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Challenge #9
In your own space, create a fanwork. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
Title: Lembas
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: G
Warning: Metioned future character death
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Legolas receives a letter.
AN: This is both a response to![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
snowflake_challenge and to the January Challenge at tolkienshortfanworks, which was to include a list of ingredients. The ingredients in question were taken from two potential recipes for lembas bread, found here and here.
The letter comes with supplies and a fresh wave of his father’s people, brought south for new lands and forests to explore, and – in time – passage to the West. It also coincides with his dear Gimli’s visit, and Legolas has to tuck it high on a bookshelf lest it be lost under piles of blueprints marked with Khuzdul before he has a chance to read it.
Gimli, he has learned, is a disaster when given a private space in which to place his things.
He doesn’t retrieve it from its spot until after dinner, when he and Gimli both have time to relax. Gimli smokes and contemplates one of the chambers in Aglarond – weighs structural integrity against aesthetics in a way that involves lots of numbers and small measurements and which makes very little sense to Legolas – and Legolas curls against his side and studies the missive.
From the Golden Wood he’d been told, but not much beyond that. He doesn’t recognise the writing, although the hand is fair, and he isn’t sure as to why anyone from Loth Lorien would choose to write to him rather than Queen Arwen whose kingdom they are, technically, in. The wounds of Doriath still run deep, after all – not only between Elves and Dwarves, but between the members of Legolas’ Sindarin kin.
He opens it and scans to the signature. Galadriel.
He glances side-long at his husband and his neat columns of numbers and says not a word.
Gimli adores the Lady of the Golden Wood as plants worship the sun, and if Legolas was any less secure in himself then he’d be worried by that devotion. But the Lady has been nothing but kind and fair, and Gimli has – ultimately – chosen him, and his complicated feelings on the matter are his alone to bear.
The letter is… interesting. She writes not of Gimli as he might have expected – though she wishes him well – and she includes no prophetic curses of the sea and the cries of gulls this time. Instead, she writes of food. Of lembas bread. Of Doriath and queens and ancient traditions kept close.
Queen Melian shared the secrets of its making with her female kin and her handmaidens, amongst whom I was honoured to be counted. My own ladies have now left these shores, and while Arwen Undomiel yet carries that secret, her home now is amongst Men. Thranduil has neither queen nor daughter, and Cirdan’s folk have their own recipes which they take across the sea. The secret will be lost and for that I find myself grieved.
For that, and for you, child, who will linger here as long as your heart remains on these shores. When you do sail, you will need sustenance for that long journey even though you will not wish to eat. For that, and for the distant ties of family between us, I enclose the recipe.
He scans over the list of ingredients: eggs, honey, dried apricots, rose water, fruits of the Mallorn tree, melted butter, barley flour, cardamom, rosemary, salt. It continues with instructions and a reminder that those who are kin to him will wait patiently for his arrival on those distant shores. He stares down at it in confusion and in wonder.
He’s not sure what he expected to be in lembas bread, but the simplicity of the ingredients and the instructions throws him. For a recipe kept so secret for so very long, it’s almost disappointing.
It takes a moment for the real reason why he feels so disquieted to sink in: he has no right to this. His father may have been a student of Melian once, but never was he privy to such a secret. Nor had Legolas’ mother, a Silvan warrior, had the right to this recipe before her passing. Legolas’ own claim is based entirely on a level of regard that he hadn’t known the Lady held for him.
He folds the letter and leans more heavily into Gimli’s side.
“Ill news, lad?” Gimli asks.
“Confusing,” Legolas admits. He doesn’t want to reveal how unsettled he is. “How are your numbers?”
“Filling me with admiration for those who delved Khazad-dum and Erebor, Nogrod and Belegost,” Gimli replies. He lowers his pen and his pipe and shifts himself so that he may hold Legolas securely in his embrace. He is warm and comfortable, and the strength of his arms makes Legolas feel as secure as a bird perched in the steady branches of an oak.
“It’s not too late to abscond to the Shire and live out our days with the Hobbits,” Legolas tells him.
Gimli snorts. “Don’t tempt me.” He tucks a lock of Legolas’ hair behind his ear, twisting pale golden strands between his fingers. “Are you well, Legolas?”
Legolas nods. He ducks his head against that broad chest and listens to the sound of Gimli’s heart, strong and steady behind his ribs. “Yes,” he replies. “I am well.”
The long journey where he will need lembas bread is yet many years away.
