andie, she/her, 26, united states. this blog is full of Tolkien. also other art, photos, fandoms, and big-eyes-emoji stuff, but mostly Tolkien. i tag! my girlfriend is bright ivanaskye, who is a lot, but not too much
The wind is blowing strongly, so strongly, and it chills me, and yet that chill does not seem to get worse the longer I stand in it. I expect it to, but it only ever feels cold: I do not quite shiver, even now, after an hour.
Perhaps that is why I have not again moved inside. I am again testing my new limits.
And I am remembering; of course I am remembering. There is so much already that I have experienced, and though it pains me, I always and always come to the conclusion that I want more. And the day I made that decision in full—the day I chose—will forever be ingrained in me.
It is blinding white, pressing in all around him with every thick rattle of his lungs and in a moment he is –
he is standing on the shore, watching the light in the distance, the colors of his brother’s house, bright against the night and he knows, he turns –
and the cold wind bites his face, burns his skin hotter than any fire and he watches his son reach for her hand, screaming against the storm and he tries –
he tries to soothe the hurt but voices raise, louder and louder and he see the swords, the hands at their hilts and there are –
tears in his eyes, he will never get the chance to grieve, tells himself I should have been here, I should have done something different, I should have –
should have seen it coming, the darkness swiftly descending on him and he thinks
Love love is going to lead you by the hand Into a white and soundless place Now we see things as in a mirror dimly Then we shall see each other face to face
After the tumult of the battle, the maelstrom of swords and screams and sharp, sudden pain, the still of Námo’s halls should have been welcome.
Fingon hated it. Or tried to; hatred seemed a distant thing here, something he’d left back in his body, along with his courage, his certainty, and a balrog’s battleaxe.
Everything that he had built, everyone that he had loved hung in the balance, and there was nothing he could do save pace. Not even pace, for he did not have the legs for it.
“I thought,” he said, “That the worst part of Maedhros’ torment was, well, the torment. But it wasn’t, was it? It was the waiting and not knowing.”
Námo said nothing. If he’d had a head then he might have inclined it, but he was a shadow, a portent, the feeling of being judged and found wanting.
Fingon sighed, or imagined sighing, and scraped together all the scraps of himself. “You promised us little pity, but when I asked in greatest need before, the Valar answered. So, I’ll ask again; let me go back.”
No.
“I can sing if you like.” If he’d had eyes, Fingon knew they’d be gleaming with the determination that his father had found so vexing, and Maedhros so distracting. “If I do not sing as prettily as Lúthien, I have better hair, and that must count for something. Had better hair, I suppose.”
But you are not Lúthien. You are not sundered by the fates of your kindreds. You are parted of your own choice.
“Not choice,” Fingon snapped. “I did not choose to take an axe to the face.” But Námo was silent again, for a minute or an age of the world, and so Fingon had no choice but to cede the point. “Everything I did, I did for love,” he said, and meant it.
Yes.
“That must count for something.”
Does it?
There had been a bright, burning certainty within him all his life. When he had listened to Fëanor speak of madness and freedom in darkened Tirion, and known that he would rule. Bright hair in the torchlight, bright blood on his sword and he’d known what it was he did, even then, and had not cared. Fierce pride in his father and his following when ice would not halt them, when their dead had not dissuaded them, and there had been good reasons to fight, but were those reasons his?
Where had that fire gone?
“I love my people,” Fingon said slowly. “My family. My- I love Maedhros.”
Yes.
“But Maedhros loves his father, and his father loved his works. My sister’s husband thought that he loved her – or so I had it from Turgon. They say Manwë loves his brother, even now. It’s not enough, is it? Not alone.”
Love was a reason, to live and fight and die, and he would die again for Maedhros, for his father and his people. But it was not justification. The clarity, the self-knowing came upon him suddenly, a mirror suddenly wiped clear of the dust of long neglect.
Now you see, said Námo gravely. Not having a dick will do that.
Finally, some information about all my books and series in one place…
Šehhinah:
Šehhinah is a fantasy-with-angels trilogy in a world with near-modern tech, but a different history (and set of continents!) than ours. It’s about understanding yourself, finding friends, and being a dork.
There are angels running around, and Fallen too. The magic system, Theurgy, is based on literally manifesting one’s soul into the world, because no one in this series has any chill. Especially not God, who makes willing people into Their Holy by manifesting Their soul near enough to them to burn their bodies and give them superpowers. Or Lilith, who lowkey kidnaps abandoned or abused children and manifests her soul near their bodies to make them into demons.
Each of the books takes place primarily in a different city with a different cast, although some of the characters do cross over (especially in the third book.) For this reason, the second book can probably be read standalone if that’s what you’re down for.
The first book, The Stars that Rise at Dawn, takes place in Ēnnuh, a desert city which is maybe the second-oldest city in the world (but this is debated). There’s solar panels and motorcycles everywhere, and bookstores host philosophy debates with clickbait-style advertising.
