? They call my willow friends unnatural, but their ideas about the nature of things are all twisted…

@silmladylove

Written for the prompt for 27 February: Burárum (Entish), noise of disgust.

(The title is Treebeard’s comment to Merry and Pippin, looking back on his memories of those willows. I guess they always sounded lady-like, to me, like Bregalad’s rowans, unlike Old Man Willow.)

Healing

A snippet from a WIP of mine, written for Femslash February (OFC/OFC; pre-slash)

Introduction: Auntie, a Sindarin healer, is trying to heal Huntress, a fellow Sinda from an unfamiliar tribe, who has has fallen into a coma.  Huntress, before Auntie’s arrival, was the only Sinda in a camp full of Noldor; she found her in the care of a woman called Narye.

Auntie finally stopped singing. Huntress still lay unconscious, but Auntie did not look discouraged.

She turned to Narye and said: ‘Call her by her name! I think she will hear you.’

Narye opened her mouth.

She said; ‘Oh!’ and sat back on her heels. Distressed, she confessed: ‘I do not know her name!’

Auntie’s doubts about these strange elves were clearly returning with renewed force.

‘Did you not say you were her closest friend, here?’

‘I am,’ said Narye, ‘but we met as strangers, in Hithlum. She called herself Huntress, the first time we met. It was clearly a use-name she had only just picked for herself. I went on using that name in all our speech together. I had entirely forgotten it was not truly hers.’

‘Call her by that name, then,’ said Auntie. ‘If you are close, as you say, she may have accepted the name from you as abeneth. Let us see.’

Narye leant forward again.

It was unbearable that Huntress’s healing should fail because she had never thought to ask for her real name—or had not dared to ask for it, rather, maybe, because she did not deserve so much trust. Were they even friends? How much worth and meaning could it still have, the word “friend” on the tongue of one of the Exiles? Yet she could not make the attempt with less than all her heart.

‘Huntress,’ she said in a low voice, but urgently, remembering, as she spoke, the bravado with which her friend had claimed that name at their first meeting. ‘Huntress—Feredis! Feredis, awake!’

And Huntress opened her eyes.

@silmladylove

Written for today’s prompt: Nestad (Sindarin), healing.

Abeneth is a problematic attempt to translate epesse, because I realized at the last moment that Auntie could not know or use that word for an adopted name, as it is Quenya. Feredis is a somewhat more trustworthy translation of Huntress into Sindarin.

Earlier chapters of this story here.

Minul-Tarik

A drabble for Femslash February, featuring a Numenorean OFC of mine from my story The Crane and the Crow.

The Numenor that Elendil mourns is not one Inzilmith remembers. For her, it was never the Land of Gift, of luxury and learning. She worked just as hard, for less gain and respect. Nevertheless, she, too, mourns Akallabeth, forever separated from the Lady who put her life in danger and saved it and herself fell to the Zigur. Sometimes Inzilmith still closes her eyes, trying to recall the scent of sandalwood. Sometimes she still looks, inadvertently, for the Pillar of Heaven, even though she was there to see the heavens crash down and the sea rise up to meet them.

Minul-Târik (Pillar of Heaven) is the Adûnaic name of the mountain of Meneltarma, about which the Numenoreans might perhaps have felt similarly as Japanese artists do about Fuji: always expected to be somewhere in the background.

@silmladylove

The drabble was written for the prompt for 24 February: Minal, the Adûnaic word for “The heavens, sky”. The first element of  Minul-Târik is a case form of Minal. (Also, Akallabêth means “She-that-is-fallen” and could therefore also apply to a woman.) 

@silmladylove

Into The West

When the mallorn leaves fall, I think of you. With every footstep on the gold-strewn ground, I think of you. There are ages and seas between us, and yet with every wind from the west, it is as though you are here with me, treading the paths of Lórien by my side. You taught me patience and endurance when all I wished for was to live gloriously recklessly. A queen should live for her people, you said. Power is responsibility, not glory. But in the end you left, for love and grief, abandoning your people to the darkness. I cannot say I blame you. I have tasted love in all its flavours, sweet fruit and bitter ash, and the intangible taste of summer rain that is somewhere in between the two. We call it affection, esteem, fondness; we dress it up in borrowed clothes for polite company, doing our best to conceal the currents beneath the surface, the unstoppable tidal wave that will sweep us off our feet if we let it. Your hands tangled in my hair, your lips brushing against mine in the summer rain; oh I wanted nothing more than to let go, let myself be swept away in this maelstrom of pure being and yearning. Yet I found love in other places, in the steadfast loyalty of him who chose to walk by my side for three Ages on this Earth, whose love was no less powerful for being a calm forest pool to your roaring sea. And still, here at the end, staring into the sunset with a west wind touching my cheek, it is not his face I see, but yours. The sail unfurls above me, catching the breeze and carrying me closer to you. I am coming home.