In your own space, create a fanwork. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
Title: Lembas
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: G
Warning: Metioned future character death
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Legolas receives a letter.
AN: This is both a response to
snowflake_challenge and to the January Challenge at tolkienshortfanworks, which was to include a list of ingredients. The ingredients in question were taken from two potential recipes for lembas bread, found here and here.The letter comes with supplies and a fresh wave of his father’s people, brought south for new lands and forests to explore, and – in time – passage to the West. It also coincides with his dear Gimli’s visit, and Legolas has to tuck it high on a bookshelf lest it be lost under piles of blueprints marked with Khuzdul before he has a chance to read it.
Gimli, he has learned, is a disaster when given a private space in which to place his things.
He doesn’t retrieve it from its spot until after dinner, when he and Gimli both have time to relax. Gimli smokes and contemplates one of the chambers in Aglarond – weighs structural integrity against aesthetics in a way that involves lots of numbers and small measurements and which makes very little sense to Legolas – and Legolas curls against his side and studies the missive.
From the Golden Wood he’d been told, but not much beyond that. He doesn’t recognise the writing, although the hand is fair, and he isn’t sure as to why anyone from Loth Lorien would choose to write to him rather than Queen Arwen whose kingdom they are, technically, in. The wounds of Doriath still run deep, after all – not only between Elves and Dwarves, but between the members of Legolas’ Sindarin kin.
He opens it and scans to the signature. Galadriel.
He glances side-long at his husband and his neat columns of numbers and says not a word.
Gimli adores the Lady of the Golden Wood as plants worship the sun, and if Legolas was any less secure in himself then he’d be worried by that devotion. But the Lady has been nothing but kind and fair, and Gimli has – ultimately – chosen him, and his complicated feelings on the matter are his alone to bear.
The letter is… interesting. She writes not of Gimli as he might have expected – though she wishes him well – and she includes no prophetic curses of the sea and the cries of gulls this time. Instead, she writes of food. Of lembas bread. Of Doriath and queens and ancient traditions kept close.
Queen Melian shared the secrets of its making with her female kin and her handmaidens, amongst whom I was honoured to be counted. My own ladies have now left these shores, and while Arwen Undomiel yet carries that secret, her home now is amongst Men. Thranduil has neither queen nor daughter, and Cirdan’s folk have their own recipes which they take across the sea. The secret will be lost and for that I find myself grieved.
For that, and for you, child, who will linger here as long as your heart remains on these shores. When you do sail, you will need sustenance for that long journey even though you will not wish to eat. For that, and for the distant ties of family between us, I enclose the recipe.
He scans over the list of ingredients: eggs, honey, dried apricots, rose water, fruits of the Mallorn tree, melted butter, barley flour, cardamom, rosemary, salt. It continues with instructions and a reminder that those who are kin to him will wait patiently for his arrival on those distant shores. He stares down at it in confusion and in wonder.
He’s not sure what he expected to be in lembas bread, but the simplicity of the ingredients and the instructions throws him. For a recipe kept so secret for so very long, it’s almost disappointing.
It takes a moment for the real reason why he feels so disquieted to sink in: he has no right to this. His father may have been a student of Melian once, but never was he privy to such a secret. Nor had Legolas’ mother, a Silvan warrior, had the right to this recipe before her passing. Legolas’ own claim is based entirely on a level of regard that he hadn’t known the Lady held for him.
He folds the letter and leans more heavily into Gimli’s side.
“Ill news, lad?” Gimli asks.
“Confusing,” Legolas admits. He doesn’t want to reveal how unsettled he is. “How are your numbers?”
“Filling me with admiration for those who delved Khazad-dum and Erebor, Nogrod and Belegost,” Gimli replies. He lowers his pen and his pipe and shifts himself so that he may hold Legolas securely in his embrace. He is warm and comfortable, and the strength of his arms makes Legolas feel as secure as a bird perched in the steady branches of an oak.
“It’s not too late to abscond to the Shire and live out our days with the Hobbits,” Legolas tells him.
Gimli snorts. “Don’t tempt me.” He tucks a lock of Legolas’ hair behind his ear, twisting pale golden strands between his fingers. “Are you well, Legolas?”
Legolas nods. He ducks his head against that broad chest and listens to the sound of Gimli’s heart, strong and steady behind his ribs. “Yes,” he replies. “I am well.”
The long journey where he will need lembas bread is yet many years away.
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Date: 2025-01-26 12:04 pm (UTC)From: