POV!

Count this as a pov switch for Chapter Ten of Release from Bondage or Promise You Won’t Forget :

Indomuinë loved the epessë she earned in this place, Dondwen. She was no crafter or maker of things, and aside from some minor talent and enjoyment of playing musical instruments, she did not exemplify the pinnacle of Noldor maidenhood, even if she had been praised as if she did throughout her young life. Her father had been the reeve of their village, her family wealthier than their neighbors, and she had been the only girl in her generation, which made the attention of boys almost unbearable once she neared her fifth decade. She hated the hollowness of that regard. As Indomuinë left childhood, she chose Princess Artanis as her role-model, for she found training her body for physical exertions was something she did excel at, more so than lute-playing or sewing, and mapping the trails into the mountains surrounding her village kept her away from unwanted suitors. Wrestling was a joy, though competition itself taxed her. Costawë’s mother approved of her training, for the older woman was Vanyar, and honing the body to peak strength and health was valued by the Vanyar just as being a powerful debater was among the Noldor. Indomuinë entertained plans of running away to one of the Vanyar monasteries, but she did not wish to abandon her family and hometown. Nor did she really desire to repudiate her people or their ideal of femininity.

People had already left, and had yet to return. He had.

The stronger she grew, the more distantly she was treated. Her strength and toughness became expected, and no one praised her beauty -unless to point out how large her bosom was- or remarked how shy and kind she was. No one offered her flowers or said her eyes reminded them of stars. Her lute lay neglected for no one wished to hear her play. Indomuinë wanted to be the sort of Noldor beauty that was praised in song, one who truly had earned admirers with her wisdom, talent, and loveliness, and whom some gallant knight or prince would dedicate poetry to. Just once she imagined how nice such adoration would be, if it came from an honest heart.

He had promised.

Indomuinë loved her long straight black hair and spent hours brushing it smooth each night. She wore gloves to keep the skin of her hands as undamaged as possible, even as she used her fists to crush stone – and later would pulverize orc jawbones. She had owned fine gowns shipped from Tirion that mimicked courtly dress, though she never wore them for long. She hated the hindrance towards movement that the long skirts caused, that she could not kick freely, and how the hanging over-sleeves felt like a pair of useless wings, though at least she could squash her chest down with those square bodices. She did not like to wear the fine gowns. Still, Indomuinë would lace herself into them in front of her mirror and stare at her reflection, dreaming. She had not been so foolish as to bring any of those fine dresses when she joined the Army of the Valar, only her simplest of white cotton garments and the heavy leather clothing she wore on the mountain trails. And it was not practical to wear her hair long or loose, though she could not bear to cut it.

He liked me; he thought I was beautiful even though we were both children. I cannot bear if he no longer thinks me beautiful.

Indomuinë rubbed her eyes, scowling at the tears on the leather of her gloves.

I am so shallow and foolish.

Trailing behind Airanis, who looked the part of a princess, ethereal and soft and kind, the type of maiden that people fell over themselves to protect, only highlighted how Indomuinë fell short. Airanis was a healer and could identify plants by scent and brew any tincture by memory, the type of woman praised by Noldor court and song: ability and knowledge paired with beauty and elegance. Indomuinë could not suppress her envy. Nor could she dislike Airanis; that was likely impossible for anyone. True friendship was still difficult for Indomuinë and her guarded heart. Airanis loved openly. Worst of all was Airanis’s humility coupled with a bold personality. She naturally had what Indomuinë did not, a great ease with other people, be it flirting or consoling, and thought nothing of it.

He would have loved her. Should have. Did?

She felt a deep fulfillment in her role as Airanis’s shield, guarding her and the other healers from attacks. Airanis would bandage her knuckles and gush over how wonderful Dondwen was, oblivious to her greater necessity and worth.

I could have been a truer friend to him.

Indomuinë could see the falsehood in Airanis’s eyes when the other woman said she did not know of Costawë, that she could not offer any clues of the whereabouts of her childhood friend. “Am I not Dondwen, crusher of stone and smasher of orcs’ faces? Do you not think me strong enough to hear a sad truth?” she wanted to shout to Airanis.

The softer voice of the girl that twirled in her blue dresses and blushed to think of a boy promising her that he would return as her hero replied, “Is this not what you wanted, to be the one shielded?”

Indomuinë curled her hand into a fist, and had nothing to punch.

23, 34, 37!

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.

The favorite child question again? Okay, I’m going to cheat, go to my fic list, pick #23, and answer. That is …Erikwa. (phew, good) Okay, the opening imagery of surfacing from the depths, that the focus is on Imin and Iminyë and is there another Silm fic out there staring Imin and Iminyë (which Imin is a completely different character from Ingwë)? I’m proud of the uniqueness of that. Psychological study of starting your adult existence without any memory or culture or society to draw on, the truly fanatical and bizarre generational difference between the Unbegotten and ….any other living thing, that unlike Adam and Eve they don’t have anything there to explain anything to them. Creepy codependency hive-mind but not overpoweringly so. Look at this setting – I love writing prehistoric fantasy. And that lovely genre-space that straddles romantic fluff and bittersweet foreshadowing.

34. What’s the word count on your longest fic?

Release from Bondage (29,329) Plus it needs two more chapters and the final end footnotes where I map out the ASoIaF character inspirations.

37. First person or third person – what do you write in and why?

Almost everything I’ve ever written is third-person. (The Earth Is Screaming is the lone exception where I could only start writing it if Yavik narrated first-person, though I had no problem going back to third person with the

deuteragonist or spin-offs.) I hate reading first-person. While I have issues with verb tenses and will sometimes switch between wanting to write something present or past (or the few times I wish it wasn’t so cumbersome to write future tense in English), at most I’ll try to vary what third-person narration I want to use- subject, omniscient, muddled. 😉

21, 24, 27?

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?

Published online and a fanfic as opposed to a seriously AU/heavily inspired to the point if I told you who was expies you could easily see the fusion? In the Camp of the Bright Ones.

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit?

Ouch. Okay, there are fics I need to finish. And several more I need to write. (Take your pick) But there are some old drabble-ish posts where the ideas are unfinished or could be elaborated one, like the Maeglin/Elwing or Indis and her kids attend the Vanyar Olympics. I’m going to reflect this question back: what fics of mine do you think could be stronger or reworked or expanded on?

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

Summaries. Titles can be a pain, summaries almost always are. ~~Why do you think I cheat with Beren’s Band of the Red Hand where the summary only changes the numeral?~~

💬 !!!

Bân was cold. Naked and shivering. There was no wind in the dungeon, no snow, but he was as cold as he had been back in the ice desert of the Helecaraxë. Last time he had found ways to distract himself from the freezing darkness, games and challenges and small foxes. Only memories were left to distract him now, and the dead and dying friends around him. He wanted to see the sky. Somehow, he knew if he could look up at the sky, even if it was dark, even if it was raining, he could see her.

The Doom had promised torment and grief would slay them, not sickness, and yet Fân moaned feverish and non-responsive beside him. Words haunted Bân, promises made that he would protect his friend. That they would survive this torment. The too familiar click of nails on stone. Hide behind me, Bân almost whispered to Fân, but knew it was pointless. His friend could not understand any of his words, and the chains restricted their movement. Still, to do nothing, to wait to be butchered – Bân screamed. The clicking nails paused. Twisting his shoulders, Bân angled his body to place himself between Fân and the werewolf. His bare feet scrambled against the stone. He screamed at the wolf, pain and rage, then shouted the phrase he remembered when working in Nargothrond’s kitchens. “Come get your food!” Too bad Captain Heledir was no longer here to groan at his poor attempts at humor. Fân made no sign that he noticed Bân’s attempts to shield him, just as he had not flinched at the screams or shown that he understood any of Bân’s words. Bân sighed in relief when those yellow glowing eyes focused on him.

