Ordinary Moments
Compromising on my 1k words of self-indulgent RA fic by posting it here but not on AO3. (I feel like it could work better as a piece of something bigger but I don’t know what, so this satisfies the Posting Itch while keeping my options open.)
Further indulging myself by including both POVs of the scene, so actually 1.3k words now.
Standard year-after-Skandia feels (on the fluffy side), feat. a mostly-asleep Will and Halt having lots of emotions.
I love this so much.
I am looking for recommendations for novels centered around King Arthur and/or his knights/other characters from the legends. In the past, I have enjoyed Jane Yolen’s Sword of the Rightful King, Lisa Ann Sandell’s Song of the Sparrow, and Gerald Morris’s The Squire’s Tale series.
It’s fine if Arthur himself is not the center of the book - but it is important to me that Arthur is actually a good king worth rooting for. I’ve stumbled across a couple of adaptations recently whose big twist is that Arthur is the bad guy and have not enjoyed them.
If anyone has any suggestions, they would be deeply appreciated!
It’s time for author reveals for the 2023 Silmarillion Remix! I had the opportunity to remix Brievel’s excellent Nightmares.
If you would like to see some late First Age hurt/comfort between Maglor & Maedhros, check it out!
@tolkienremix
A snippet from my “Elladan and Aragorn get stuck in First Age Beleriand” WIP.
…
“Elladan?” Aragorn asked urgently from the other side of the small camp they had at last dared. “Is aught amiss?”
Elladan could not quite help laughing, high and bitter, at that. “Aught else, you mean?”
Aught else besides the fact that they were mere miles from the worst battlefield in elvish history. Aught else besides the fact that they were several millennia away from home. Aught else besides the fact that they were desperately hiding behind the best illusion Elladan could sing up while roving hunting parties of orcs - and far worse monsters - hunted for the scent of elvish blood - a liquid they had all too much of, thanks to their wounded and currently nameless companion.
Besides all that.
Aragorn only regarded him steadily, concern in his eyes, and Elladan abruptly regretted that he was no longer little Estel, who would have blushed and looked away instead of looking at him with eyes that were uncomfortably like Elladan’s father’s in their seeming ability to peer into souls.
Because there was, of course, something else.
He looked away, into the dangerous darkness overlaying the trees. “It has occurred to me to wonder what my father will say if I have to tell him that I got you killed over a handful of rocks.”
“I would certainly prefer to avoid that as well,” Aragorn said dryly. “Although it is not quite a fair summation of events regardless.”
Elladan’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t protest further; Aragorn would not concede the point, and it would bring Elladan no joy if he did. Aragorn might have pushed the matter further, but their patient - or, more accurately, Aragorn’s - had the good manners to quite conveniently moan, drawing his attention away.
There were a great many other things to be more immediately concerned about, but it had been thoughts of his father that had put the stricken look on Elladan’s face, and he found it hard to shake such thoughts now.
There had been many times over the years when Elladan had been forced to bring the news to his father that another of Elladan’s cousins had fallen. In battle, to an illness they had not had time to bring them to Elrond to heal, on truly rare occasions to old age - it was always a heavy duty, but it was a duty he could bear.
He had never yet had to bear the news that he had gotten one of them killed, and he truly, deeply, devoutly did not want to begin with Estel.
There had been times, of course, where he wondered if he could have done something different - if he had ridden faster, left earlier, fought harder - but there had never been a true case for blame.
He had never before, for instance, gone into a troll cave with one of his mortal cousins and completely lost his head over an obvious trap.
It had been a set of silver pins that had caught his eye - pins hung with little bells, decorated with tiny sapphires, silver somehow untarnished.
They had looked exactly like the pins that his mother had worn when she had ridden away, never to return whole. They had been missing when they had at last found her, though it had not been until they were carefully packing her most treasured things away to send with her across the sea that anyone had realized.
It had not occurred to him to wonder how the pins could be so gleaming, here amongst the filth of a troll hoard. It had not occurred to him to think anything, beyond his rage that anything of hers should be kept in the filth and the dark.
