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Eol of Doriath

The Khazad oft tell stories
To pass away the time
Of lords and kings and dragons,
Of rhythm and of rhyme  

And if you are invited
Down their steep and craggy paths,
The Dwarves might tell the story
Of Eol of Doriath.

A prince he was of Kingdom old,
Beautiful and proud
Younger brother of Fingollo
He stood out in any crowd

Yet darkness clung onto Eol
As flowers cling to life,
As beautiful as he was dark,
Eol was wrought with strife.  

“Proud Gondolin of seven names,
That city, it will fall
And you, Eol of Doriath
Will augment it all.

A child of your darker blood
Will one day meet with light.
Love will eat his very core
And strike with knives of night.”

So spoke a Seer one dark day
To Fingollo’s younger brother;
Eol could not believe it so,
But ran from his child’s mother.

His flight from Doriath was swift,
As yet without sin, but a plan to atone;
The simplest way to keep Gondolin safe
Was to ever be alone.  

The Morquendi walked from place to place
A journeyman of night
And learned he the secret language
Of the race that knew his plight;

In his soul the Khazad saw a brother,
Trapped in elvish skin
And Eol he loved the dwarf kind
Far more than his own kin.

He learned their ways with easiness,
He spoke their words with smiles;
His hands and theirs were ever twined
Over Arda’s long, cold miles.

But wandering is tiresome,
Though souls forever roam,
So Eol settled himself down
Making Nan Elmoth his home.

He lived well there, Morquendi
And in his way was great
He forged galvorn and captured stars,
And with dwarven lords he ate.

Morquendi reveled in the moon
And shunned the morning light,
For he loved the stars too fondly
To be fearful of the night.

Alone he dwelt in Nan Elmoth,
And all seemed very fair;
Stories spread, and he was at peace,
For none would venture there.

Yet the wheels of time keep turning
And Gondolin, it fell
Perhaps Eol had a chance,
But it died in the form of Ardhel,

The beautiful sister of Turgon
And Lady of Gondolin
Who sought out great adventure
And met the dark elf grim.

Eol knew not what to make of her,
This lady, this angel, this dove.
He succumbed to the greatest of all elvish plights-
The pain of deepest love.

He wed Ardhel, in Nan Elmoth
And close they were, as kin
The Lady bore him a single son
Whom he named Maeglin.

The Lord of Nan Elmoth, he tried
To raise his Maeglin
To love the night, fearing
That he should want for Gondolin.

Ardhel, sweet lady of crystal white,
Although she loved her Lord,
Yearned for what she left behind-
The clang of sword on sword,

The rising sun, the brilliant walls,
The pennants rising high.
The stabbing peaks of the mountains
As the eagles crossed the sky.

So when a call came from the Dwarves
To bring Eol away,
Mother and son packed their bags
And searched for the hidden way.

When Eol returned from feasting,
He knew then what had passed.
Gondolin was doomed to fall;
Fate had won at last.

Eol made haste to Gondolin
Although it was too late;
He was captured by  Ecthelion
At the city’s outer gate.  

When brought before Lord Turgon,
With his heart slowly giving in,
Eol declared he’d rather die
Than live in Gondolin

He drew a javelin he had forged
With poison, life undone
To save fair Gondolin from harm
He had to kill his son.

Yet fate refused to be denied,
Twasn’t Maeglin who fell,
For who else took the javelin
But the beautiful Ardhel.

The elleth died in her son’s arms
And all the city wept
Turgon gave his judgement
Death, from the cliff tops kept.

They took Eol to Carag-Dur,
Many fathoms high,
And silently the Dark Elf
Prepared himself to die.

But before they threw him over,
Eol showed his worst
With eyes of solid steel, he said,
“My son, you are forever cursed.

“Never shall you know true love
and never shall you know joy
by your hand everything you know
will one day be destroyed.

This city you have chosen now
Will fall down into lore,
The Noldor will break as easily
As waves upon a shore.”

Then turning to the morning sun,
Done with all he had to tell,
Eol of Doriath stepped off,
In silence, the elf lord fell.


History says what happened then
One hundred and fifty years hence;
The city fell, the mountains cracked
Fountain and flower died in defense.

Maeglin, son of Gondolin
Paid his destined toll,
And with his fall from Carag-Dur
Thus ended the line of Eol.

Elvish history paints the tale
With deeply blackened wrath,
But the Khazad tell the story
Of Eol of Doriath

The Morquendi who tried his best
To be both light and dark
Who failed to save a city
And loved with all his heart.

This is the story the Khazad tell
Deep within their delves;
But it is not a story
Which is told to men or elves.
The story of Eol of Doriath seems very cut and dry from the perspective of an elf. But what if you asked a dwarf what the tale of the Morquendi was? Bet you'd get a much different version...

Okay, the only reason why this pathetic excuse for literature isn't registered as poetry is because the fanfiction section doesn't have that subcategory. Right. Now that that statement's out of the way...

this sucker has been brewing in my head for the past three years. I'm terrible at rhymimg poetry (as you can clearly see) but the way Eol Morquendi died just rankled me. There had to be more to the story. So I wrote it.

To all Tolkien purists who will point out tiny flaws- yes, I know I forgot to mention the sons of Feanor. Get over it. They weren't that important in this story. I know they never say how Eol is related to Thingol so I made it up. I also took liberties with Eol's 'farseeing eyes'.

Right, that about covers it. I apologize for any spelling errors and the few almost-rhymes that make up this piece. As I said, three years. I had to give up on it eventually.
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The beacons lit
The oath gives speed
Horses and riders tall
The sparkling shield
On bloody field
We answer Gondor's call!

Kisses to wives
The last goodbyes
Who returns, we don't know
This is the day
When we can't stay
The King calls, we follow

The sea of spears
The sun sheds tears
Eorlingas ride to war
To the red day
To glory, fame
In the ancestors' hall!
Rohirrim battle song
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Hikaru Path

It didn't matter which twin you chose right? As long as one went to help with Tamaki...right?

You knew the difference between the twins, you knew they were individuals as much as you and Haruhi were as well as twins. You could tell them apart with ease, and never failed at the 'which one is Hikaru game'. Maybe that's why the three of you were so close... But anyway, even though you knew they were different, that didn't impact on your choice. Why would it, it's not like you had a preference for one of them... right...?
Shaking your head to get rid of the thoughts that were clouding your mind and causing you to blush ever so slightly, you picked an arm to loosen. Gently you withdrew your arm that was linked with Kaoru's ever so slightly.

The boys eyes flicked towards you at the movement, understanding your choice. He nodded at you, taking his arm back completely. He turned to face Haruhi and jogged off to go help her.

"Well well, it's just you and me huh?" Hikaru grinned at you and you gulped.

-

Just like Haruhi, you were a 'commoner' who lived in an average sized house. Your attendance at Ouran was due to incredible test scores, and you and only a limited number of other people in the same financial predicament as you gained access. So far however, only the twins had been to your house. Hence why Hikaru was easily leading the way, a couple of steps ahead of you.

"Wait up will you? It's not like we're going to my house or anything is it?" You sighed, seeing the boys excitement in his bouncy step. He was the same as the rest of the club were when you all went to Haruhi's house. For them it was a completely different world.

"Why don't you try and catch up to me?" He teased, walking backwards to look at your reaction.

"How about I don't do that." You sighed. Suddenly Hikaru stopped still and you almost walked into him.