Behind him, Fân’s hand lifted. A feeble, unseen gesture, reaching for a friend he could not touch.

💬

excerpts from the ending scene of ~~Iron-grip and Rage Bunny~~ Hold Fast Ere Night Comes:

Angrod’s body doubles over the hilt of his sword, the point jammed firmly between the stones of the floor while his remaining hand slips with sweat on the bound leather of the hilt. The torrent from the gash at his hip has slowed to a sluggish pace. He can’t feel his left leg. Angrod needs every reservoir of strength to not collapse to the floor. There is little left of him now.

Aegnor holds the doorway, steel sword flashing ribbons of dark blood. Bregolas died in the final retreat to the fortress heart, throat torn out by an orc’s claws. Few are alive, except the ever-coming orcs.

“I think it time,” Aegnor hisses, liquid both bright and dark dripping from his limbs like had he stood in a rainstorm. The beauty of the elves, we gore-covered fiends. Our family would recoil in horror to behold us.

Angrod breathes in one last time, the acrid stench of Morgoth’s flames and Morgoth’s creations burning down his throat and lungs. There is a song, short and powerful, to crumble the white walls of the fortress of Barathonion, one grafted onto every stone as they were laid. All its warriors knew of its purpose, to deny the enemy a stronghold if the central northern heights were taken. Angrod alone holds the key. His strong hands placed each block, his voice -not as gifted as his brother or sister- had crooned power to each stone, inciting them to stand firm. Or now, to fall.

It is a sweet lullaby, Angrod’s song, the melody he would hum as he cradled Aegnor as his brother wept from the bitterness of unattainable love.

A gift, Angrod thinks, to dead Bregolas, to all the generations of Edain he had befriended. A gift to save your people, using the wisdom you have taught me.

We love you.

Aegnor laughs as the blackened walls of Barathonion collapse inward and out, crushing the hordes of orc and smothering the flames of the Dagor Bragollach.

💬

Beren carried dead men’s names, the names of comrades that had left him behind. Not by choice, but what difference in the end? He alone had been there to pick up those burdens. He lived then, even though he had not desired to. He should have joined them, the names he carried in a solo dirge. The memories had driven him to his knees some days, made him curl in abandoned fox dens and weep, willed the coldness to seep into his bones and stop his thoughts, that he was singing what should have been a choir. Other days the rage and sorrow gave him the determination to climb after the enemy. His had been the only voice that remained to speak those names, to sing their deeds against the great foe and preserve their glory, to recall their joys and sorrows, and to carry on their defiance against the enemy with all his monsters and orcs. In battle Beren had called their names. In the silence of a dying forest he had whispered them. For two years Beren had carried the weight of twelve dead men: of doughty Dagnir and Ragnor, Radhruin, Dairuin and Gildor, Gorlim and Urthel, Arthad and Hathaldir, his cousins Belegund and Baragund, and his father Barahir. Kin and comrades, and all had died, leaving but Beren to survive.

Another twelve now, and this time, waiting for the last wolf to come, Beren knew he would not linger on alone. Pulling back the hand covered in Finrod’s blood, Beren waited and began to compose his song. A new list of names, ones just as dear, and like before only Beren left behind to recall their names. Of doughty Arodreth and Ethirdor, Aglar, Consael and Heledir, Tacholdir and Bân, Gadwar and Fân, Edrahil, and his king Felagund.

11 Questions Meme

tagged by @crocordile

1. What was the last picture you took with your phone/camera that you liked? Can you post it?

See further down for the picture I took for an answer for this meme. It’s not a great picture but since I almost never use the camera on my phone, Iam counting it.

2. What’s the last meme you enjoyed, and a meme you can’t stand?

So the current one with the faithless dude photo I actually enjoy, because the structure is very simple and versatile and this version of it sums up everything. Meme I can’t stand? Idk there’s old memes I wasn’t around to get or just don’t find as funny or memorable. loss.jpg

3. Give me a song and what it makes you think of, or what you like about it

The first twenty seconds of Slipknot’s Wait and Bleed are my favorite, there’s something beautiful about it, and always makes me visualize an ascending angel or valkyrie in a battlefield. With the lyrics it’s a song about regrets having horrible dark thoughts and trauma, and yet even though there’s nothing to support it, I feel something hopeful behind it, that the singer and/or listener is going to defeat this pain and hate and ugliness.