He had reached to snatch them up, despite Estel’s warning cry.
And for his pains, he had landed them on the edges of the worst battle he had ever imagined, much less fought in. For a moment, he had thought them in Dagor Dagorath itself, until he had seen the banners.
He was still not quite prepared to accept those banners.
How they’d survived, he had no idea; his memory was not quite as perfect as an elf’s, and he was grateful for that hint of mortality now. All he knew was that it was over, Estel was still alive, and they had even managed to snatch one poor elf away from - from something’s blow as they went.
(A balrog. He was nearly certain that had been a balrog. He had screamed defiance at a balrog - )
Said elf had been barely able to stand, so Estel had dragged him with them as they ran, which could have been a mistake on a practical level if it hadn’t kept anyone from shooting them in the back for retreating with rather less organization than everyone else was.
… People had been surprisingly helpful, even.
But all of that paled next to the thought that they were in long lost Beleriand, home of a thousand dangers, and, if all those failed, millennia away from any time familiar to them. Even if Elladan managed to get home the long way, Aragorn certainly would not.
And then he would have to face his father and tell him he had gotten Estel killed over a handful of metal and rock.
Bad enough to get anyone killed in such a way; worse for it to be one of his cousins; unthinkable for it to be the last of his cousins, the current last of Elros’s direct line.
And worse than all of those for it to be Estel, who had chased after them as a child, who had played with his little wooden sword with such seriousness, who had grown up grim and strong and still so, so concerned with what he saw when he looked at others with eyes that scraped right through their souls.
His father, who had managed to forgive the Feanorians, might someday forgive him. Elrohir and Arwen never would.
Nor, for that matter, would Gilraen, who might kill him outright. He would probably deserve it.
(This is a snippet from a potential AU where Scion of Somebody Probably!Gil-Galad wakes up in the body of Rings of Power!Gil-Galad. He has questions.)
His best guess for what had happened was some kind of head injury. A fall from his horse, maybe, that had knocked the past … who knew how many years … out of his head.
But if that was what had happened, he would have expected to have woken up surrounded by worried healers, Elrond almost certainly among them.
Instead, Gil-Galad had woken up alone in a room that was almost, but not quite, like his own.
For one thing, he had entirely different paperwork waiting for him than he had the day before. More of it, not less, more’s the pity.
His second guess was that he had unexpectedly developed foresight, and that Elrond had done an unexpectedly terrible job of describing the experience.
Also unlikely.
Which left the last and final guess, which was that Gil-Galad had been captured by some remnant of their Enemy, and this was all some kind of horrible trap.
If his first guess was correct, he really needed to tell someone what had happened.
If his third guess was correct, he needed to play along until he understood what was happening and how to stop it.
“My king?”
He looked up from examining the letters on his desk. He couldn’t find any from Numenor, which was concerning. “Yes?”
… He didn’t recognize the woman hesitating in the doorway in the slightest. Hopefully she was his assistant and not his wife.
Hopefully he wouldn’t have a wife that would insist on reminding him he was the king at all times.
She was also veiled, which was fine, but very much not the fashion in his last trustworthy memory.
Just how much memory had he lost?
Assuming, of course, he’d lost any at all.
“Have you an answer to Elrond’s request?”
Elrond, not Lord Elrond, so the two must be close.
… and that was the only clue he had. He was either going to have to confess everything or make this decision blind.
He had never in his life decided to confess everything, and this was Elrond; acceding to his requests would rarely lead him too far astray. “I have decided to grant it.”
She appeared slightly startled.
He hoped rather desperately that he hadn’t just approved a three year mission to go hunting down Maglor. If he was going to manage this juggernaut, he’d really rather have Elrond beside him.
“I will tell him to prepare for the meeting, then, my lord,” she said and curtseyed before exiting.
A meeting. Good. There was certainly no harm in allowing Elrond to go to a meeting.