It follows Elīya, a philosophy major who Doesn’t Know When To Stop, and her childhood friend Yenatru, who is Too Gay To Function. Elīya’s on a quest to get back together with her other childhood friend, Tamar; Yenatru’s just on a quest to have friends, or maybe even a boyfriend. Thankfully for Yenatru, he runs into Lucifer in the library one day, and strikes up a weirdly good conversation with her.
Yes. That Lucifer. He’s surprised about that too.
Anyway, Lucifer’s also pretty much just a dork who wants to have friends, so they’re a good match. But Elīya might have other plans for them… like trying to rope them into this whole finding-Tamar thing.
“Most people think of you as somewhat dignified,” Yenatru points out. “Someone with pride. Impressive.”
Lucifer clutches a hand to her chest. “Ow, don’t go implying I don’t have pride. I like being prideful! ’S fun.”
“You are attempting and failing to banter with some really shy boy you met in a university library,” Yenatru says, deadpan.
“I did say I was pathetic,” Lucifer says with a smile. “Do you believe me now?”
Yenatru thinks about that for a moment, then nods. “Yes. Yes, I believe you.”
Lucifer’s smile turns harder, almost determined. “Good.”
The second book, The Birds that Fly at Dusk, takes place in Ākal-ne, a city at the edge of the steppe near some mountains. It’s large and spread-out, people mostly roller skate to get everywhere, and each field of study has its own college, which is also a lodge where its students say. A collodge, if you will. (Sorry not sorry.)
It follows Celyet, a semiverbal autistic demon originally from near the city who ran off to the city to evade bad social dynamics, which, #relatable. She manages to run into Sän, another demon who’s been spending their time lately working as a barista and also falling over a lot. Celyet’s trying to avoid people and doesn’t want to make friends, but there might be some kind of connection between them…
…And then Jibril, the pun-loving angel who never shuts up, walks into that very coffee shop, because they (a terrible coffee fiend) are actually its owner. That’s why it’s called JiBrew.
And that’s when Celyet accidentally performs Theurgy right in the middle of the coffee shop.
“Hmm, okay,” the angel continues on, “it’s kind of starting to look already like you’re not going to say anything, sigh”—and Celyet, looking down at the bar, finds herself blinking at the fact that the angel Jibril just said the word ‘sigh’ aloud, dramatically, instead of actually sighing—“I mean, I’m kinda used to it, since I’m so overwhelming and frankly gorgeous and all, this kind of thing absolutely happens. Although I do quite like hearing from other people! God, that’s always fun. Oh, yes, that too—I’ll curse by God, when I feel like it. Of course, I’m an angel, but why not. I’ll curse by God and fire and flames, the whole thing, it’s a better curse than anything else really, and that disaster probably deserves to be used as a curse anyway. Still can’t believe They didn’t notice how flaming sad Lucifer was for so long! A couple of times I even tried to be like, hey God, my man, I mean not really man because You have no idea what a gender is, but my man all the same, have You noticed, there are some flaws in how You’ve set things up. And They were just kind of like … well, the way They are, They basically only responded by just being fire, you know how it is. And it’s fun to feel that kind of fire and light everywhere in your body, at least for me …”
Speaking of God, Celyet thinks, God she wonders if Jibril’s ever going to shut up.
The third book, The Lives that Argue for Us, is set for a May 4th release date, and is available for preorder. It introduces the partially-floating tropical city of Askannan, where a subculture of people—the Seafarers—dedicate their lives to traveling around the world and showing people cool art because, again, no one in this series has any chill.
Kjorel is one such Seafarer, and is about to leave for his first voyage after secondary school… which unfortunately means not seeing his datemate, Teśena, for about eight months. They’re in an open relationship, but have never been put to the test quite like this before.
So while Teśena’s dealing with the loneliness of being almost entirely nonverbal and without aer datemate by befriending God, Kjorel finds himself in Ēnnuh… where he meets a certain adorable boy who hates shorts.
Teśena’s not quite sure how this works, how to think to someone who’s this here with aer, but ae tries, ae imagines almost an opening up of the memory of it all—and somehow this act, this unfurling, itself gently glows.
A thousand wings shift again, eyes made of fire open and close, wheels made of fire turn and turn. And the fire of God’s wings moves as if closer to aer, almost as if laughing, understanding, something like a mirror wrapped in one of the wheels reflecting.
Teśena has made terrible, impulsive decisions, ae understands.
And God seems to respect that in the way God respects Themself.
Evocation is an NA fantasy series with short, novella-length books set in a fantasy world which thinks it knows what’s up. There’s a very established and easily accessible system of name magic, and easy communication with the low-power Gods known as Vitalities… what more could a society want?
And then a completely different type of magic shows up overnight.
The series follows Nena, a former circus performer who’s already won the world’s equivalent of the Olympics… meaning that now, at eighteen, she has no more life goals left. Oops. So she’s getting TF out of dodge, which is to say, out of her hometown, to do… something. She isn’t really sure what. It might involve befriending fellow traveler Maráh. Or it might end up accidentally setting a bunch of things around her on fire with her thoughts…
Meanwhile, Cijaya’s recovering from emotional abuse over in a different city, and is pretty sure that graduating secondary school is the right time to get as far away as possible. But even waiting two months for that is a challenge, especially when your only friend is the snarky Vitality of a nearby lake.