(your surprising fact about me for the day – I love heavy metal. Only a select outpouring from the genre, but for a time I definitely listened to way more rock than pop or electronic.)

4. The last time you were pleasantly surprised

I just opened two birthday gifts – my sister got me the DC Bombshells art book and there was one image/character design in it that I had never seen before anywhere. The other gift was new sleep pants with a siamese cat pattern on it- adorable.

5. A physical book you have and love as an item

I love books.Unless the cover-art is really bad, I love them. One in particular? I love my replacement Silmarillion because it’s a much stronger graphic design and it has the Swanship on the cover and is black, bronze, and blue and that’s a color palette I like.

6. Your phone’s bg and/or lockscreen?

lockscreen is alqualondë to match my first phone case cover (cheap light blue):

My phone background is this art of Lúthien in Hirilorn:

7. I know I always ask this one, but is there a gif or reaction image you like but that you haven’t been able to use yet? If not, just give me your current favorite gif.

[digs through my saved files]

8. One thing you would change in your favorite media thing (book, movie, show, video game, etc)

But I’m gonna stick to only a few (if I was talking DC – ohboy we start with victim-blaming and rampant classism with Jason and Stephanie and we scream at various editors and authors both hated and beloved by the fandom)

RuroKen – Aoshi and Misao’s relationship in the movies lacked all the great lines/did not have the moments and relationship as I wanted/they got done a little dirty. Original manga didn’t let Kaoru fight and win.

Tolkien – yeah I have ~~minor~~ issues but if I could ask for one small thing that I think would have made a surprising amount of difference, the textual ghost(s) that I strongly wished had been named would be at least one of Olwë’s sons. Then they would be real characters to this fandom, just like the Noldor that are barely more than names but have all this fan-work and shipping content. With a name for the shippers to latch onto, I would put up with all the m/m rival tragic pairings shipping them with the Fëanorians and such, because at least then there would be a name and a face to the victims that died at the sack of Alqualondë.

9. A non-American movie you like

So I’m thinking as my birthday celebration to myself to re-watch the live-action Rurouni Kenshin movie(s)

10. You’re transported to the setting of the last fic you read. How screwed are you?

Oh fuck. The very last chapter update I read was set in early years Gotham. So screwed.

11. stealing this from VV but it’s a great question: what’s the nearest art thing to you rn?

I have a very cluttered desk. Art-object-wise, there’s a lot of jewelry and a wooden box with a a cute oriental design, and on the desk shelf above there’s a mini-fig Bombshells Catwoman next to a tiny Tifa Lockhart, and a small Belle and Beast fanart piece that my sister bought at a Con for me:

(bonus question: what’s a fandom I have that you hate/blacklist/don’t get?)

I admit I scroll pass the Classic Russian Literature because I never read any of them and have no desire as of now to ever do so. I don’t hate it, in fact i love that you are very enthusiastic about those books, it’s just a gallon size jug of ‘not my cuppa tea’

11 Questions Meme

tagged by @lunarymagic

I might come back and edit in 11 (silly) questions but since I never tag people in these memes, [hand wave]

1. Autumn or Spring?

Spring. Autumn down here is still just as hot as summer (which okay, subtropics, we have seasonal changes, it’s just not drastic), but Spring is the last gasp of activity before it gets so hot that you don’t really stay outdoors. And just on a metaphorical level, spring is new renewal.

2. What sort of dreams do you typically have?

I daydream and have long-running stories, but my actual dreams tend to be those anxiety-driven psuedo-nightmares. Being flustered and unprepared boarding airplanes for a trip. That sort of thing. I banish them from my memory within fifteen minutes of waking up.