… why had Elrond felt the need to apply for special permission to attend a meeting?
Or, well, good manners, probably. Elrond was good about those.
But why on Arda would anyone be surprised that he had approved said request? Gil-Galad was of the firm opinion that most meetings were improved by Elrond’s presence, since it ensured there was at least one sensible person among the lot, and he conducted his invitations to meetings accordingly.
There were a few issues it might be awkward to have Elrond present for - if, for instance, they were declaring war on Numenor - but he couldn’t imagine justifying the decision to exclude Elrond to anyone. If they were going to war with Numenor, Elrond was certainly going to want to have his say, and there were at least three major factions among the elves that would aggressively back his right to have it, and they’d be right to; awkward or not, Elrond was their leading expert on all things Numenor, and Gil-Galad would be a fool to disregard his advice.
Also, under no circumstances was Gil-Galad declaring war on Numenor. If they wanted war, they could very well go and declare it themselves.
… for once, his paperwork was actually looking appealing, considering that it was his best potential source for answers that wouldn’t judge him.
A dedicated search revealed that he was apparently planning to withdraw forces from the south, to host a feast tonight, and, for some reason, to get personally involved in the welfare of a tree.
He could still find absolutely nothing about Numenor, which at least meant they probably weren’t about to go to war with them but did raise some other concerning questions.
At the very bottom of the stack, he found an outline for a speech that was apparently meant to be given before the feasting tonight. Small notes to himself were scribbled in the margins. Unfortunately, the full speech was nowhere to be found, but he had done more with less before. A quick skim would -
He stopped.
Reread.
Reread a third time because surely he was misreading this.
Apparently, he was sending Galadriel back to Aman.
Given the tone of his notes to himself, this was despite the fact that she was not at all inclined to go.
That the Valar could have retracted their ban in the untold amount of time he had forgotten, he could believe; but this -
It had never been policy to send elves west against their will. Even if it had been, he certainly wouldn’t have tried it on Galadriel; he was king, certainly, but there was no power so absolute that you could afford to be monumentally stupid about it.
New theory: his future self had gone crazy, and the Valar had sent him into the future to prevent another kinslaying among the Noldor. They certainly hadn’t gone to such trouble before, but it was a new age. Maybe they were trying new things.
Alternatively, he really had been captured by some remnant of Enemy, and said remnant had a truly warped view of how Noldorin politics worked.
Which was almost reassuring, except in how very horrifyingly plausible it was. Why would a former servant of Morgoth’s know what it was like to live under a king of the elves who had to balance the competing claims of a half dozen fractious factions? Why wouldn’t such a servant think that casting out a political player who had been causing waves would be a perfectly plausible thing to do?
Right. So.
He’d almost certainly been captured. His captor almost certainly had no idea he knew this. The goal of this little game was unclear; maybe his captor was hoping Gil-Galad would reveal information, maybe he was just hoping to keep Gil-Galad trapped in a dream while he was being transported so that he wouldn’t fight.
Regardless, Gil-Galad’s duty was clear: find a way out.
And, in the meantime, give the performance of a lifetime.
Just realized I never cross posted the second chapter! Let’s see how things are going in the other world …
“Elrond? What are you doing here?”
Elrond blinked. He was not quite sure where else he was supposed to be; Gil-Galad’s weekly meeting with his advisors would be starting shortly, and short of a large scale medical emergency, the council chamber where they met was exactly where Elrond was generally expected to be.
Surely if there was a large scale medical emergency Gil-Galad would look concerned instead of annoyed?
He glanced at Lauriel in the hopes that if he had forgotten something obvious, she would know it, but she only shrugged infinitesimally, shaking her head.
She did pause in her journey toward the door, though, eyes sharp.
“I’m sorry, my king, I’m not sure where else I should be,” he admitted.
For once, Gil-Galad did not scold him for the formality. “Not here, certainly - not after I had explicitly denied your request to attend.”
Elrond blinked.
