Inspired by a conversation with @simaethae
“There’s porridge in your hair,” Maedhros said unhelpfully, not getting up from his sprawl upon the flagstones before the hearth.
“The children had a- a difficult night,” said Maglor, clutching tighter at the writhing, Elros-sized bundle wrapped in his cloak. “Would you watch them for an hour while I clean up?”
“I would,” said Maedhros. “But I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
“Creating.”
Maglor readjusted his grip on Elros, who was trying to bite him through the fabric. “You’re lying on the floor.”
“I’ve been struck by inspiration.” Maedhros kicked out and knocked Maglor’s second best harp from its stand and then dragged it within reach with the toe of his boot. “I have to finish this composition right now.”
“You’re holding that upside-” the discordant screech of a hook on harpstrings cut Maglor off.
“You’ve always had very limited ideas about music, little brother.”
“Raising these children is hard enough as it is without-”
“I have- what was it? I have millions of ideas and I represent a new generation trying to express themselves in a broken world. I will go down as the voice of this generation, of this Age. I am so credible and so influential and so relevant that I will change things.” The harp screamed. “So, while I’m sympathetic, my development as a musician must come before any mundane concerns.”
A suspicion dawned; Maglor knew exactly who had first spoken those words and why, for all it had been hundreds of years ago. “I’ll…I’m sure that I can manage on my own,” he said.
“I’m sure you can,” said Maedhros. “It’s not as though you’re trying to raise five children while your brother makes excuses and fiddles with a harp. Imagine how much harder that would be.”
Schlagwort: fic
I love your Fingolfin household in winter wonderland ficlet! May I request Idril and Turgon designing an igloo and Aredhel and Fingon trying to be helpful?
For a given value of ‘trying’, certainly!
“What happened to our tent?” Turgon said, holding it up to display the great rents clawed into the canvas.
“Someone,” said Aredhel, “and I name no names, might have tried to net an ice bear with it.”
“You little sneak!” said Fingon, snatching up a ball of slush and grit and preparing to hurl it. “I gave you half a dried herring not to tell.”
Aredhel shrieked and ducked behind Turgon for protection. “Father said no more snowball fights!”
“This is more ice than snow. Come face your fate.”
“This,” said Turgon, ignoring them both, “is the perfect opportunity to test a design I’ve been working on.
“That I’ve been working on,” said Idril.
snippet: time traveling vader
forever ago, I suggested that Star Wars canon is actually the universe where Palpatine is the time travel. I decided to write something about it, but it’s getting long. Here, have a snippet:
“Old man,” the older Anakin wheezed out, the barest of
smiles on his face. “I’ve missed you.”“Anakin,”
Obi-Wan breathed, clutching the cloth of his robes above his heart. “How? Why?
I don’t understand—““How I can be here in front of you, and behind that
wall at the same time?” Anakin’s eyes twinkled with familiar mischievousness. “Why
I killed the Chancellor? Or maybe why do I need a breathing machine to survive?”
Anakin coughed, an ugly sound. “That one is on you, by the way.”“I’m not even going to ask,” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Let’s
start with the first one: how can you be in both places at once?”“Palpatine’s a time traveler,” Anakin said simply, as
though it was the most logical answer there could be. “And he’s been
manipulating my life for—well, for lifetimes, really.” Anakin scooted up in the
bed he was chained to, so he could look Obi-Wan in the eye better. “As for why
I killed him—the bastard killed my son. I would have done anything to kill him.”Obi-Wan starred at him in silence, unable to form
words as he considered the information the older Anakin had given him.(In the other room, the other Anakin’s mouth dropped
as he whispered “Son?” to himself, as
though that was the most shocking information revealed.)Anakin popped his neck. “What year is it, anyway? It
must be early in the War—you’re still wearing armor.”“I’m still wearing—what year are you from, exactly?!”
Anakin shrugged. “I dunno. They changed the calendar
after Palpatine became Emperor—““Emperor?!?!”
“Yeah,” Anakin smirked, before turning to the wall
that the Council stood hidden behind. “You’re welcome.”*screams*
This is excellent idea, and one I never considered before.
Poor Obi-Wan, he now has two Anakins to deal with.
Also, poor Anakins, killing Palpatine probably is going to be only the beginning of clusterfuck 😦
Oh, this is awesome. Very cool idea full of all SORTS of interesting stuff between the lines! 😀
If Snow White literally had “lips red as a rose, hair black as ebony, and skin white as snow,” she’d look like a walking nightmare.
honestly this sounds like the description of a vampire. Which would also explain how she convinced seven dwarves to let her stay with them. How she could control some animals to do her bidding. How she could sleep for a long time without aging. Why the hunter betrayed the queen for her, and why the queen wanted her heart, so she could be sure she was killed properly.
the first baby is born in may, and dies in his sleep. the second does not make it to term. the third lives for a year before an unknown illness claims him. the queen pricks her finger on a needle: old magic. blood on snow on an ebony windowsill. the wind carries the the contract, and the woods accept.
blood now must be repaid with blood later, but the fourth baby is a girl, and she lives.