"Wow, Hikaru, what are you doing?"

"What's up with you today grumpy guts?" He asked, folding his arms and staring at you.

"Ah! I-I'm not grumpy!" You gasped.

"Sure you're not. So, what's with the big frown?"

"I'm not frowning!" You covered your face up quickly, hiding from Hikaru's scrutinising stare. And then it dawned on you.

"Will you quit teasing me?" You demanded, and began to walk around the self appointed obstruction in your path. Looking left you saw a path that led to the back of some buildings. You'd never been down there before. Not much point really.
You carried on walking straight by.

"You make it so easy for me though!" Hikaru complained, poking your side and causing you to gasp quite loudly. People turned to look at you in shock as Hikaru laughed.

"Don't do that man!" You uttered in embarrassment as people tutted at you for making them worry unnecessarily.

"Come on, I'm only having some fun." Hikaru smiled at you and linked arms.

"For you maybe" you rolled your eyes but didn't move your arm. Hikaru sure loved teasing the hell out of you.

-

"No."

"Oh pleeeease let me come in? Just for a little while!"

"Hikaru..."

"Don't scold me. I can behave." Hikaru was stood with you on your door step to your house, which you knew was empty due to parents being at work.

"I just don't see the fascination." You sighed, putting the key in the lock.

"Of course not, you live here after all." Hikaru grinned, excited to be let into your house again.

Pushing the door back, you entered your house closely followed by one excitable bouncing auburn haired boy.

"Kaoru would be so jealous if he knew I was here without him." Hikaru chuckled, throwing himself down on the sofa in your living room.

"I honestly don't get it with you guys. Anyway, tea? Or maybe coffee?" You decided to be a good host at least. After all, you were told you were part of the host club and should act hostly only this morning.

"Nah thank you."

Shocked, you turned to face Hikaru. He'd never turned down tea before.

"No...?"

"No, I don't feel like it right now." He smiled and patted the sofa beside him signalling you to sit next to him. You wondered over and sat, wondering if anything was wrong.

"Anything wrong Hikaru?"

Hikaru was glancing at the floor now, suddenly very interested in the rug at his feet.
He mumbled something under his breath, his cheeks becoming suddenly very pink.

"...what?"

Without warning Hikaru faced you and gripped your shoulders, pushing you back into the sofa.

"H-hey! What!?"

A pressure on your lips cut you off and you realised... That Hikaru was kissing you. His soft lips moved against yours, deep and slow, a quiet hum of appreciation or happiness sounded at the back of his throat as he kissed you. Slowly he withdrew only slightly, catching some breath. You didn't move from under him. He was smiling, his hazel eyes shining at you, cheeks still a dark rosy colour.

"H-Hikaru..." You breathed.

"I said that I...I like you." A brilliant red hue blossomed over his cheeks, darker still than before. He was stumbling over his words, struggling to get them out and still sound coherent. Those hazel eyes couldn't manage to keep your stare and adverted to the left.

Was Hikaru...shy?

"H-how easy it is for me, to just...be with you. Never before have we l-let someone this close to our world. B-but you you're different... You fit so well in o-our world." The sentences were rushed as Hikaru spoke them, still adamantly refusing to meet your gaze. His fingers that were still wrapped around your shoulders were shaking ever so slightly. Nerves?

Suddenly he laughed, a short hard laugh at himself.

"I don't do well with these kinds of things. It took me a while to...to admit to myself my... Uh, f-feelings. You just wouldn't leave my head, the stubborn girl you are." At this his eyes softened and finally lifted to look at you.

"Say something." He almost pleaded you.

You were so overwhelmed and shocked by this sudden confession, that you just stared at him back, wonder and bemusement etched on your features. You were suddenly very aware of how close he was, leaning over you, holding your shoulders in a tight grip. Your own hands had shot up to hold his shoulder up when he'd moved so suddenly, like an automatic reaction, and now you were aware of the very firm muscles of his arms.

You gulped, thankful he couldn't read minds.

"[name], why aren't you talking?" Hikaru's eyebrows puckered slightly in a faint frown, anxious and nervous for your reaction he wasn't receiving verbally.

"I...I'm just surprised... This is so sudden." You told him the truth. Sudden, but if you were honest, not unwanted.

Suddenly Hikaru sat up, pulling away from you and leaving you laid out on the sofa in wonder.

"I see."

There was a change you noted in Hikaru's voice. It wasn't as low and silky as it had been just then... He sounded... hurt.

"Hikaru...?" You asked, also sitting up, debating whether to put a hand on his shoulder or not in a consoling gesture. But before you could make up your mind, Hikaru rose.

"I should probably be going." He said, not looking at you but straight ahead. This was odd, not the Hikaru you knew. He seemed more distant now, almost a different person.

"Hikaru! Wait!" You gasped as he began to head to the door. He stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn around.

"I have to leave. You can call one of your other friends if you want." His fist tightened, but you couldn't see the sad expression on his face with his back to you.

"But Hikaru!"

It was no use. Two strides and he'd reached the door, opening it and leaving without another word.

And just like that, he was gone.
I hope you liked this first part! ^^ Go ahead and don't be afraid to tell me what you thought. Also, I suspect maybe some people will read both Hikaru's and Kaoru's paths... if so can you tell the differences in nature? I hope I write them well, they may be twins but they both handle things differently!

Any way, hope you enjoyed! ^^ Let me know if you would like the next chapter! ^^
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"What are you doing here?" you questioned.

The boys' eyes widened at your hostile tone; your voice had come out as a low growl due to your throat being dry from lack of water. The short, black haired man seemed unfazed by your hostility and continued to stare at you with cold eyes.

"We seek shelter," the black haired man replied in a monotone voice. His grey eyes continued to bore into yours as he slightly nodded his head in the direction where Jean sat. "We have an injured soldier who needs medical aid."

You ceased the staring contest with the short man after a moment of silence, by throwing your dagger into the ground by your bare feet. You let out a grunt and curtly nodded your head at the men.

"(First Name)," you said simply.

The black haired man remained silent for a moment, before replying in a bored tone, "Levi."

"I'm Eren Jaeger," the brunette said.

"Jean Kirschtein," the injured one said, smirking at you.

"A-Armin Arlert," the blonde one stuttered.

You walked towards your house and motioned for the men to follow you as you passed them. "Put him on the bed," you said as the men cautiously entered your home.

Eren brought Jean over to your unmade bed and Armin assisted in lifting his injured leg onto the mattress. You walked over to the kitchen without a second glance at the soldiers and grabbed a wooden bucket from beneath the counter.

"There's a river not too far from here on the right. Go fill this up with water," you said to no one in particular, and placed the bucket onto the table.

You could feel uncertain eyes boring into your back as you opened up your kitchen cupboards and rummaged through various unlabelled bottles and vials. You heard Levi order Eren to follow your instructions as you quietly picked out a bottle and brought it over to the kitchen table.

"Shirt. Off," you said, gesturing to the blood-soaked shirt covering Jean's chest.

Levi quickly silenced Jean's protests and removed the dirtied garment while Armin approached you with the strips of cloth he had found earlier. You snatched them from his hands and brought over another bucket that was already half filled with water, along with another piece of cloth. You soaked the cloth with the water and brought it to the wound on Jean's torso. A gash stretched over from the side of his left hip to above his navel and was temporarily closed by a layer of dried blood.