This … was the weekly council meeting, was it not? He hadn’t asked permission to attend; as a permanent member of the council, he had to ask permission to not attend.
Lauriel’s eyebrows were creeping up to her hairline. Gil-Galad’s own guards were starting to look uncomfortable.
Had Gil-Galad sent a message asking him not to attend this particular session? He certainly hadn’t received it, if so, but why would such a request be sent? As far as he was aware, the agenda for the session was the current status of their grain stores; important, certainly, but …
He hadn’t felt so out of step since he had first come to court.
“Forgive me, I must have missed your message,” he finally managed. He couldn’t imagine why Gil-Galad didn’t want him here - was it Numenor? Was it Maglor? Had some horrible news come from Aman? - but his confused concern had no place here, moments before the other lords would be arriving. “I’ll leave Lauriel here as my deputy.”
It wasn’t an ideal solution; appointing a Feanorian as his proxy, even a temporary one, would be a loaded move.
But the group of Feanorians in Lindon was small enough that they didn’t rate any other representative, so of the many groups who had claim to him, they needed it the most.
And there was no time to send for someone else regardless.
Gil-Galad’s expression cooled further. “You overstep your position, peredhel.”
Ice coiled around his spine.
He had rarely heard that word said so disdainfully before.
And never from Gil-Galad’s lips.
He pushed that aside. Overstepping?
He knew his political situation could be … precarious. He had been so careful not to overstep. He didn’t know how he could have done so now, but if he had -
“If I am not an acceptable deputy, I would be more than happy to fetch Faronde for you, my lords,” Lauriel said in a cheerful voice that nonetheless had a certain resemblance to a drawn blade. “I am sure she could balance Feanorian interests with everyone else’s easily.”
Elrond winced.
There were Feanorian supporters and then there were Feanorian supporters.
Faronde was definitely the latter.
Gil-Galad waved this off dismissively. “She’s scarcely qualified to speak for them; Celebrimbor will do admirably. Which is not your concern. I will speak to you after the meeting, Elrond.”
It did not sound like a positive meeting.
Almost numb, Elrond gathered his papers and left the room, Lauriel all but treading on his heels.
The cool air flowing through the open columns of the corridor helped soothe him.
“Let’s not tell Faronde that the king does not consider her Feanorian enough,” he said as calmly as he could.
That successfully derailed some of Lauriel’s rage into a snort. “That’s one way to start another kinslaying,” she agreed. “But my lord - “
“No,” he said firmly. “We will not discuss this here.” He wasn’t sure he should discuss this with Lauriel at all. The Feanorians could be … sensitive to insults far more open to perception than this.
It was a misunderstanding of some sort, he was sure.
Except.
Gil-Galad had said Celebrimbor could speak for the Feanorians.
It was a … debatable sentiment at the best of the time. Those who had sworn to Elrond typically resented his actions in Nargothrond.
But it was particularly odd now with Celebrimbor most decidedly still in Eregion.
So much of the world had shifted under him, though, that he still felt the need to check. “Celebrimbor hasn’t come for a surprise visit, has he?”
Lauriel stopped her in the middle of the tense circle she had been pacing. “No, my lord,” she said with certainty.
So he would certainly not be representing anyone at this meeting.
Unless he had reinvented his grandfather’s palantiri? Or something else, perhaps involving Silmarils somehow, that Gil-Galad didn’t trust Elrond to keep from the more … fanatical Feanorians?
It was a losing battle if that was the case; there might be tensions between Celebrimbor’s followers and those that had stayed with Maglor and Maedhros to the bitter end, but they did still talk.
Argue, mostly, but talk. Some of them had been sending furious letters back and forth for centuries. Some of them were married. Keeping news confined to one group was impossible.
Cheerful whistling echoed from the west corridor, and an unfamiliar feeling of embarrassed tension swept over Elrond.
“We should go,” he said, careful not to make his voice too abrupt. Lauriel didn’t deserve any of his ill mood. “As our king instructed.”
And certainly before any other attendees arrived.