*
she grows slowly, and out of order. first her hands, long and bony; then her arms, thin, hollow-looking. she never looks quite like a child: no chubby cheeks, no skinned knees, no missing teeth. her hair is thick and so black it sometimes seems viscous. her skin is so thin you should be able to see the blood running through it.
they name her snow white, for the fairness of her skin. so fair that she cries when left in the light too long.
*
the queen dies when snow white is four, still small, and beloved. she is not beautiful, her mouth too painfully red, her eyes too liquid dark, her teeth too pointedly sharp. but only those who do not live in the castle think this. to know the child is to love her. to know the child is to want to please her. to know the child is to know that she is precious.
that she must be protected. that she must be obeyed.
“it is not your fault,” the king whispers to the child on his lip, petting her head. “she was not strong enough. i will make sure you never go hungry.”
the child presses her tiny hand against his cheek. “i know you will,” snow white says.
*
peasants begin to go missing. young boys are snatched from the fields. women are summoned to the castle and never seen again.
“gifts,” her father calls them. “eat. you are too thin.”
the girls are always silent, and the boys always scream. snow white hates it. she wishes they would stop, but she is hungry. she is so hungry. and doesn’t she have the right to survive? isn’t she a child, too?
but her mother’s blood is the only food that ever made her feel full. now she can eat and eat and eat and never feel like she has taken a single bite.
she grows thin. the sun becomes too strong for her to go outside.
“a mother’s blood,” the king muses, and sends his advisors out to find snow white a new one.
*
the kingdom has six queens in six years, but no more peasants go missing. it must be something in the castle, they say. some mold. some terrible illness. something that lingers, and kills you slowly.
but snow white grows healthy regardless. she can be seen, sometimes, on the parapets: in the early years she wears a heavy cloak but as she grows it gets thinner, and then disappears entirely.
she is small, and delicate. her laughter, floating down into the village, is silver and gold and painted in eighth notes. it is said that if you look into her eyes you can see your deepest desire. it is said that she will give it to you. it is said that every time a queen dies it breaks snow white’s gentle heart. she shrinks. she hides away indoors. she becomes frail and cannot leave her bed.
so many queens in so many years. eventually, somebody will notice.
eventually, somebody does.
*
“mirror, mirror, on the wall: who’s the fairest of them all?”
you, my queen.
“there are no others?”
there is one other. but she is young. she was made by the forrest. she doesn’t know what she is.
“another? after all this time? where?”
the kingdom of six queens.
“how strong is her heart?”
she is too young to know for certain. but she when she is hungry, she has always been fed.
*
snow’s new mother arrives on horseback. her lips are red as blood, her hair as black as ebony, her skin as fair as–snow’s.
she marries the king and they spend the night in his chamber. this has never happened before. snow white does not understand. she is hungry. she always gets fed, the very first night. she always gets blood on her gown.
but her father stays in his chamber and does not come out. in the morning, his eyes are hazy and he does nothing but smile. her new mother’s teeth are red.
snow white waits. she isn’t starving yet. surely her father will snap out of it and feed her.
*
“today?” snow white asks, and her father pats her head.
“i will find you a peasant boy,” he says. “a strong one. your favorite kind.”
“that is not my favorite,” snow white tells him. she frowns. he has never told her no before. he, and everyone else, has always done exactly what she wanted. “father, i am hungry. you promised i would never be hungry again.”
she begins to cry, and the hazy look leaves him. he falls to his knees, her face between his hands. “of course,” he murmurs, “of course, tonight, i’ll send her. i don’t know why i didn’t before. i don’t know what i was thinking. tonight.”
snow white kisses his cheek. her red lips leave a print.
*
her new mother does not come. in the morning, her father’s eyes are hazy once again.
*
“father,” snow white begs.
“i promise,” he answers, but he is weak, every night he gives in to weakness because her new mother does not come. snow white is hungry. snow white grows thin. snow white cannot go out into the sun.
*
at last, her new mother comes. she has a plate of food: vegetables, fruit, and a slab of meat.
“eat,” her new mother murmurs. she perches on the edge of the bed.
snow white shuffles away from the sunlight coming through the window. “i’m not hungry,” she says.
“but you must be hungry,” her mother says, smiling. she reaches out to chase the edge of snow’s jaw. “you haven’t eaten in weeks. not even a peasant boy.”
snow white looks up, startled. “they aren’t filling,” snow white says.
“no,” agrees her new mother. “i agree. i prefer kings, when i can get them.”
“i prefer mothers.”
“i am not your mother.”
“then what are you?”
her smile is slow and bitter red. “my mother made the woods a promise, and the promise was me. she did not know that promises must be paid in blood, and sustained in blood, and that the blood was also me. she got what she wanted, and i ate until i was as full as a human could make me.”