3. Thirteen hungry dwarves have come uninvited to your house! Quick, what do you prepare for them?

Pantry and kitchen normal? I’m making them tacos, because all I have to do is brown the ground meat and add seasonings. Unlike my other staple dishes, I don’t have to wait for rice or pasta noodles. As long as I have the tortillas, cheese, sour cream, any extras like lettuce, tomato, etc.., they can customize their tacos as they want, it’s eaten with hands so the only dishes I have to clean is one frying pan and plates. It’s standard quasi Tex-Mex so I represent (If I had them on-hand/didn’t have to make, prepare, and cook per-say, my other choice would be to steam them tamales, because omg that was the best thing I discovered when I first moved down here was pork tamales, and those are Tex-Mex)

4. Five songs or groups you’ve been into lately?

Bishop Briggs, the soundtrack to King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, rediscovering teenage-me’s love of certain songs by Slipknot, The Revivalists, The Lumineers

5. Would you rather be saved by an Elven prince plagued by a terrible Oath or a Space Alien princess overcome by grief?

~~Allura is so much better than any son of Fëanor also have we done a compare her to Elwing yet?~~ If Children of Húrin and The Silmarillion proper have taught me anything, getting involved with tragic heroes under Oaths is not conductive to long health. Alien princess we can mutually save each other with bonds of friendship

6. This world is falling apart but a portal has opened up. Which fictional world would you like to live in for the rest of your life?

I want safety and security and the internet/modern convenience is so nice. Honestly I’d pick one of the SF universes that isn’t too war-torn. The Vorkosigan books- because the medical tech is so good and I could watch the news and see the headlines and know Miles is behind whatever bullshit crisis is going on.

7. The most hilarious mishap you’ve had or had witnessed?

[Honestly, drawing a blank here]

8. If you’re a fanfic writer: do you remember the first ever fic you ever wrote? Or if you write mainly original fic: first story? Artists: first art piece?

Finished full-length? Original fic, twelve years old, team of five spec ops each with a pegasus (three women, two guys, color-coded, heavily influenced by Heralds of Valdemar and the Star Wars X-Wing series)

9. What book or show or movie or game was dearest to your heart as a child?

Thinking back? Disney princess movies, probably. And certain segments of Fantasia. Little Mermaid and Beauty and Beast for wee little heget especially.

10. Any book/movie/show/game rec for your followers?

The Belisarius Series or Ring of Fire/1632 books if you want some SF historical fiction that tackle such a wide variety of social and technological topics, are incredibly funny, especially Belisarius which tackles what it is to be counted human and has so many awesome empresses and my golden standard for Evil Empire (that is to say- at first glance it seems stereo-typically fetish awful, like GRRM’s Ghiscari bad- but when broken down you root for the individual parts of it). Ring of Fire because here’s thousands of pages about European -and World- History of the mid-1600s that you never knew about (Japanese Christians in Thailand), and science and tech both modern and not, here’s a detailed story about trying to overthrow the absolute monarchies and religious persecution (and save the Dodo).

Manga/Comics? Green Lanterns run by Sam Humpheries. Fall in love with Simon Baz and Jessica Cruz. New Super-man – it’s a good stand-alone/self-contained story for the most part about a Chinese teen who gets the powers of Superman. Rurouni Kenshin (watch the live-action movies if nothing else; they’re an adaptation done right). Fullmetal Alchemist manga. Princess Tutu (for the love of god, watch Tutu)

11. Is the absence of evidence an evidence of absence?

What’s the data collection? The question as postulated has incomplete data – if nothing else we have evidence of lack of clarification on how rigorous this data collection and methods used were to have absences.

lennuieternel:

latin or ancient greek? iliad or odyssey? rome or athens? ivory or scarlet? history or mythology? sea or mountains? apollo or dionysus? gold or pearl? flute or lyre? glory or wisdom?

Tag Game: Post Ten Songs You’re Currently Vibing To

tagged by @heckofabecca (I know I did this recent-ish but hey, again! And attempting to pick new or different songs)