For a moment, Lauriel looked mutinous before determination settled over her features and she swept a bow that was technically correct for Elrond’s rank but far, far too formal for the circumstances between them. “Of course, my lord. Whatever you like.”
Unfortunately, the delay had cost them; Lord Galdor, formerly of Gondolin, had swept around the corner, verdant green cloak trailing behind him.
“Lord Elrond!” he cried cheerfully. “I thought for once I might have beaten you to the meeting, but I should have known better.”
Elrond forced himself to smile.
“Be cautious in going in,” Lauriel said with unusual friendliness. “It seems there’s more than is usual to this council meeting; Lord Elrond has been deemed too lowly to attend.”
Elrond stiffened.
Galdor stopped, frowning. “Lord Elrond? Are you sure?”
“From the king’s own lips,” Lauriel said.
Galdor’s brow furrowed. “Has Manwe come to visit? Though I’d have thought they’d have wanted you for that too, given Melian … Well, I am grateful for the warning; if you’re forbidden to enter, I certainly don’t rate.”
“Lauriel,” Elrond said in exasperation as her purpose became clear. “Lord Galdor, though I admit the king felt I had … overstepped by attending today, he made no mention of anyone else. I am sure your presence will be welcomed.”
“No, no,” Galdor said insistently. “I’m sure Lauriel has the right of it. If Lady Idril’s grandson is putting himself too far forward by attending the council he was appointed to, I could never live with my own presumption if I tried to attend.”
I’m sure Lauriel has the right of it was not a phrase Elrond had ever before heard from Galdor’s mouth.
If nothing else, this incident might yet prove good for interfactional unity.
Which did not change the fact that this might yet cause an interfactional incident if Elrond couldn’t get things calmed down. The Feanorians were always going to be upset, but if Lauriel successfully convinced the Gondolindrim that this was a blow to their pride -
And now Lord Artanor, formerly of Doriath, was approaching, hurrying in his ever-present fear of being late.
“Ho, Artanor!” Galdor called. “No need to rush, man, the meeting’s been called off.”
Artanor skidded to a halt. “It has?”
“No,” Elrond said in exasperation.
“The king’s decided he’d rather just talk to himself today,” Galdor said over him.
Elrond allowed himself a rare glare. Galdor subsided slightly sheepishly.
Elrond turned back to Artanor. “I have displeased the king,” he said wearily, already tired of explaining this. “That is no reason for everyone else not to attend the meeting.”
“The king said he wasn’t important enough to attend,” Lauriel said ‘helpfully.’
Artanor’s mouth dropped open a little. “I certainly can’t go then. I’m barely a proper lord. If Prince Elrond isn’t high enough to attend, I can’t imagine what I have to recommend me.”
Elrond needed to get Lauriel out of here before she started a minor mutiny.
“I am not a prince,” he reminded Artanor firmly, “and certainly you should go. To air your opinion on the matter, if nothing else,” he said, desperately trying a new tactic.
Which might have worked if Lady Sarisse, formerly of Sirion, hadn’t arrived and asked, “Did we forget the keys again? I might be able to sing the door open.”
“We’re deciding how best to file a grievance against the king,” Artanor told her.
Sarisse glanced up from her examination of the door’s lock. “I should think you should just ask Lord Elrond to bring it before him. Or are you still judging the grievance?” she asked, turning to Elrond himself.
It was a relief to see the Falathrim and Nargothrond delegations approaching behind her; they, at least, could be counted upon to be sane about this.
That was, of course, exactly the problem; for any given issue there was at least one faction of the elves that could not be counted upon to be sane about things, usually more than one, and it was part of the genius of Gil-Galad’s rule that he managed it so well. Whoever his own people originally were - and Elrond had his guesses about that - he held no grudges and promoted no favoritism. He juggled each faction’s grievances with remarkable tact and sympathy, from the kinslayers to the isolationists to the pious to those all but in religious rebellion, and such a misstep as this, so likely to cause division, was unlike him.
