With a wary squint at the rather vocal and rude bird, Lindethiel snatched up the note and shut her window quickly. Last thing she needed was bird shit all over her room.
She read over the note twice, brow furrowing, and drummed her fingers against it as she glanced toward her door. Elrond may have such a map, but the most likely person to have such information would be Lord Cirdan. Which felt more wrong than shuffling through the maps in the library here, so hopefully there would be something sufficient in Imladris.
If not, he’d have to make do without it.
Noticing the little angry bird still at her window, she grabbed up a plate with half a slice of bread from her dinner and carefully slid the glass up just enough to push out the peace offering.
She startles, completely off-guard in the safety of Imladris. Swiveling to give a bewildered look at the bird taking a rest in the tree behind her, she pauses to also make a slow check of her surroundings. Nobody is around, though, and while there are plenty of open windows in the House, she doesn’t see any silhouettes lingering as though awaiting a response to something.
Confused and curious, then, she twists and snaps open the capsule, shaking out the note within to read. She tenses immediately, breath catching. You fucking nosy– how the hell did you even-? Reading through the note and chewing on the inside of her cheek, she exhales noisily. Fine.
Glancing up at the magpie uncertainly, she tucks the note and capsule away, hiding them in the water-pouch-turned-alcohol-pouch at her hip. A waste of perfectly decent wine, but it is the only place she can think to hide the evidence until she gets back to her quarters.
Pausing as she turns to wander down a path further from the waterfall, she looks up and whistles a short little melody at the magpie. “I’ll sing for you when I have a reply,” she whispers to it, then quickly makes her way among the trees.
Lin, I’m the Dark Lord. Not the bay lord, not the dappled lord, not the dun lord, not the pinto lord.
The unblazoned sable field was Melkor’s standard; it is a tradition, an homage, and a calling card. The lords of Rohan knew it was no petty horse thieves, but Mordor who claimed their stallions. I offered to buy; they refused to treat with me. It was politics, as much as aesthetics, that made me choose the black, to send a message.
And it was only enough to supply my Nazgul and lordly servants. Orcs do not ride horses; there was no need to furnish my entire army with steeds.
“…Once again, Lindethiel, YOU WORK FOR ME. By far your most useful asset lies is the fact that as an elf, you remain uncorrupted, and are doing me favors of your own free will. I need you to stay that way. I like you that way.
It is baffling to me that you would ASK for… you know what? Fine.
It’s a table.
Its function is that of a table.
Its curse is that people will see this table, and know it is yours, and they will pass judgement on you accordingly.
Also its accompanying set of chairs are disastrously uncomfortable. THIS TOO SHALL BE YOUR CURSE. As I’m starting to suspect that you are mine…”
MisbehavingMaiar:
The wraiths WERE pretty subtle? It’s just that hobbits and Breelanders are super paranoid about most Queer And Strange Folk That Come By The Road And Have A Grim Look About Them.
Lindethiel:
I mean, I’d be suspicious of that look too tho
MisbehavingMaiar:
…I guess they could have hissed less. Or tried not being The Spookiest all the time.
Lindethiel:
THAT ISN’T SUBTLE!
THAT’S “HELLO I’M BAD NEWS AND IMMA FUCK UP YOUR LIFE”.
You want subtle, you get a normal looking dude with a beer belly, THAT’S SUBTLE
MisbehavingMaiar:
*slides the innkeeper $20*
“Hey man, you got– you got any hobbits? >_> I’m just sayin I know a guy who pays top dollar for hobbits”
MisbehavingMaiar:
LOOK, WE RAN OUT OF NORMAL LOOKING DUDES IN MORDOR SOMETIME AROUND THE SECOND AGE. WRAITHS ARE THE BEST WE GOT.
Lindethiel:
WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE WORKING ON YOUR AD CAMPAIGN?
MisbehavingMaiar:
We got some locals to help out in Bree and other places! It’s just that apparently, everyone we interact with Has A Queer Look About Them And Folks Like Them Not
Lindethiel:
MY POINT EXACTLY. RECRUIT BETTER LOOKING PEOPLE.
MisbehavingMaiar:
We tried! It’ can’t be helped! Wholesome potbellied folks are just inherently do-gooders! That leaves us with sleazebags, people who squint a lot, and Folks Not From Round Here With Foul Air About Them That Make The Horses Wary.
