The Secret Library Of Middle Earth

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
baconhands

Kadri: Home

baconhands

While developing characters for the Nineteen Islands, a continuation of the DnD campaign I am currently running, I decided to write some short stories to better understand them. The short stories were based on four one word prompts: home, ambition, family, and ideals. The extent I kept to each prompt varied wildly, but I found them useful for the purposes of developing each of them. 
Ultimately, the purpose of sharing these short stories is because I would like feedback and because I think they’re not the worst thing I’ve ever written. Comments and criticism are very much welcome. Whether this is the correct place to share them remains to be seen, but I shrug and must digress. Here is the first short story for Kadri, Home.

———————

               Kadri was sore. The mattress she had slept on had been remarkably hard, far harder than she was used to. Half way through the night, she had had half a mind to get up, collect her things, and make a break for it to Sigrid’s and convince her friend to let her stay; as if the Consul would have said no. Sigrid didn’t live too far away, the night had been cold but that was because the skies had been clear, a rare occurrence for the island nation of Volk. Thus, the eighteen-year-old could have made it if she had decided to, and without getting soaked through. And she had wanted to.

               The room that had been assigned to her by the Kaunu branch of the Conclave reminded Kadri of what she imagined to be a prison cell. What truly set it apart from one was the fact that it had a window that rattled when the wind pushed too eagerly against it. The room’s bare stone walls pressed close, far too close, placing the drawers too close to the bed which was also too close to the floor. Thread-bare blankets had been provided to keep her warm at night, and these could hardly be described as anything close to heat-retaining. The ceiling creaked whenever the person in the room above her moved. It was then that she was thankful that she was not put into a basement. That’s how it could have been worse.
               “Silver linings,” she had thought. “It can always be worse. But it can also be better. Far better.” She sighed. “You chose this, Kadri. You chose this.”

               Kadri had made it through that first night, waking wrapped in her cloak, clutching her necklace in her right hand, the high-pitched ringing of a bell called her for breakfast. With a groan, she sat up, stretched, tried to roll the soreness from her shoulders. There was a bowl of water in her room. She splashed her face, washed herself, and put on a blouse and waistcoat, trousers and boots. A heavy patting emanated from the window. She glanced at it, saw the splatters of water on the glass which were barely visible against the pre-dawn darkness. A tingling ran through her right forearm. It was a familiar sensation.

                                                             *

               “I am a Sky Master,” she said. “The clouds do my bidding. The storms bow to my will. I am the ship’s aegis. The crew are my charge. This vessel will complete its journey, for it is my decree.”
               Kadri let out a hesitant breath, lifted her head, and tried to swallow the nerves that had formed a lump in her throat. She was vaguely aware of the heavy patter of rain against her window, a sound that was being drowned out by the persistent thumping of her heart. There was an intake of breath; another shaking exhale. There was an attempt to stand up straight and she made another adjustment of her newly acquired royal blue, silver-trimmed military coat. She tugged at her right sleeve, pulling what loose fabric there was over a fraction of the dark azure, draconic scales that were embedded into her forearm; the very things that marked her as lineaged. She held her posture correctly, looked herself in the eye in her mirror, thought for a moment about how the coat was slightly too big for her, and then deflated. She took two steps back and collapsed onto her bed, the Sky Master’s Creed falling to an empty echo in her mind, any confidence it was supposed to have generated gone.
               She inhaled, exhaled, realised her raven-black hair was still damp, and sat up with as much speed as she could muster. Her spacious room was illuminated for a second; lightning split the black sky outside along jagged arcs. Kadri was on her feet and by the window before the thunder had finished ripping through the streets. Grey-blue eyes were drawn upwards and flashed with glee as another bolt careened through the rippling mass of clouds, illuminating shapes and casting silhouettes that still engaged a child-like wonder in her whenever she saw them. For such weather was supposed to herald the coming of the children of Arbuzs, the blue-scaled Aspect Dragon of Lightning.
               The storms that struck Volk were named after Arbuzs’ children. The largest were named after his First Born: Vidris, Eldin, and Merska; for it was known that they were the most powerful of his children. That every storm was supposed to accompany the coming of a dragon, Kadri had realised when she had reached the age of eleven, was an absurdity. An absurdity that a part of her still hoped was, felt could be, true.
               With some effort, the seventeen-year-old tore her attention from the window, took another glance at herself, made another adjustment of the coat, and opened the door to her room. The muffled sounds of a conversation reached her ears, and the voices and topic tugged the corners of her lips into a thin smile. With a final somewhat jovial sigh, she made her way downstairs.
               The room at the bottom of the stairs was of middle-size and was centred around a stone fireplace that currently served as the custodian of the only major source of heat or light, a source that filled the room nicely with both. A small shelf of books stood by the opposite wall, beside which an oak desk and a furnished desk chair sat, pondering the flickering shadows projected in front of them. The two couches, large enough to lounge on, had been displaced, brought close to the fire, and both were occupied by shivering, blanket covered individuals that hadn’t yet noticed Kadri’s presence.
               One of them cast a cynical glance at the other, her olive-toned, striking features shaded by the singular light source in the room. “Seeing you, my dear Hendrik, as the master of anything is a prospect that sends a shiver down my spine,” a feminine voice joked, accent coming through every syllable. “Let alone a master of anything that would give you a distinct possibility of becoming king of these lands.”
               “I’ll have you know, my dear Sigrid,” came Hendrik’s insistent, mimicking retort, “that I once landed a hit on her when she was at peak performance.”
“I’d had two hours of sleep and had been training for the Conclave exams the night before,” Kadri interjected with mock offense, taking one last step down into the room. “If you think that’s me at peak performance, then I’m happy to fight you again.”
               It was Sigrid’s piercing green eyes that turned on Kadri first, followed by the dull brown of Hendrik’s, his round face contorting from annoyed to shocked in a tick.
               After a moment of buoyed confidence, Kadri shrunk under their gazes.
               “So… what do you two think?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically sheepish. Her eyes drifted downward as she tugged at her sleeve. There was a protracted pause between the trio, punctuated by the insistent hammering of rain on glass and the crackling of wood in the fire.
               Concern washed over the lineaged like a wave; she lifted her head to study the expressions of her two friends to find them both, much to her own surprise, with their mouths agape. She had expected at least Sigrid to maintain some level of decorum. Kadri swallowed but continued, grey-blue eyes wandering to the window. She couldn’t see to the other side of the street.
               “It arrived this morning, alongside the acceptance letter,” she started to explain. “Beyond mum and dad, and Astrid, I wanted you two to be the first to- ack!”
She hadn’t so much as heard Hendrik’s normally heavy footsteps before she was cut off by a tight embrace. In a moment, every nerve vanished, and a broad smile took to her features as she hugged him back.
               “I knew you would! I just knew you would!” He proclaimed, releasing her and studying the coat with a critical eye, his bushy eyebrows furrowing as if he were struggling to come up with something clever to say. “Blue and silver; just like-”
               “Dad thought it would be appropriate,” Kadri nodded in agreement. “Apparently her colours were the same. The Conclave were overjoyed with the design. They’re also happy I left some space for them to embroider their symbol onto it.”
               “It’s a little long,” Sigrid observed, her composure recovered. “Quality material though; looks like an import from the Consulate.”
               “I thought you might appreciate that touch; I made a special request for it.”
               “Which means you’ve known about your success for at least six weeks and only told us now,” Sigrid noted, pushing a chestnut-brown lock behind her ear.
               A sharp, emerald-coloured glance pierced through Kadri that stunned her into a guilty silence.
               “Did you hear that, Hendrik? The dragonling’s keeping secrets from us; bet she’s hiding a pile of gold somewhere, too.”
               Kadri caught the mischievous grin on the Consul’s face and matched it, but before she could offer a retort, she had been embraced once more, this time by Sigrid.
               “So, where are you going?” the Consul asked after releasing Kadri.