After rinsing his wound with the cloth, you grabbed a small vial of clear liquid from the table, uncorked it, and dripped some of the substance onto the wet cloth.

"What's that?" Armin asked, blue eyes furrowed in curiousity.

"Wild onion extract," you replied.

"Aaaand what's it for?" Jean asked with uncertainty lacing his voice. He attempted to shift away from you as you approached him with the cloth, but his open wound hindered him from moving very far.

"Anti-septic," you said and proceeded to dab the cloth onto his injury. He hissed in pain at the stinging the substance caused, and jerked away from you. "Stop. Your. Moving," you commanded with a harsh voice and firmly pressed down onto his shoulder with your free hand.

Jean had many injuries. Besides the gash on his torso, his left arm was covered in bruises and a two-inch long cut on his forearm. His torso and right arm had a few scratches, and his right cheek had another small cut as well. The worst part of his injuries, however, was the discolouration forming on his lower left leg.

After patching the remainder of his wounds, you gently prodded the tender area on his leg. Jean groaned in pain at your actions and you quickly mumbled an apology.

"You have a fracture in your leg," you stated, removing your hands and standing up. You turned to face the blonde boy and he flinched at the sudden attention. "There's some matches and dried leaves in a box over there by the fireplace. I need you to get a fire going," you said, eyes staring intently at him. "Please," you hesitatingly added in a softer tone after noticing Armin's uncomfortable fidgeting.

The blonde visibly relaxed at your change in tone and nodded his head. "Y-yes, Ma'am", he replied, blue eyes full of determination as he set about igniting the fireplace.

Without saying anything, you abruptly grabbed an axe hanging on a wall and exited your small home, leaving two startled boys and one suspicious man behind.

The sun was already beginning to set and the air was starting to cool down. You sighed in annoyance at the receding sun; you still had much to do before dark. You rushed over to a tree at the edge of the clearing, placed the handle of the axe between your lips, and proceeded to climb as fast as you could. You studied a particular branch before taking the axe into your hands and bringing it down upon the limb with as much power as you could muster.

"What are you doing?" came a voice from below.

You halted your actions and peered down at the short black haired man standing in front of the tree. "The Jean person needs a splint for his leg," you said slowly. To say you were rusty at communicating with others was an understatement.

Levi looked at you oddly for a split second, before his expression returned to stoic. He may have appeared to be bored, but you could feel his eyes watching your every movement like a hawk.

"You distrust me," you observed. He didn't respond. Turning back to your task, you lifted the axe and said over your shoulder, "If you're going to stand there and stare at me, then make yourself useful and collect the branches that I'll drop down." You heard him make a "tch" sound before you continued to hack away at the tree branch.

You dropped three branches down onto the ground from where you were perched in the tree. Levi picked up the fallen branches without a word and returned to the house before you could even jump down.

The house was brightly lit by the fireplace when you entered. You nodded at the blonde boy and attempted to show a smile of appreciation, but it turned out as an awkward grimace. He looked at you warily and nervously twiddled his thumbs.

"You," you pointed Eren who had returned with a bucket of water.

Eren frowned slightly at your outstretched arm. "What?" he asked.

"Pour the water into that pot," you pointed towards a large, black pot resting on the stone slab beside the fire, "and hang it over the fire. Then, go back to the river and refill the empty bucket."

"Why don-"

"Do as she says, Brat," Levi interrupted Eren.

You turned your attention to Armin as Eren reluctantly exited your home with the emptied bucket.

"I need you to chop the carrots on the counter," you said. Armin nodded his head and walked over to the kitchen counter.

You switched your attention to Jean and handed him a bundled piece of cloth.

"What's that for?" he asked, eyeing you and the item suspiciously.

"Put it between your lips," you ordered, then sighed and rolled your eyes at his continued stare. "It's for biting into," you elaborated, then quickly shoved it in his mouth before he could react.

You moved your hands to his fractured leg and swiftly pulled his bone back into place. Jean's eyes widened at the sudden action and he screamed and bit down onto the cloth in his mouth. Armin halted his work at the counter and looked on at the scene with worry etched onto his face, while Levi remained silent and observed you and your patient with emotionless eyes.

With your guidance, Levi had helped you tie the two forked branches around Jean's fractured leg. You connected the splint with a smaller branch below his foot and wrapped a piece of cloth around his ankle. You then placed a stick against the ankle wrap and twisted it until his leg was straight, and then fastened it to the splint.

By the time you had finished tending to Jean's wounds, the pot of water hanging over the fire had begun to boil. You carefully dunked a teapot into the pot and filled it up with some of the boiling water, then dropped a tea strainer full of crushed mint leaves inside of it. You placed the teapot onto the counter and waited for it to steep while you cleaned up the mess you had made when tending to Jean.

"Um...I've finished cutting all the carrots..." Armin quietly told you.

"Good. There's a sack of potatoes under the kitchen counter. Peal five of them," you ordered, then added after a moments pause, "please."

"O-of course!" Armin said.

You poured the tea into a clay cup and slowly brought it over to Jean.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Mint tea. It'll help you relax," you explained.

You walked towards the front door with a basket in hand, and abruptly stopped just as you were about to exit your small home. You turned around and faced the black haired man who stood by the table, looking out of place. "Oi, short man," you called out.

Jean and Armin grew tense at your words and looked at you with wide eyes. The air quickly grew heavy, but you remained oblivious to the change in atmosphere as you patiently waited for the man to reply.

"What did you just call me, Brat?" Levi said. Armin and Jean visibly flinched at his dark tone.

You completely ignored his death glare and gestured towards Jean. You opened your mouth to speak, but paused, then slowly said, "You must watch over the...Jean...person...while I gather some vegetables from the garden. Let me know if anything goes wrong." You quickly left the house, not even waiting for Levi's response.