Lindethiel:
SARUMAN’S PARTNER IN CRIME LOOKED LIKE HE LIVED IN A SEWER AND LIKED TO WATCH CHILDREN ON THE PLAYGROUND.
“Because this important topic needs to be discussed!”
-takes a deep breathe- “Lin, you cannot trust every pretty thing he gives you. I don’t even do that despite his assure to the contrary.”
“I’ll have you know I don’t trust every pretty thing he’s given me. There was this one time he had a servant bring this nice cheese platter up and I don’t know where that brie came from but it just smelled wrong. I didn’t eat any.”
“I would like to officially start the Not All Ring movement. I mean, honestly, you think a guy who has spent this many Ages manipulating and writing history is dumb enough to use the same trick twice? Sometimes a pretty ring from an Ainu is just a pretty ring from an Ainu.”
“Thank you, dear. It’s gratifying to know someone here trusts me to make them a wholly benign gift.
…Honestly, you do something once an entire Age ago and it’s all people think about.”
I am not angry. Ossë’s pet has caused beings greater than you or I to make asses of themselves throughout history. We are merely its latest victims.
Your letter finds me as well as can be expected. I suspected something like this had happened, given my state of profound, irrecoverable euphoria. It feels a bit like waking from an opiate dream; it was pleasant to feel completely untouched by responsibility for a spell, but now I am faced with the consequences.
I am lucky in that no great harm seems to been done, save to my dignity, and my observatory. I shall recover. …I should say that I hope no great harm was done– I can only guess based on my current assessment of the tower. I pray this was a localized event; in my experience, these wishes can have far reaching effects that cannot always be accounted for.
Did you wish for ought else but my blissful incapacitation? Are there any other disturbances to report, any changes I should be aware of? I must trust your acumen in this matter, for my memory of the last 18 hours is somewhat… confused.
Yours, bewilderedly,
~Thû, Lord of Mordor
Addendum: All my furniture has become very small. Either the effects of your wish have not entirely worn off, or my brethren have been playing tricks on me in this vulnerable state.”
[Somewhere, there very likely is a Rossiel pausing to have a giggle at the thought of tiny anvils, and entirely uncertain what brought the image on. There’s a song in there somewhere, she thinks, one of those bawdy sorts the tavern-going folk are fond of these days. It could become very popular…]
“Ha, yes– I have it now:
O what do you forge with an anvil so small So small that you scarcely can see it at all? Must you work with the tiniest hammer and tongs And strike to the rhythm of tiny forge-songs? O what do you forge with an anvil so small So small that you scarcely can see it at all…”
[Lazily, in the air, you might, just might be able to see the wavering image of a huge smith pondering his tiny tools. And Rossiel is pleased, for she’d never before managed the trick of doing this with her songs. Maybe she’s getting better.]
Lindethiel paused and grinned, hearing the notes of the song dancing over the shrubbery that separated them. She could nearly see the ridiculous imagery of the lyrics, and she slipped between branches to see who it was crafting such skillfully silly rhymes.
“That was charming. Great innuendo in it, too; an instant classic.”
“A song about me? It’s beautiful, I love it, thank you. I’m so happy the world is full of song and merriment and joy and GREAT FRIENDS LIKE YOU.”
Independent OC from Tolkien’s Legendarium, Lindethiel Tindomerel / Glinneliae. Just another Elf, you’re thinking, but n o my friend prepare to be shook. Ain’t no proper ladies or Elves in this neck of the wood. She’s toured the best five star dungeons in middle earth, sung songs about Elrond’s ~hospitality~, fallen out of trees onto unsuspecting hobbits, and kissed more Orcs than recommended by five out of five physicians. You want a sassy, sarcastic, shameless, reckless Elf on your dash? Look no further bro. Like or reblog for your pickup line today.
Listen, I’ve had some good, good times with Lin in chat and I deeply regret not making those RP seshs threads for all to see. She is a delight– super irreverent, gleefully vulgar, chaotic neutral bard, but in a wholesome way not in an edgelord way… she’s like the Deadpool of adorable elf bards who make very bad decisions and go flying through life by the seat of their pants.
IDK if Lin is for everyone, but Lin has definitely given me some wild, hilarious, and sometimes emotionally devastating times in the otherwise dreary landscape of Third Age Mordor.