                                                                 *

               A bolt of lightning briefly illuminated the squat buildings, jagged coastline, and the sea of ships docked at Volk’s second largest harbour. Thunder roared, caused the window to rattle violently. Her scales made themselves known through a mild tingling sensation in her right forearm. Kadri opened the drawer that contained her coat, pulled it out and put it on. She pulled at the right sleeve, adjusted it to allow a couple of azure-blue scales to poke out of the end, and smiled.
                 “I deserve to be here.”

ladylouoflothlorien

If anyone wants to be very lovely and nice and also get some great enjoyment, please read this, my boyfren wrote it 👉🏻👈🏻 (and also I am part of the dnd campaign that’s mentioned at the beginning eheh)

dnd prose original work original writing high fantasy original short stories
kindly-whisper-tolkien
ineffectualdemon

Another reason I love Tolkien is what he does with character death

When characters die (or are perceived as having died) the others characters grieve their loss

When Gandalf falls in Moria once the rest of the fellowship is safe in Lothlorien they take time to mourn and grieve and remember

When Boromir dies Aragon, Gimli, and Legolas stop to give him as good a funeral as they can before going after Pippin and Merry and even that's not the end of his effect on the narrative.

Denethor allows his grief to destroy him (and nearly allows it to kill his other son) Faramir fights with his grief and his guilt for not going to Rivendell instead

And Frodo, who was betrayed by Boromir, is heart broken to hear of his death

The story of the Eo family is one of a family touched deeply by grief and that's why Eowyn and Faramir bonding in the houses of healing is so important

Because they do heal, by sharing their individual grief and carrying that combined pain between them

Because when death happens in LOTR it is always with intent, with purpose, and it allows for mourning. And while grief can be destructive mostly it's not, because it's shared.

(and I know there are a lot more examples these are just the first that came to mind)

Too many times I have read fantasy novels that don't let characters support each other when a character dies. And often if a character dies it's sad in the moment and then the narrative just stops caring

Tolkien's work is a story about grief and healing from it. People are changed by grief but it doesn't have to be a bad thing, it's just something that happens and that love and mutual support can carry you through

"I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil."

This is why I love Tolkien

lathalea
breathing-sarcasm

gotta be honest the lack of dwalin thirst on this site is deeply disappointing

like have u guys seen graham mctavish

lathalea

@breathing-sarcasm there are some great fics on AO3 but if you’re digging through the Dwalin tags, check out @middleearthpixie and her Dwalin story (car mechanic au), @elisethewildwolf @ladylouoflothlorien @vee-vee-writes @writingfromkitchenator @geek-girl7 @i-did-not-mean-to and my main masterlist, you won’t be disappointed with all the thirsty/loving Dwalin fics out there!

(Ppl of Tumblr, you’re reading this and you know of more authors and stories about Dwalin, now is the time to share them here!)

ladylouoflothlorien

I do be thirsty for dwalin in my stories tbh

beenovel
beenovel

I got onto a real road for the first time today!!! I mean I was only in the main lane for like three seconds and then I was immediately in the turn lane but still

@gossip-guy-of-middle-earth @guardianofrivendell @luna-xial @ladylouoflothlorien @messiambrandybuck @erosofthepen @tolkien-fantasy

ladylouoflothlorien

OMg congratulations! I only just passed my test a few days ago bc I put off learning until after uni and then covid happened AHAHA rip