Jean stared at your retreating figure with confusion. "...What did she just call me?"

~~~~

You returned shortly after picking some food from your garden, with Eren not too far behind you. He placed the bucket of water on the counter and you joined Armin in chopping vegetables. You added the chopped vegetables into the boiling water and sprinkled in some spices. While the vegetables were cooking, you went back outside and skinned and gutted the fox you had killed. You used the light streaming through the windows as your guide, as the sun had already gone down.

"Blonde boy," you called from where you leaned against the door frame.

Armin turned around to face you and visibly cringed at your bloodied hands. "Uh...yes?" he asked.

"I can't touch anything at the moment. There's some left over deer wrapped in a cloth in that cupboard over there. Cut it into cubes and put it into the pot...please."

"A-alright," he said.

You nodded at him and then went back outside to finish cutting the fox meat.

You returned with a bucket full meat and proceeded to wash your hands and the meat in the sink. The tap didn't work, but the drain did, so you always made sure to have the drain plugged and the sink full with fresh water. You flushed out the water after washing everything and replaced it with the bucket of water Eren had brought in. You then placed the strips of fox meat into the water and sprinkled it with salt.

"What're you doing?" came a voice from behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a pair of bright green eyes staring at you. "Preparing the meat for tomorrow," you said. "I don't normally hunt fox, as I can get bigger pelts from other animals, and their meat isn't very good unless prepared properly." You looked down at the fox meat and frowned. "But this fox tried to eat any meat I left outside to dry and was stealing from my garden. So I killed it. But I don't want it to go to waste after all the effort," you explained.

You almost regretted your decision to hunt the red animal. The little amount of salt you had was already in the house when you had stumbled upon it four years ago, and was quickly diminishing. You also didn't have any vinegar, and the climate wasn't warm enough to grow limes or lemons, so you had to substitute any cooking that required acetic acid with tomato juice, which wasn't very effective.

After preparing the meat for tomorrow, you poured the hot stew into five bowls and served them to the soldiers.

With the addition of four people inside your tiny home, the living space was certainly crowded. You were no where near prepared for guests, as evidenced by the hunting equipment and laundry cluttering all but one of the four dining chairs. Levi claimed the only empty chair near the fire, Jean was slightly propped up on your bed, and Armin and Eren sat beside each other between the bed and the fireplace. You situated yourself on the floor against the cabinet on the opposite wall from everyone.

The men sat in silence and stared at you. You sighed in annoyance when you noticed that none of them had taken a bite of their food. "It's not poisoned," you said. As if to show a point, you scooped a large portion of the stew onto your spoon and shoved it in your mouth.

Your guests started to slowly eat the stew. You figured if they weren't distrustful of you and the food wasn't so hot, they would probably be wolfing their food down. You were also incredibly hungry and exhausted from a long day and skipping lunch, but the stew had already burnt your tongue when you foolishly took a big bite, so you had no choice but to pace yourself as well.

Jean's face contorted into a look of concentration as he ate. "It's a bit bland," he commented.

You stared blankly at him. "I know how to survive, not pull chocolate cake out of my ass," you deadpanned.

Eren snorted at your comment, Jean choked a bit on his food, and Armin stared at you with wide eyes. You smirked at their reactions.

"Just be glad you're eating a meal and not starving, Kirschtein," Levi said.

"Uh, yes, Sir."

"So...um...(Name)," Armin slowly began, "what are you doing here outside of the walls?"

All eyes shifted towards you. You took your time with chewing the bite in your mouth and slowly swallowed. The suspense had them hooked, you could tell, as their eyes remained glued to you. Finally, you opened your mouth and simply said, "Surviving."

"Well, yeah. But how did you get here without getting eaten? And why are you here?" Jean asked.

"I dunno," you shrugged. It was true. You really didn't know. After four years of living in this fictional world, you still hadn't recalled anything of importance from your life before.

"How long have you been here?" inquired Armin.

"About four years."

"So...how old are you?" Jean asked, eyeing you up and down with a smirk on his face.

You frowned at him. "17 or 18. Maybe 19. Or 16. Not 100% percent sure. But must likely 18," you replied. While you did know your date of birth, you weren't sure of your exact age when you had arrived four years ago, so all you could do was guess.

The boys stared at you in silence, mouths agape in shock at your confusing answer.

Eren quickly changed the subject. "We didn't encounter any titans the entire time we were walking in this forest. And I didn't see any while fetching water," he said.

"Yup," you said. Eren looked at you oddly. Oh, he must want an explanation or something, you realized. "The forest is very dense. Plants and trees are all very close together. The titans are too large to fit through," you explained.

"That was obvious from the start. How could you not pick up on that, idiot?" Levi asked Eren.

Eren flinched. "I-I was preoccupied with carrying Kirschtein, Sir," he defended.

"Tch. You're as dense as this forest."

Noticing everyone had finished their meal, you abruptly stood up, effectively ending your guests' conversation, and placed your empty bowl on the counter. You grabbed the bottle of onion extract and a few pieces of cloth and spun around to face the men.

"I need to treat your wounds," you said, pointing to Levi and Armin.

"They're just scratches," Levi said.

You shook your head at him. "Doesn't matter. When out in the wilderness, you are much more prone to infection. Any wound, no matter how small, has the potential to turn into something much more severe if left untreated."

Your words halted any further protesting, and you soon had cleaned and patched up all of Levi and Armin's wounds. Eren didn't have any, of course, as you recalled him having some sort of self-healing ability, which you didn't dare let them know you were aware of.

Shortly after you had put away the medical supplies, you pulled out all the pillows and blankets you had in the cabinet and handed them out to your guests. Eren, Armin, and Levi took the items and set up their beds on the floor while you unstrapped all of your weapons and pouches and carefully placed them on the cluttered table.

"Where's your blanket?" Armin asked you as you laid down on the hard wood floor across from them.

"I don't need one," you mumbled.

"But you don't even have a pillow and you're...um...not in warm clothing. You'll get cold," Armin persisted.

"I'll be fine," you said, resting your head on your arm.

"But-"

"I said I'll be fine!" you snapped.

Armin looked taken aback by your harsh tone and quickly stuttered out an apology. The room had become silent as everyone settled into their makeshift beds, with the exception of Jean, who took up your bed. Exhaustion finally caught up to you and just as you were about to fall asleep, a quiet voice filled the room.

"Thank you for your hospitality, (Name)," Armin said.

A collective mumble of sleepy "thank yous" followed after from the other men in the room. Your eyes shut closed and just before sleep completely enveloped you, your lips formed into a smile.
Wow, this one took a long time to write. I kept cutting out and rewriting parts.

So, Reader has sort of indirectly appointed Armin as her sous chef, I guess. :P

Here you get to see that Reader's survival knowledge doesn't just cover hunting. And that she's a bit...blunt Why so skeptical? 

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5

Hajime Isayama owns Attack on Titan

I own this plot and any original characters

You own yourself
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Some memories are too dark to bring into the light, and I have seen too many dark things. Do not ask me. I will not recall memories to darken the very light of day; do not ask me about the dark. Ask me about Light.

Ask me about the light, and I will speak. Ask me about the light, and I will tell you of one day when the light was strong. I was young, barely twenty years of age, and had returned from a journey when Elrond called me, he who had been like a father to me.

That day all was changed.

That day, for the first time, I heard the name of my father. That day, for the first time, I saw the heirlooms of my house. That day, for the first time, I knew my inheritance.