Lindethiel:
SHE DIDN’T *MEAN* TO FIND THE RING
IT WAS REALLY JUST A MISUNDERSTANDING
SHE DOESN’T SPEAK SWAN WELL.
misbehavingmaiar:
THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY
Lindethiel:
….. Actually she’s not sure WHAT she meant to happen in hindsight.
She was just being sassy, Thû, this was a terrible mistake.
misbehavingmaiar:
Lin
Lin
You know what I’m going to say now.
There are no mistakes
only Happy Accidents
(✿◠‿◠)
Lindethiel:
I FEEL VERY UNCOMFORTABLE.
THIS IS LIKE THE PEE-YOUR-PANTS TYPE OF ACCIDENT.
I DON’T WANT IT BECAUSE BAD THINGS HAPPEN.
BUT I DON’T WANT TO THROW IT AWAY BECAUSE WORSE THINGS MIGHT HAPPEN.
misbehavingmaiar:
(◕‿◕✿) There is nothing to be ashamed of, Lin.
Pobody’s nerfect!
Lindethiel:
THU PLEASE.
FOCUS FOR A MOMENT.
wait no don’T FOCUS
STAY NOT-FOCUSED.
misbehavingmaiar:
(◉ω◉)
Lindethiel:
good boy. good dark lord.
here, uh, play with this loose string.
misbehavingmaiar:
(^◉ω◉^)ﾉ this is the best day of my life
Thank you for 4 years of glorious fishy shenanigans, soft wraith aesthetic, and chaotic-neutral minstrel elves! I’m sliding this in under the door late because timezones are a bitch!! You were one of the first blogs I RPed with, and I’m super stoked we are friends, because you never fail to brighten my day. All your muses are bae, 10/10, would develop adorable, heartbreaking, hilarious, and diversely awkward ships with all of them again. 🙂 ❤ Please accept this gift of dongs, salvaged statue ass, dubious jewelry, and six volumes of Sauron’s Sex Education And Relationship Advice, as well as my nerdy affection. *mwah*
Sometime in the night, longing crept under his skin, and a state of distraction hounds him throughout his day.
He catches himself leaning closer to people as they speak, falling half in love with the expressions of strangers. A need for touch burns like an itch in the back of his thoughts; inconvenient and frustrating. He envies the errant brush of a hand across another’s throat, the silk hem of a constricting frock.
Seeking the relief of solitude, away from the storm of exchanged glances and wind-caught scents, he is driven to his chambers; but the yearning haunts him still, and he finds himself pacing like a lion in a cage, half hoping, half dreading that someone will intrude upon his suffering.
It was probably a bad thing to be this comfortable in the seat of the dark lord’s empire. Which was why she worked very hard not to think too much about it as she strolled freely through the halls and wandered unbothered through the sooty courtyards of Mordor. In fact, it was probably even worse that she was making her way to the Dark Lord himself, as though meeting up with an old friend.
Yes, time to stop thinking on that. More important things to consider, after all, as she gave a courtesy knock before strolling into his quarters without waiting for permission to enter. “Don’t mind me,” she said in greeting, an Elf on a mission, “Just coming to raid your bath. What is it you use to get the bubbles just so? It was like mountains.”
“…Lin!” Sauron nearly choked. “Lin… Hells…” he whispered to the observatory ceiling through gritted teeth before turning to his unwelcome guest.
“Happy as I always am to see you, I must say my dear, that on this day you have incredibly poor timing.” His usually pristine smile was somewhat forced. He tried very, very had not to look directly at his friend, hands folded discreetly at his front, sleeves obscuring what he hoped was not an especially noticeable change in his profile.
Not Lin. Why Lin. Why now? At this moment when his skin practically blistered with yearning, and all his senses betrayed him…. He didn’t want to look with new eyes on the minstrel’s boyish figure, or her wide, becoming grin. It was too much: she was a friend, and spoken for, and not entirely trustworthy, and so many other things that made this encounter unbearable.
“I was about to begin a project which, ah, requires my utmost concentration, so regrettably, I cannot offer you my hospitality until after it is completed. What was it you needed? Bubbles?” He laughed, distracted. “You’re welcome to abscond with any of the luxuries in the bathhouse, so long as you take them elsewhere for now.”
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 