Taniquetil Fried Chicken = Valinorean fast food chain, y/y?
… They had to take the Alqualondë Fried Swan off the menu after the exile because it hurt too many feelings
[Would there need to be mealtime apologies to Manwë or something…?]
no, Manwë should be apologising for making his creatures taste so damn delicious. i mean he’s the reason we have fried chicken, right
[I read this and wonder why Turgon loved pigeons and doves so much. He couldn’t possibly…]
[ Maybe he likes fine dining, but in the way that doesn’t involve him needing to massively overcompensate with venison and boar like Fingon ]
|| Silly Fingonmun, people keep dovecotes because PIGEONS ARE BLOODY DELICIOUS! Trust me on this one. Y'know those English woodpigeons that look as big as chickens? I ate one once with wild mushrooms and a nice Shiraz, and now I can't look at those bumbling blue-green cuties without thinking, LUNCH!
My housemate has offered to shoot them from our back porch.
We said no.
Naeriel took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Her nerves were always frazzled among those who were not her kin and it was often that she snapped for no reason at all. “When you are born in a night so dark that not even the stars glitter on the sky, you learn either to hate it or love it. I loved it and the way the brilliance of the stars was highlighted by the ever night. Seeing the Sun for the first time was startling.”
She forced her features to morph into something if not pleasant, at least calm and said: “Galvorn is a metal unlike others. It is, to its core, a metal darker than any other and hardly can it be painted or coaxed to a lighter shade. It is not that Lord Eöl is fond of dark metal, rather the metal he is fond of happens to be dark.”
Turning her attention to the horizon and moving her eyes away from him, she explained, “He is a man hard to define. Stern and proud, yet kind to those he holds dear and fiercely passionate. Loyal to his people and those he calls family, but dismissive and distrustful of strangers… His intentions are almost never evil, yet he allows stubbornness and pride to rule him. He is flawed, far from perfect, but ultimately, when one puts in balance his virtues and his sins, I believe he can be called a good man.”
Yes, maybe the sun was startling. But it was all that was left of Laurelin and her splendour, and it was her golden light that Fingon had been born into. The night did not scare him; though it was darker, it was not always the black absence of light filled with horror and fear. But those were all considerations for another time; Fingon had other purposes for his questions.
"I had not heard he keeps a great house or kingdom," he answered in reference to Eöl. "You are the first I have met who freely admits kinship, hence my questioning. I had not heard that he has wife or child." He did his best to keep a mask of innocence about his face as he spoke, but he doubted it did much to lessen the pointedness of his statement.
"Because Maglor feels guilty, but perfectly knows what he did when he decided to not attempt to rescue his brother, and is scared, relieved, but is proud too, and aware of his deeds. If he cried, I believe he would do it alone, when no one can see. And Fingon? I think he would be so angry (for the shipburning and for Maedhros) that he’d sooner punch Maglor in the face, repeatedly, than hug him and wipe his tears."
Suddenly violent Fingon. Sorry for the mess, couldn’t resist XD
Give ♥ this ♥ to the ♥ twelve♥ nicest ♥ people ♥ you ♥ know ♥ if ♥ you ♥ get ♥ five ♥ back ♥ you ♥ must ♥ be ♥ perfect ♥
*turtles* I do my best for you but I still think you’re confused and this would be better suited to a dozen other askboxes (like your own which is why this is going straight back)
Anairë leaned into the support of her companions, knees on the verge of giving way. Somehow the news about Turukáno only made the pain cut deeper; she could not take comfort in having two living sons, not when that brought home all the harder the knowledge that she had lost her husband, her daughter, her youngest son…
Why? Her shoulders were trembling, and sickness churned in her stomach. How? Had it been the frozen path to this new land? Or monsters, creatures of Morgoth? Dizzily she remembered childhood stories, whispered tales between children, notions of the time before Valinor. The frightened thrill of far-off horrors might even be the truth, might be what had happened to her family.
And she had always been of studious mind, and the tales from adulthood, records from those who had truly been there… if anything, those were worse to recall, their stark facts inescapable. What had her loved ones suffered here? What pain and terror had stolen their lives, so that she set foot upon a land from which they were gone, utterly gone —
Anairë drew a shaking, ragged breath, and took first one step, then another, away from the support of her friends.
"Findekáno," she whispered, but could say no more, throat tight with grief. She reached out, wrapping her arms about her eldest son — and then, at last, she wept, clinging helplessly to him, sobs muffled and hopeless, face buried against him.
People cried in front of Fingon on a more regular basis than he’d have liked. There were the distressed wives and mothers who he did his best to comfort when he rode back from the battlefield with fewer than he left with, and there were the men themselves who wept for lost friends, and gruesome injuries that threatened life and limb. Fingon always did his best to comfort them; he’d been doing so since before his father’s death, making sure he was there to offer strength and to support to those who needed it most.
It was a wear on his own emotions most of the time, but he’d never hold it against them, and he’d trained himself in acting strong. But for his own mother? He’d grown used to it being the other way around. In truth, this was almost scaring him in its unfamiliarity.
"Ai, ammë," Fingon breathed as he drew Anairë towards him, knees bending to accommodate her lesser height. "You still have me. I’m still here." Even if Turgon was unreachable and the rest of them gone, she’d been fortunate to run into the right company—and maybe it was better that she heard the news straight from his lips rather than incidentally hearing it by associating ‘King Fingon’ with Fingolfin’s loss.
There were still a thousand questions in his mind, but he did his best to extract himself from Anairë’s grasp, enough so that he could see her face again. “Your cries will attract wolves, ammë,” he chided; it was almost a joke, except for the very real concern in his voice.
(meanwhile sauron’ll be over here hissing loudly—]
(sauron’s not invited to the delicate, beautiful elf poontang)
well maybe the most nsfw work I`ve ever done, but I just can`t stop it. I guess probably because Fingon is just so cute (WTF#