That day, for the first time, I knew my own name.

And I was young. For a whole day pride filled me and I thought that the world could bring no more beauty. I thought the world was full and could give no more for I was young, and I was of noble birth; higher than any among Men. I did not think about the years ahead, on the responsibilities that lay before me, or the burdens my birthright brought. The world was full of light. Nothing could darken it. Nothing could make it shine more bright.

A man can be so wrong.

I walked underneath the trees at the hour when the sun set. What did I feel, you ask? I cannot tell. Even in that moment I could not have told; my heart and mind was too full to tell. This alone I know: I was glad, and I could not keep my gladness inside. It burst out in song.

Then I saw a sight that overthrew it all.

The memory of that vision has not faded with the years, for there she walked between the trees; Lúthien Tinúviel, most beautiful among all the Children. I do not know how long I stood there, dumb by the sight, speechless at this vision. But then I saw her walk away under the shadows of the trees, and suddenly I feared that if I lost sight of her now she would never again be seen. And so I called to her:

"Tinúviel, Tinúviel!"

And she halted. She spoke to me and she was no dream. She lived, she breathed; she was flesh and blood. Arwen Undómiel, Elrond daughter. My own name and lineage crumbled to nothing against her beauty, and even in my youthful pride I knew then that the light carries within its own darkness. Just like dark spots appear before the eye when we have been staring at the light, thus the world was dark when I turned my eyes from her.

No, do not ask me about the dark. Ask me about the light, and I will show you the light in my beloved's eyes.
Battles comes in many forms, and the memories are not always dark. MEFAs first place 2009

First in a vignette-series with the memories of several characters, with Aragorn as the most prominent. Each vignette have a different memory, told in first person.

Disclaimer: These vingettes are based on the characters and world created by J.R.R. Tolkien, all of which are the property of the Tolkien estate. The stories are made for entertainment and at no monetary gain.

rstrider9 made a wonderful illustration that links in to this and the last vignette (not posted here yet): [link]
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You couldn't pinpoint the exact second, hour or day that Bertholdt's kisses began tasting like cherries rather than vinegar and blood, but the change had occurred. Even his once unappealing, feverous bear hugs now seemed like nothing more than typical loving embraces. At some point in time, you stopped flinching and started reciprocating, even wanting. When you first realized how much you had adapted to your environment, it frightened you to no end. But now...

Now it just felt right. You didn't feel guilty nor stupid when you silenced the section in your mind that was still desperately screaming. Screaming for you to open your eyes, screaming for you to get out of Bertholdt's grip.

It became easier and easier to hush your thoughts as the happy days ticked on.

When you woke up in the early hours of what you guessed was a Wednesday morning, you were pleasantly surprised at what you heard. Or, more what you didn't hear. The heavy rain that had drowned the outside grass and pounded hard at the rooftop day and night after day and night had ceased into a gentle drizzle, as though it was slowing to a stop. You smiled in satisfaction as you stretched into a sitting position. Sure, when your blankets slipped down off your torso, your thinly-veiled body was hit with what felt like a million ice bullets, but it was worth it. Once your brain had awakened a tad more, you stumbled over to your window and opened it, allowing the cool night breeze to dance in.

Due to the heaviness of the rainfalls, the air in the house had been completely sealed. The windows and the front door were simply never opened due to the fact that litres of droplets would have flown inside within seconds. It was beyond lovely to feel the stuffy days-old air in your room to be fully replaced with chilly freshness.

When the rains had started a week ago, the crazy part of your mind thought it was the world mourning you, mourning your life that would soon be bound to Bertholdt's. But you knew that it was just marking the beginning of a new era.

By this stage, your eyes were wide open and your body fully awake and alert. You knew sleep wouldn't come back tonight. You sighed as you closed the window, satisfied that the cool gusty winds had cleared out all the stifled air from days past.

Humming an unnameable tune, you began walking out of your room and down the hall to Bertholdt's. You knew he'd be fast asleep at this time of the night, but you were bored and cold. You pulled your nightdress up to your knees with your fists to give your legs more freedom as they strolled.

You knocked on Bertholdt's thick wood door with two dainty taps of your knuckles.

You heard a sleepy muffled "mamma?" from inside, an invitation to enter, which you accepted with a lover's haste.

"Hi..." You whispered as you crept over to the green bed.

"What's wrong (y/n)?" Bertholdt yawned. "You feel okay? Did something happen?"

"Nah. I was just bored. And cold." You giggled like a child when Bertholdt groaned in response.

"(Y/n), I love you, but it’s the middle of the night. I need my sleep, as you do."

Taking that as an invite, you jumped up onto the bed. The mattress groaned under your sudden weight. This made Bertholdt sit up and face you.

"(Y/n). What have I told you?"

"Hmm? Told me? About what?" You cocked your head to one side and grinned like a child.

"About being in my bed."

You groaned and rolled your eyes. Bertholdt, the cruel fiancé that he was, had enforced a physical segregation between the both of you, limiting your interactions to little more than hand-holding, friendly hugs and innocent kisses.

"Why, Bert? Why are you trying to separate us? You're so warm and it's so cold outside!" You whined.

"Because, (y/n). Because it’s what's... right. We're getting married soon, and it’s not traditionally suitable for us to share a bed." Though the room was too dark to see the changes in Bertholdt's cheeks, but you knew he was turning pink. He was so cute and shy.

After a few minutes of him resisting and you begging, he finally gave up and wrapped those strong, warm arms of his around you. You smiled and kissed his cheek, causing his face to burn even brighter.

***

"(Y/n) it's not that difficult..." Bertholdt laughed as he saw you tripping over your feet.

"It is! What is this cruel torture?" You wailed, ripping your hand away from his, balling the fabric of your long skirt in your hands like a toddler.

"It's called dancing, darling. From what I've heard, most ladies are meant to enjoy it." Bertholdt's lips curled into a gentle smile as he slid his hand from your waist. He looked you up and down with those loving emerald eyes of his, wolfishly admiring the shining star before him. You could stare into those pretty eyes for hours on end; you could never get bored of the aesthetic beauty they harboured, and the intense gentleness that they radiated. You were proud that the finger-shaped bruises coiled around your forearms had turned the same hue as the glittering gold flecks bordering his dilated pupils. It must have made your skin look so very lovely.

Bertholdt noticed his man-made markings at the exact same time you started thinking about him, as though your mind was an open book that he was constantly scanning. The rough touch of his fingers traced the bruises gently, causing you to wince and bite your lip on contact.

He, of course, noticed this.

His eyes never broke contact with yours as he leaned closer to press the lightest of kisses onto the throbbing yellowing bruise.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into your skin. You felt your blood pump red and vicious under his warm breath.

"Don't be." You muttered back, your eyes darting away from his glare.

Bertholdt slowly wrapped his hand around your wrist, his long, slender fingers fully coiling around. You didn't understand why he did still did that every time he was about to kiss you.  You had matured now; you had ripened like the juiciest of blood red apples to his loving touch. Yet, as though he thought you'd run or you'd evaporate and disappear completely before his eyes, he still tried to keep his hands on you at all times.

Just as you'd predicted, Bertholdt pulled your body closer to his and pressed his lips sweetly against your own.

Your spine tensed at the sensation and your body froze. You were still confused as to why you never really melted into the kiss like he did. Why did it never feel good or make your insides tingle like you knew it was meant to?

You tried to relax, tried to tell your body to cease its rigidness. It, of course, didn't listen.