“are there others? like you? …. like me?”
“there were,” the queen says. “once, there were many of us, and all of us were starving.”
snow white does not yet understand. “then what happened? where did they go? how did you survive?”
the queen runs a finger along the fabric of snow white’s blanket. her nail rips a line through the thread. “humans are weak, snow white. a thousand of them would not be enough to fill us up. but we are strong. our hearts can sustain a body for a hundred lifetimes.”
her teeth grow long. “i have been hungry for such a long time,” she says.
snow white understands.
she runs.
*
it hurts: her skin is so hot it is nearly on fire. her feet blister as she runs. she has never been outside of the castle grounds, but the woods are dark and shaded. the shade is like jumping into a pool of water. the red bleeds from her skin, leaving her fair and white once more.
she hides inside the hollow of a tree (the woods created her and the woods will keep her safe until her mother’s debt is paid). she sleeps while the hunting parties pass her by, all but one. he is a huntsman. he knows the woods. he knows the woods have favorites, and protect them; but the woods are old and can be tricked.
he waits.
when she emerges, it is dark. her skin is so white he almost wants to drink it. she is small, her hair so black he thinks she has woven the night sky into it. as he notches his bow he thinks it seems a shame to kill something so beautiful, something so beloved by the woods. the huntsman is loved by the woods, too. he knows how its favorites suffer.
she turns to look at him. when their eyes meet he sees his deepest desires. her eyes promise to give it to him. we are the chosen, her eyes promise, as she approaches and he does not shoot. cannot shoot. cannot look away.
“i am so hungry,” she whispers, reaching out to touch his face. “my father hasn’t fed me.”
“she wants your heart,” the huntsman confesses.
snow white knows that already. snow white is beginning to understand the bargain that her mother made.
“she cannot have it,” snow white says, and her teeth get long, and she eats.
*
“mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”
you, my queen. but not for long.
*
arrogantemu
replied to your post “prompts maybe?”Those islands that the Valar raise up around Valinor to keep out the mariners from Arda. Perhaps one of Turgon’s supplicant ships foundering there, perhaps Earendil sailing past in Silmaril-lit safety. Horrify me.
Grey skies; the air heavy and wet, bleeding moisture through
layers of fabric and leaving a slick of condensation over the deck and spars.
The waves caught in strange currents and shifting winds, churning in eddies and
crosstides.Elwing, near the prow, looking out towards the unseen
horizon; the light seeming almost to shine through her, face expressionless as
a statue.“No gulls,” she said, calmly. “I can’t hear anything, can
you?”“We’re not close enough to Valinor for them, yet.”
Navigation was by the stars, when they could see them. It
was enough. Eärendil had been planning the journey West – all his life, he
sometimes thought. Charts borrowed from Círdan, annotated with guesswork and
his mother’s memories. It would have to be enough.He’d meant to return home, this time. He hadn’t meant to
stay away so long.“But we are close
to land – “A call from the other side of the deck: Falathar, sounding
alarmed. Eärendil turned; Elwing followed him, mist-damp hair hanging about her
face, a borrowed woollen cloak wrapped around her shoulders.There were no islands on the chart, but that meant very
little.A moment to take it in; and then Eärendil called out orders,
realising abruptly how close to the shore they had to be. The other mariners
hurried into motion – only Elwing continued to stand at the rail, watching, as
they fought the current.The waves were taking them around, now, the island passing
them by, the light revealing glimpses of rocky coastline, cliffs, the line of
seaweed at the high-tide mark of a stony beach.Timbers, shattered against the rock.
It was an old wreck; Eärendil saw that at once, even as he
caught his breath. The sea had taken much of it already; what was left was
broken and slimed with decay. If there were survivors –The light of the Silmaril was unforgiving; it allowed
nothing to go unseen.“They did say the
Noldor would be shut out of Valinor,” Elwing said. For the first time since –
in a long time – a smile flickered around her mouth, there and gone.The bones were above the tideline; they had made it that
far, at least. The wet chill of the air had done them no favours. Whatever the
scavengers had left was brown with rot.“But they – “
A pause. Eärendil watched the shore slowly recede. There was
no sign of violence; equally, there was no sign of any attempt at survival.The stained remnants of a hand, covering another.
It looked, he found himself thinking, as if they had simply –
gone to sleep.
Elwing’s smile is probably the creepiest thing for me here.
Of course she has the right to hate the Kinslayers for what they did to her family, but Turgon was the one who sent those ships. I’m 100% sure he didn’t send any Kinslayers. In fact, if I were Turgon I would have mostly sent Elves who had been born in Beleriand, assuming that the Valar would be less likely to punish their parents’ leaving Valinor. And I imagine some of the mariners were even Sindar, since there had been some living at Gondolin…
…okay, I had classified what the Valar did there as another one of their “questionable” decisions but maybe I should rethink that.