The second book, currently up for preorder and about to be released on April 3rd, continues these characters’ stories in addition to introducing the fourth major character of the cast: Pelekri, who’s also discovered the new system of magic, and is using it to … be a vigilante solar panel installer. That’s what anyone would do with magic, right? Right…?
“You’re not excited,” Maràh said. “Not really. Not openly. No matter what you present on the surface.”
“About this?” I asked, almost smiling, however inappropriate that expression was. “About Mangtena?”
“About anything,” Maràh said, almost smiling too, perhaps as if they’d caught me in something, as if they’d won, or just as if in the back of their mind they were thinking about really good chocolate.
Well, of course, I could travel. I could even imagine being excited about that, as I once was. I hadn’t yet visited every city on Sifir, and perhaps I could. I could go to every last one, see it all, see everything—
—and, I asked myself, how long would that really take? A few years? Sifir wasn’t big; everyone knew that. But though certain Vitalities had long hinted at a much larger landmass somewhere across the ocean, a continent they called it, the oceans were simply too wide to cross, though many had tried.
My breath caught in my throat and the reason for that catching burned in me: boredom.
The Size of the World is a standalone novella, my first published release, and also the only one of my books available in paperback (which is very pretty.)It’s hyper-poetic in both style and setting, and involves Theia—a character who is much more autistic than I had a clue about at the time when I wrote her—crossing the Seven Seas to find the Darkness past the Seventh Sea. And, uh, falling completely in love with this girl she meets in the Second Land.
“Theia,” she says, grinning. “That is a good name. It tastes like ivy in my mouth.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I am Tellus,” she says, “if you wish.”
“If I wish?”
“Tell me,” she whispers, “have you ever met someone with only one name?”
“Yes,” I say. There is nothing in common between my Kingdom and hers.
“Oh? Do I owe Morgoth my thanks?” Maedhros set down his sword, point first in a convenient corpse, and pushed sweaty, blood-streaked hair back from his face.
“No. No. I don’t love what was done to you. I love that you survived.” Fingon raised a had to cup his lover’s jaw, but Maedhros caught his wrist and held it tight. His grip was iron, tight as a manacle, and try as Fingon might, he could not move him.
(There were ways to break such a grip, all warriors knew, but where was the fun in that?)
“Oh?” Maedhros said, bright eyes narrowed in consideration, and then pulled hard, so that Fingon fell against his chest, Maedhros’ right arm coming up across his back to pin him there.
Hot breath at his throat, and then the scrape of sharp, sharp teeth, and Fingon was suddenly glad of the arm holding him up. “Ah,” he panted. “I did not say I objected to the fangs.”
Their brothers are
arguing again, all four of them that are conscious, about what to do
about the fifth who is lost in restless fever dreams. Maglor and Caranthir
and Celegorm and Curufin fight about the best course of action loudly
and near-violently, just as they argued often while Maedhros was
gone. They argued then about whether they should try to save him,
about how likely it was that there was anything to be saved anymore.
Now that their eldest brother lies in bed in the next tent, barely
alive, they argue about whether he will be able to lead them –
whether there is enough of him left to do so.
As before, Amrod and
Amras take little part in the arguing and because of that, their
brothers pay little attention to them. They slip away unnoticed from
the large tent where Maglor takes counsel.
‘To our horses?’
Amrod whispers as soon as they are past the guards.
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth – J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings – J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elladan & Elrohir (Tolkien), Elladan & Elrohir & Elrond Peredhel, Elladan/OC, Elrohir/OC Characters: Elladan (Tolkien), Elrohir (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel, Celebrían (Tolkien), Elwing (Tolkien), Eärendil (Tolkien), exciting Teleri pirate twin OCs Additional Tags: fourth age valinor, Fourth Age, lots of thoughts abt immortality and the choice, and paradise, and what IS paradise, and IS valinor paradise, (spoiler: it isn’t), but also just a lot of cuteness???, AKA: my aesthetic Summary:
After delaying their choice until the absolute last moment, Elladan and Elrohir finally sail for Valinor, though they are not without their misgivings. Thankfully, there’s more than a few family members to enjoy the company of… and who are those Teleri twins who are trying to learn everything possible about Edain pirates? Oh no, they’re cute. Oh no.
(I can’t be stopped. AO3 now has up to chapter 3, and eventually will probably sync up with my tumblr postings…)
There’s lightning far off, on the sea; the sun’s recently set, but the stars are out, shining, shining! I still love them, I will never not, not ever. I tilt my head back to smile at them, and the smile becomes a grin, and the grin becomes a laugh.
Chapters: 2/? Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth – J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur, Elrond Peredhel & Ereinion Gil-galad Characters: Elrond Peredhel, Elros Tar-Minyatur, Ereinion Gil-galad Additional Tags: Post-choice, lots of mortality & immortality talk, but in a positive way, elrond is a cute bean, early second age, soon after the sinking of Beleriand Summary:
Mere days after choosing the First Kindred, Elrond decides to keep a diary … within his own memories, as they are perfect and immutable now.
ephal ephalak idon hi-akallabeth 