Bertholdt pulled away eventually. He rested his forehead against yours and smiled, his fingers drawing incomprehensible lines into your cheeks, his fingerprints marking you as his.

"You're everything to me, (y/n). Everything. I love you."

"As I love you." You whispered back to him, bringing your hand up to rest upon his chest. You could feel his heartbeat pounding fierce and strong. You got up on your tip-toes and placed a tender kiss on his cheek, causing the area to turn pink. His heart began beating faster. He hadn't grown used to you displaying such affection unprovoked.

You giggled slightly at your lover's blushing face. He half-smiled in embarrassment.

"Bertie, honey?"

"Yes, darling?"

"When exactly will we marry?" You cocked you head to the side in a cute manner, just in case Bertholdt interpreted your question as nagging or in dread of the upcoming event.

"Tonight, darling."

"T-tonight?" You spluttered. Surely it couldn't be so soon!? "But... we haven't got anything organised!"

Bertholdt's grin widened. He stared at you as though you were a Christmas feast, like he wanted to consume you. "Silly little (y/n). I have organised everything. A dress, flowers, rings... I've prepared it all for you. For us."

You looked at him in bewilderment, your mouth gaping and your eyes wide. Your mind was shot blank of any comprehendible or logical thoughts or reactions. You'd be married tonight. You wouldn't be plain old (y/n) anymore; you'd be Mrs Bertholdt Fubar. You'd be his in sickness and in health, until death tears you 'part. You'd wake up every morning in his arms, be attacked by his kisses before bed every night, you'd have your belly stretched by his children and your hair grey with age as you grow old hand-in-hand with him.

The thought of it all, fully giving yourself in your soul and your body to him and his touch, overwhelmed you. It made your blood turn to ice in fear. The life before Bertholdt, the life that had nearly completely been wiped from your memory... it would be gone forever, wouldn't it?

Nevertheless, you felt like the best thing to do was to smile. So you did.

"How lovely. Thank you. Thank you so much, Bert." You grinned like a child on Christmas morning as you embraced him.

"Anything for you, my little (y/n)." He whispered as he kissed the top of your head.

***

It was to be just next to the house in the forest clearing, at sunset, under the oak tree in the daisy patch.

Fervently glancing out the window, you noticed that the sun was no longer visible. It had long dipped behind the sky-scraping forest trees that stretched far and wide around the clearing. You sat on Bertholdt's bed as you waited for him to return with the attire you would be wearing for the wedding. Your hands covered your naked breasts as you shivered in the cold. You longed to pull something, anything, on your body to try to retain some warmth, but Bertholdt had specifically told you not to move. And you knew better than to mess with Bertholdt. The message had been drilled into your mind and tattooed onto your skin in the form of unhealed scars, cuts, fingernail scratching and bruises.

You pulled your knees to your chest. Your teeth began chattering in either coldness or nervousness. You couldn't tell.

The sound of steady, heavy footsteps grew louder and louder, a sure sign that Bertholdt was approaching.

The door creaked open slowly, and you turned to face your tall lover.

"Cold, darling?" He asked, his voice dripping with honey, peppermint and autumn fog. You nodded vigorously.

He put the package he held down on the vanity before he made his way over to your shivering frame. "My poor little baby." He cooed as he climbed onto the bed behind you. He sat so his legs were placed on either side of yours and pulled you backwards into his warm, clothed chest. "I'm sorry for leaving you here in the cold." He rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped one arm around your stomach. Your abdominal muscles ached in bliss as the heat of his sweater's arm transferred to you. His other hand slowly slithered its way to your chest and rubbed one of your breasts gently, as though he was reading your skin's goose bumps like braille. As much as you hated to admit it, you felt as though you were melting like chocolate on a hot summer's day under his scorching hot hand.

Bertholdt pressed loving kisses against your neck and cheek while he rubbed your body all over, hushing you occasionally, as though his shushing would calm your shivers.

Once you had stopped shaking, he pulled away.

"Now that you're lovely and warm again, I should probably dress you. The time is fast approaching." His beaming smile practically stretched from ear to ear, almost disturbingly.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you up. You stood up, self-conscious in your bareness, as you waited for him to unwrap the brown paper parcel and bring the dress over.

"Close your eyes and raise your arms, my sweet. I don't want you to peek at how beautiful you are." He said, and you obeyed like a good little to-be wife.

What felt like the finest of silk was slid over your head and arms. It was heavy and smelt like dust and rose petals, but it was better than being naked.

"Keep your eyes closed, (y/n)." Bertholdt whispered into your ear as he directed your body to the other side of the room where the full-length mirror was located. "Nearly done, darling."

You heard the click of a clasp and felt more weight around your waist. After you heard Bertholdt fumbling in a drawer for something or other, your hair was yanked roughly by a brush, quickly covering any knots that had formed. The final piece to the bridal puzzle was some form of cold jewellery place around your neck.

"Open, my love."

You once again obeyed.

You looked in the mirror, but the person looking back wasn't you.

There you were, your skin dull and dry after being cooped up indoors for weeks. Your eyes were accompanied my heavy, black undershadows and your cheeks were faint of the glowing pink tinge they used to have.

The dress looked out of place on you. It was pure white silk from the ribs down, billowing out like a curtain in the wind. It would be utterly shapeless on you if it weren't for the hanging belt, made from emeralds encrusted in gold. The belt matched the elaborate necklace that rested around your neck. It was a shame that you no longer had glimmer in your eyes to match the sparkle of the expensive accessories. Maybe one day when you were happily living with your beloved, you would gain it back.

Above the heavy silk skirts, the top and arms were made completely from lace, leaving your chest somewhat visible through the spaces.

"Ah! One more thing. How could I forget?" Bertholdt giggled as he placed a crown of daisies on top of your head. "There. Aren't you the most beautiful girl in the world? You look like an angel."

You managed a weak smile and turned to face him. Anything to stop looking at your reflection.

He pecked your cheek lightly. "Guess what, darling. It's time. We're about to become man and wife."

Your smile fell as he said the words, but he was far too lost in his own thoughts to notice.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the bedroom and out the front door.

"We are going to a very special place, (y/n)."

"The daisy patch under the oak?"

"Yes. The daisy patch under the oak. Mother's buried there. I bet she can't wait to see you in the same dress she wore on her special day."

Bile began to rise in your throat and the taste of vomit filled your mouth. How perfectly horrid.

"Now, are you ready, my sweet little (y/n)? Ready for us to become hu--"

Bertholdt's words were cut off completely as a flash of silver steel came across his throat, slitting it and allowing blood to spurt out in all directions, coating you and your snow white gown.

You saw a figure approaching you, sprinting towards you and reaching for your hand.

"Run, (y/n)! We have to run!"
Well. That was unexpected, was it not?

Don't worry my darlings. All will be revealed in the final chapter! It is not over yet!

Thanks again for all the love and support! You guys are the best! 

Make sure to check out the 8tracks mix {8tracks.com/persephonesdead/ev…} while you wait for the final installment! 

I'd also like to thank you all for voting in the ending poll! The ending will accommodate quite a few of the options, don't you worry! 

Chapter I:  persephonesdead.deviantart.com…

Chapter XII {FINAL}: persephonesdead.deviantart.com…
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The Travellers (or: A Sad Sort of Melancholy Melody) –A short story.
By V.K. Violette

WARNING: I don’t own historical characters, and although I want to be, I am not George Sand. Everything in this story never happened. Also, this fic will contain love between individuals of the same gender. Just deal with it and move on.

A Sad Sort of Melancholy Melody
By: George Sand

--prologue--