Just like a pronouncement that Celebrimbor would be in that meeting when he was far away in Eregion.
Oh, he was such a fool.
Confusion, out of character actions -
“Did any of you go with the king when he went riding yesterday?” he said, interrupting whatever explanation the latest arrivals were being fed.
None of them had.
“Why?” Cirdan asked, lately arrived and clearly concerned.
“He was confused when I spoke to him,” Elrond said. “He thought Celebrimbor would be here. Unless I am mistaken on Celebrimbor’s whereabouts - “
Everyone shook their heads.
“If he fell … “
“It would explain much,” Galdor said grimly. “What will you need to treat him?”
Elrond shook his head. “He needs to be properly examined first, and I doubt he will consent to be examined by me in his current mood. Another healer should be fetched.”
Which was a plan that might have worked if Gil-Galad hadn’t chosen that moment to emerge from the room, presumably to see where in Arda everyone was.
“What is this?” he asked, face blank. Then, looking over most of the assembled lords with little recognition, “Who are you?”
Cirdan moved toward him cautiously. “Concerned friends.”
Gil-Galad’s brow furrowed. “You are no friend of mine.”
Sarisse sucked in a sharp breath.
“Definitely a head injury,” Galdor said with forced calm.
“Or a curse,” Artanor muttered.
Things did not improve from there.
Gil-Galad did not recognize the year, much of the palace, or many of the faces he was shown. Despite this, he fiercely resisted being put in the healers’ care.
It was a frazzled council that met in his absence.
The ambiguity of Gil-Galad’s parentage had allowed disparate factions to swear to him without shame, but he had no clear heir. If they couldn’t solve this …
If they couldn’t solve this, Elrond would lose one of the closest kinsman he had left and a very dear friend. The kingdom only made it even more urgent.
“Lord Elrond, you’re the best healer we have. Surely you will see to him despite his reservations?”
Gil-Galad had not seemed aware Elrond was a healer at all, which was at least a strong reason for him to be reluctant to receive care from him. It had not soothed any of the worry seething frantically in Elrond’s mind.
“If it becomes necessary, of course,” he assured Cirdan. “And I will be happy to advise his other healers as best I can. I would prefer to avoid distressing him if at all possible, however.”
This was generally accepted.
“In the meantime, we’ll need someone to steward the kingdom while he recovers,” Galdor said. “I devoutly hope that it need not be for long, but just in case … “
General nods echoed around the table.
“Right,” Galdor said. “Let’s save some time, then: All in favor of Lord Elrond, say ‘aye.’”
Elrond stood immediately. “Absolutely not,” he said.
Several people blinked at him politely.
He reached for a reason. “Surely it is a conflict of interest to make me both his healer and the person who benefits most by his convalescence.”
“If you were anyone else, I’d agree,” Galdor said cheerfully. “But as it is, I think we’ll just consider it extra motivation. All in favor?”
Despite Elrond’s vote, the ayes had it.
Notes:
Technically, slightly canon divergent since Galdor is supposed to have long since sailed by now … but it saved me making up yet another OC, so slight canon divergence it is.
lotrhobbitsilmincorrectquotes:
Young and naive Maedhros: I hope something good happens
Adult and tired Maedhros: I hope whatever bad thing happens next is at least funny
.
Inspired by this post
#tolkien#ok but this raises the question:#which disaster is Maedhros version of ‘I miss when the big boat was stuck :(’#what is his Ever Given?
May I propose: Glaurung’s first attack.
What’s the problem?: Weird giant lizard is attacking people
Will this cause a political crisis?: No.
How will society solve this problem?: Fingon is attacking the weird lizard back
Is there anything I need to do in Himring?: No.
What are the expected long term consequences of this problem?: We know weird lizards exist now.
Did one of my family members cause this problem?: No! This is a pleasant surprise.
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Member of the Church of Christ. Occasional quotes, funny stuff, and random fandoms, but mostly Silmarillion fic. Frequently AU, never slash or NSFW.