—

16 February - “Zîr” (Wise) - Galadriel/Melian for @silmladylove Femslash February 2020

For @silmladylove  Femslash February prompt - day 11 - “Zimra”, adûnaic “Jewel”

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tar-Telperiën/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Tar-Telperiën, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Femslash February 2020 Summary:

“I’m Nolyaninque, the new ambassador of king Gil-Galad”, she said, bowing before her throne. And since this time nothing was the same. 

melian & galadriel for femslash february 💙

To the edge of night

They take the fastest horses from the stables when they flee, a spirited mare whose coat is the colour of the desert sands and a dapple grey gelding that moves with the grace of a flowing river. As though they understand the need for secrecy, the horses barely make a sound. Still, Inuz holds her breath until they are well out of earshot of the city. The night air is cool, but she expects it will get even colder further north and thanks her own foresight for the warm clothes in the saddlebags. North. That is where they must go to escape this shadow that has fallen upon their people, this sorcerer-king who demands tithes in human blood and is served by the spirits of the dead. He is preparing something in his dark fortress in the Land of Shadow; Inuz has never seen it for herself, but she has heard tales from thos who have. A great tower, overlooking dead plains where no life can grow. And yet her people have allied themselves with this man - if he can even be called a man - trusting his promises of land and riches. When she first heard, Inuz wanted to scream in frustration. Can you not see that he is lying to you? Can you not see the evil that trails in his wake? We have all the land we need here, the bountiful river valley, the lone sands where a rider can chase the wind and the sun and be truly free. But there are few who believe as she does, and now a war is coming, a war with the sea-kings of the west in their white towers. So Inuz flees north, leaving friends and family behind in Temur, and yet she cares little for what she leaves behind. For Dîna is by her side, her lovely dark hair glinting in the moonlight as she urges her mount forward with the easy grace of someone who has spent her life in the saddle. Dîna - poet, dreamer and one of the best riders in all of Temur besides. Love of my life, I hope we reach a land where we can live in peace. As though Dîna can read her mind, she turns to Inuz.

"We will make it. As long as we are together, we will make it."

-

For @silmladylove Femslash February with the prompt "Inkâ" = North.

For @silmladylove Femslash February day 7 -  Ornemalin (quenya.  Bearing yellow flowers).

Findis and Elemmire.

Sisters

For @silmladylove Femslash February 2020 prompt for 6.02 - Abâr (adunaic) “Strength, endurance, fidelity”

Almarian found consolation in an unhappy marriage in her sister-in-law’s arms. Also on AO3.

Keep reading

A Nienna/Nessa piece for @silmladylove‘s Femslash February day 5 prompt: “Bride.”

The Singer’s Lesson

Óre nia pete nin, sang the girl. Her voice faltered, mid-note. Deeply mortified, she peered at her teacher and found her looking unsurprised.

‘You know,’ she realised, flushing.

‘I can guess,’ Solosimpe corrected her.

Her student didn’t know where to look.

‘Have you considered simply asking her?’

‘No,’ said her student, deeply shocked at the mere thought.

And maybe it only was a crush, but maybe it was more.

‘I can only teach you music, not how to live your life. But my advice would be to listen closely to what exactly it is that your heart is telling you…’

@silmladylove

Written for today’s prompt  Óre nia pete nin… ‘My heart tells me…’ (Telerin), with apologies that the femslash is more hinted at than shown again. Solosimpe is my take on Maglor’s wife, who teaches music in Alqualonde, although you do not really need to know this to understand the drabble. 

By my side

For Femslash February @silmladylove, day 4 - Óre nia pete nin… (Telerin) My heart tells me…

Eärwen was all alone after the Kinslaying in Alqualondë. Only one person always stood by her side. Also on AO3

Keep reading

Like Dark Glass

One of the dwarves had spotted the intruder from the Gates, but as she approached, her feelings ran the gamut from caution to outrage to pity. The stranger was sobbing so—it was impossible to hold her disrespect of the holy lake against her.

‘Why are you weeping by Kheled-zâram?’

‘There was another lake that shone like dark glass,’ replied the elf. ‘We saw our faces mirrored, hers and mine, and above the mountain peak flamed white, like these. She is not here—and even the lake is under the sea.’

The dwarf put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

@silmladylove

Drabble written for the prompt Kheled glass (Khuzdul) for 3 February. The prompt word is the first element in the dwarvish name of Mirrormere. It is also related to the (elvish) first element of Helevorn, a lake in drowned Beleriand. There is a bit of resemblance between the descriptions of Helevorn and Mirrormere, as well as between their names. (But it seems the Khuzdul name of Lake Helevorn is known and it did not contain the word kheled).

eldalótë & amarië for femslash february ❤️