Where should I start but here? I sit here alone, at Frederyk’s old piano which faces the window. I will not touch the keys and butcher their musicality with my non-ability to harmonize, or play music in general. Right now, there are tears running down my face, and words dying on my lips. However, these words shall live on paper. This short story is meant only for one pair of eyes: mine. But I should start with the background.

Chopin was my friend, and I did love him, more than I have ever loved a man- yet I had basically thrust him into the arms of another with my big mouth and my inability to take “no” for an answer, especially when it comes to the physical. I seduced him when he was weak, and he wouldn’t forgive me- no need to permanently engrave the details in writing. I don’t want to relive them anyway. But it was my fault why he had left me here at Nohant, why he had gone off with a certain Franz Liszt to Hungary for a small tour. I acted when I should have remained in the shadows. Besides, I could never compare to his long-term best friend.

They had a relationship. I’m sure of it. Well, at least on Chopin’s side. Frederyk got a glassy look in his eyes when he thought of or saw Liszt. He was in love with the man, though he never realized it. He was so taken by him, that when Liszt offhandedly mentioned that he was going to Hungary, Chopin asked if he could go, and Liszt accepted without thought.

I knew Franz. I knew him much longer than I knew Frederyk. I could see the stormy self-hate in his eyes when he thought about Chopin like that. He was smitten as well. He had abandoned Marie d’Agoult and his three children, he had abandoned Paris, and all of his friends. Just like that. There was most certainly romance, whether or not it was physical, I did not know. However, if anyone knows anything about Franz Liszt, there is no such thing as a non-physical relationship when it came to the “Hungarian Heartthrob”.

So this is my fictional theory brought out of waiting for Chopin to return. This is what I think happened. Something like this probably did. So I shall begin.


-thetravellers-

“Frederyk! The coach is outside!” Franz Liszt yelled impatiently from the front doorway of his downtown Paris flat. The mentioned was running about, frantically out of breath as he reached to grab everything in sight- gloves, hat, overcoat, piano wire, etc. Liszt rolled his eyes, and grabbed the smaller man by his wrist, dragging him gently into the luxurious black carriage.
---
For about seven hours, the two pianists were lost in their own world. Liszt was busy writing letters to his son, Daniel, and his daughter Blandine, making written small-talk about his travels. When he was done with these cordial notes, be began to write a letter to Niccolo Paganini, a friend of his, about some music he had deemed playable “only by the demon violinist”.  When his letter writing ceased, Liszt entertained himself with a book, just a general history on Hungary, not really taking in the information- he was moreso lost in his thoughts.

Chopin spent most of his time just watching the scenery go by, and when he got bored of doing that, he began to read a book given to him by his friend Julian Fontana about music theory. When the light outside had dimmed to the point where reading began to strain his eyes, the Polish pianist decided that it was finally time to make small talk.

Chopin smiled at Liszt warmly. “Ah, Franz! I’m so excited about visiting Hungary! Are you going to show me where you grew up?”

Liszt grinned, eager due to Chopin’s eagerness. “Haha, yes of course! I will show you everything in Hungary, down to my parent’s graves and my barber if you so wish it!”

Chopin let out a small laugh, covering his mouth, once more demonstrating his modesty. “If we get there, dear friend. It’s a week-long drive, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. It’s part of the adventure!” Liszt said, winking at Chopin who began to blush. “Besides,” he continued, taking Chopin’s hand in his own, “we have plenty of things to do and see. We don’t want to miss the sights of Europe! We only have so long to live!”

Chopin blushed at Liszt’s contact, even more so when the Hungarian slid Chopin’s gloves off his hands.

“Chopinetto, you don’t need to just see the world- you need to touch the world too! So many textures, from piano keys to the wild grass to” Liszt’s voice sunk low “the skin of another.”

The Polish man’s face felt like it was on fire, having realized already his feelings for the other man. For some reason, perhaps his passive nature, he had accepted it with no issue. It was not men it was only Franz. Only Franz made him feel like this, made him long so uncharacteristically for the warmth of another, for the feelings given only by one’s lover…it was only this one person. Though what pained him, was the thought, the belief- that his love was unrequited.

Liszt entangled his long fingers between the other man’s smaller ones, peering at him with his soulful, azure eyes.

“We are free, Chopinetto,” he said, clutching Chopin’s naked hands fervently, a look of rapture and revelation and something anonymous (at least to Chopin) in his eyes. “Free of old lovers- Marie, George, even your pretty fiancee- free of all Parisian speculation, free of rumors- in Hungary, the people are quite conservative- it’s just us! You and I and music, oh the music we shall make Chopinetto!” Liszt’s eyes sparkled as these thoughts bombarded his estatic mind, relayed to his companion through a trademark dramatic Lisztian monologue.

Chopin looked at Liszt sadly. Not all love, I cannot be free from that.

The younger man caught on to the melancholy in the other’s eyes, and pulled the slight man into a soft embrace- Liszt always was the touchy-feely type. He was a hugger, and when he was mad, he was a hitter- it was as if he thrived on physical contact. Chopin felt himself involuntarily swoon as he smelled Liszt’s musky scent- the scent of cigars and the smell of home.

“What is bothering you, Chopinetto?” Liszt asked gently, practically purring into Chopin’s ear. The Hungarian couldn’t resist his temptations any longer- he was alone for a good long while with the smaller man- the newest, yet strangely always present, object of his amorous advances. He had spent months agonizing about the wrong-ness of loving another man in the way he loved his Chopinetto. Was it the femininity of the man? Even now, Liszt wasn’t quite sure. But he loved the smaller man being in his arms, he loved holding him possesively, watching the blush across his face. And now there were no more George Sand or Marie d’Agoult to start rumors about it, he noted wryly.

Chopin shivered, feeling Liszt’s cool breath against the inside of his ear. He involuntarily leaned into the other’s touch. Outside of the carriage, the sun had gone down completely, leaving the two pianists in the dark. Chopin whispered Liszt’s name under his breath, feeling faint.

Liszt had waited so long- almost two years- to get up his normally overstocked courage in order to confess to the man in his arms, the man who upon his face was a look that was involuntarily sensual- sensual because it was involuntary.

“Frederyk,” he breathed. “Do you know the meaning of the word ‘alone’?”

“Of course I do,” the soft-spoken man replied distantly, his mind elsewhere.

“Right now, we are alone- a state in which we haven’t been in for a while. And I have wanted to wait until we were alone in order to tell you this. I was going to wait until we arrived, but seeing you, being close to you, my friend I cannot hold back anymore.”

“Franz, I must confess something to you-“

“I must say something I’ve kept within me-“

“I-“

“Chopinetto, I-“

“-love you.” They said at the same time.

Surprise was etched upon the two men’s faces, and this sweet confession uttered by the Polish man had set the little trigger in Liszt off, and he crashed his lips roughly to those belonging to the small man in his arms. Chopin groaned when Liszt shamelessly ravished his mouth, tangling his long, talented fingers in his Chopinetto’s hair. Said man whimpered, intimidated by the Hungarian’s animalistic hunger for him, and it took him great strength to push the other man away, noticing the hurt, yet hazy look on the younger’s face.

“I’m sorry, Chopinsky,” Liszt said with regret.

“No, Franz it’s not whatever you’re thinking! We have plenty of time together on this trip of ours- let’s not spoil it so quickly.”

Liszt grinned. “My, Frederyk,” he smirked, “was that flirtation, or was that my mind making tricks?”

Chopin’s face turned scarlet, and he looked down at his feet. Liszt tipped his chin upward, peering into the other man’s eyes, raw emotion reflected in both.

Chopin’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into Liszt for a soft, chaste kiss. The Hungarian caressed his now-lover’s face, his lips dancing about the elder’s face, his neck, and his collarbone, eliciting soft sounds from the untouched man in his arms.

“Franz,” he whispered in a paradoxically innocent yet sensual voice “I don’t want to go home.”

Overcome by the emotions the Hungarian had locked within him for so long, Liszt crashed his lips to Chopin’s again, and this time- Chopin did not stop him.

--end--

I cannot go on. I have tried, and although these sort of scenes always come to me, I just can’t write a love scene depicting my Frederyk in someone else’s arms. So I shall end it here- it seems a just ending. Someone is knocking on my door, and something within me suspects it is Eugene, whose comfort I need at this moment. He seems to take care of me during my emotional times. The paper is stained with tears, and it isn’t worth it to rewrite it- as the falling of tears occuring while rereading it will be bitter, and for many times after that. It is just a waste of ink and paper. Romance between men was never my specialty, and for good reason. I am no better than a man myself, and men most certainly do not write such things about each other. So I end. What a waste of an eloquent prologue.

-George Sand, 1838
A totally (somewhat plotless) Fluff-let done for an art trade with :iconmiyuko-101: for her drawing of Achille, which is SO AWESOME by the way. Check out her gallery! She's pretty darn good! :D

I was also shamelessly testing another plot-bunny of mine- George Sand writing a novel based on Chopin and Liszt's relationship. It sounds like a good idea, but I don't really know how I would possibly go about it without screwing it up. I

haven't read any of George Sand's novels, sadly they are all in French.

However, I have read Nelida by Marie d'Agoult (aka Daniel Stern), which was a very good read, though it was obvious which character Liszt was portrayed as, and which character (the beautiful heroine) Marie inserted herself as. It was like a really bad revenge plot. :ohnoes:

But yes! If you like short-fluff-drabble-stories, then this is for you! (I didn't like it, but if you read my Artist Comments, you notice that I don't like any of the stuff I write. It grows on me after a couple of re-reads, I must say.)

Pianistic Fingers was the best Chopin X Liszt thing I've written. And Medianoche, there's Paganini, diverting the romance for a long time. I might have to postpone my upload, depending on how much homework my Geometry teacher swamps me with. :paranoid:

Dedications:
~Miyuko-101 for her awesome art trade with me! :glomp: Hope to do it again sometime! :hug:
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Pretty, shiny things are hazardous to your health.

This is because the Law of Attraction is multiplied 100x once you look at them

Hobbits state the overly obvious

Chocolate is nonexistent in Middle-Earth.

Arwen stole Glorfindel's horse.

Beer and Tobacco seem to have a beneficial effect on hobbits

Never make fires in questionable caves

Kick a troll, and your foot will break

Elvish accents are low and whispery

Never sleep in a boat if your Dad is a Pyromaniac

Don't give twins the exact same name

Imitating voices can come in handy

Running at your brother with a sword and shouting at him in old-fashioned language will get you a big time-out

Really, really big dogs are very useful

Being good at riddles can save your life

Giant spiders freak out elves big-time

Elrond should have pushed Isildur into the crack of doom

Sauron once got pwned by a girl

If you insult any of Tùrin's female relatives, you will find yourself impaled on a rock at the bottom of a raging river.

Speaking of which, do not marry blonde women with amnesia. You never know how closely related you might be.

Law of physics: If you kill a Balrog, you will be killed too.

Ëarendil was the first astronaut

Never look dragons in the eye

Legolas is NOT blonde

Elves have the amazing ability to make up songs spontaneously

Don't ask Gandalf questions when he's grumpy

You do not want to make Gandalf mad.

Watching a Maia spirit dance will cost you about 100 years of your life.

The Elessar looks like an American Airforce badge

There are surprising similarities between the movie-version Elrond and Spock.

The eagles always did provide a convenient Deus ex machina

Never laugh at live dragons

Beware of hospital workers who talk way too much

The favorite color of most elves is grey.

There is such thing as a red-headed elf (YAY!)

Locking up your daughter in a tree house and expecting her to stay there is just simply naïve.

Make sure your master is mentally healthy before you swear fealty to him

Saruman does not need a microphone

Nargothrond snipers can (apparently) see an insignia on a tiny ring from ten yards away.

According to Fëanor, the war of the Silmarils was Galadriel's fault.

Female Noldorin elves with shiny gold hair are most likely telepaths.

Smiths. Are. Insane. (ex. Fëanor, Eöl, Sauron, Maeglin )

Cìrdan is the only elf with a beard.

Bilbo has the best sense of humor ever

Elves can count reeaaaaally fast.

Having seven sons in a row is not necessarily good luck.

A white cat is even worse luck than a black one.

A shiny object about an inch in diameter caused the destruction of the kindom of Doriath.

Hùrin got jynxed. his "aurë entuluvas" only ended up with his family being cursed

Don't speak Quenya in King Thingol's presence.

If you ever meet Miriel Serindë, make sure you pronounce the 's' like a 'p'. If you don't , you will get a five hour lecture on the values of archaic consonant forms.

Dwarves hoard secret recipes

There are more parallels between Gandalf and The Doctor than you think.

Before you discuss confidential information, check to make sure no one is trimming grass under the windowsill.

The word "holiday" means something else to Bilbo.

Singing wildly while dancing on top of a table is not exactly a good idea.

If you see big green mounds with bits of stone sticking out of them like teeth...get as FAR AWAY from them as possible before nightfall.

Try not to separate from your friends, especially in heavy fog.

Knowing how to write songs makes you beloved amongst the elves.

Fëanor and his sons are possibly the cleverest (yet dumbest) elves in Arda.

Do not stare at the flickering lights in the dead marshes.... or else you will become like THEM.

Gender bias cost Sauron his most trusted servant. (a.k.a. the Witch-King of Angmar)

IF guys  in black hoods riding black horses start sniffing around your neighborhood... take that as a sign that it's time to move.

Even Fat dragons gan pack a punch.

It is a good skill to distinguish between numbers 30 and 31.

Everyone in Middle-Earth writes their 'a' s with three dots above it.

The orc sergeant in Mordor has a very limited insult vocabulary

Shiny glass balls can drive you crazy

Gollum has severe vitamin D deficiency

and 500 years in a cave didn't improve his grammar either

If you happen to see an elf, a dwarf, and a man in the Riddermark, try to take it as a maybe/ maybe not situation.

Never trust young men who simply cannot take constructive criticism.

Be very, very suspicious if 13 dwarves suddenly invite themselves to your house and seem to know exactly what is in your pantry.

There are several meanings hidden in "good morning!"

Be sure to compliment a forest whenever you enter it.

The more tragic your death, the more it will be sung about.

Elves sleep with their eyes open.

In The Silmarillion, Eru gave the Men "strange gifts". I am positive that facial hair is one of them.

Keep Fëanor away from flammable substances.

to Mandos, it's pretty obvious where Gil-Galad dwelleth now.
I saw the "71 things learned from dr. who" one, and I just had to do one for tolkien. Some of these even made me laugh. Hopefully they make sense, and hopefully you enjoy.

EDIT: Vote for your favorite one!!!!! i :heart: messages. The top ten will be put in bold!


Edit again: Okay okay, I've gotten about three comments now on the "Pronounce Serindë like Perindë" about how it should be pronounced "Therindë" because it was a thorn letter instead of a P, This deviation was submitted a long time ago and now I know from reading PoME. Please do not comment again on it.
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I once heard his name
It whispered over the ground
It was as of he was god
I was just a young girl
But little did I know
That this name
Would change everything I knew

Was he real?
Was he not?
I hope we shall never know
For knowing ruins myths, hopes and legends
He was the greatest man
And an even better warrior
He left the greatest story, one that evokes feeling
He won twelve battles
Then vanished into the mists
His horse, army, sword and world
Vanished as quickly as they came

He did what none will ever do again
He united the most unlikely people
They fought for land just beginning to shine
They stood against the darkest of armies
For a cause only a small band of knights understood

Sometimes when I walk alone in the mists
When all is quiet and only a horse can be herd
I swear I can see him, and feel them
Upon a hill far ahead
There is ghostly figure
A legendary man astride a great white stallion
"everywhere i go on this retched island, i hear your name. Always half whispered as if you were a....god"
Cynric 2004 King Arthur
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