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Jan. 11th, 2016

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Hello! I'm Wave, and you've found your way to my journal. I'm not very active here, and the stuff I do post is f-locked, but drop me a note and I'll be happy to add you to my flist, I'm very friendly and don't bite!  I'm also The Wavesinger on the Silmarillion Writer's Guild and [archiveofourown.org profile] The_Wavesinger on AO3 for writing, and [tumblr.com profile] the-wavesinger on Tumblr and the-wavesinger on DW (which is similarly f-locked) for my fannish natterings. If you're here for fic exchange-related things, my dear author letters on DW are probably the place to go.

Dec. 6th, 2020

Fic Masterpost

Fic Masterpost

Dec. 27th, 2016

Rogue One!!!!

Okay. So. Rogue One.

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Jul. 15th, 2016

Bingo Cards!

My bingo cards for the SWG/silmladylove Tolkien Femslash Week! I may or may not have gone a little overboard.

I'm tentative about the art and format cards--I'm new to digital art, but am determined to put my shiny new graphics tablet to use, and I have't tried most of the formats, so that'll be interesting. I'm also determined to go through the review/rec card and review and rec as many fics as possible, whether or not they count towards my bingo--and hopefully fics which I've never read before!
Large images under the cutCollapse )

Aug. 3rd, 2013

Venice, profile pic

The Selfish King

Poem: Invictus by W.E. Henley
Line: I am the master of my fate
Summary: Before his death, Gil-galad reflects.
Characters: Gil-galad, Elrond
Notes: Nai Vardo eleni siluva lyenna, Aran Meletyalda—may the stars of Varda shine upon you, Your Majesty. Naintë inyë siluvalyë, Elerondo—may they shine upon you too, Elrond. Both of these phrases are probably full of errors, but I needed to emphasize that these lines were in Quenya and the rest in Sindarin.
Words: 600

Odd, is it not? Fear has left me.

In this hour, I am not afraid.

When we do battle with Sauron, Elendil and I, I will not be afraid.

That is the only way I can control my fate: how I die.

How calm that sounds! I should be trembling when I say it, but I am not. I should have trembled when Elrond, his voice eerie and ghost-like, foretold my death. Indeed, I should have trembled at my own birth, born as I was to a Noldorin father under the Doom, doomed myself to fail at all I try to accomplish.

I do not tremble.

Some would say it is courage. But courage—this is not courage. I would have been courageous if I had refused to believe the vision, if I had lived on for the sake of my people. I did not.

So this is not courage.

It is simply will. The will, I think, to survive. And if I cannot survive, the desire to choose how I die.

And that is what I told Elrond: that I have two choices. To die for my people, or to die for myself.

He does not know that I chose myself.

For this is my choice. Myself above others. A glorious death in battle against Sauron, instead of a last stand in defense of our people, or a sacrifice for their freedom.

That is hardly selfish, many would say, but that is in their world. This is my world, Elrond's world, atar's world. The world of the Noldor, where all things begun well turn to evil. In this world, it is selfish to choose how you die.

But I have chosen, and may Námo judge me for it. I do not care right now.

All I care is that I have chosen to go to my death, chosen a glorious death over my people.

And I am glad for it.

Let any who find out say that it is a twisted thing. I do not care.

Because, for once, I have a choice.

And I have chosen to die without fear, to die in battle against a foe mightier than me by far. I have chosen to die in single combat against Sauron in defense of the Alliance of Elendil and Gil-galad

When put like that, my choice does not sound so selfish. And maybe it is not. I do not know.

Elrond enters the pavilion without knocking, pushing the flap open with his uninjured hand. "It is time, Your Majesty."

I nod silently, and Elrond hands Aiglos to me. "Nai Vardo eleni siluva lyenna, Aran Meletyalda."

"Naintë inyë siluvalyë, Elerondo," I murmur. Then, on impulse, I hug him. "Take care, old friend. I shall be very disappointed if you join me in the Halls of Mandos before your time."

"And you, Ereinion, too. Prophecies are fallible, you know that. More often than not, they are self-fulfilling," Elrond says sternly. So sternly, in fact, that he looks like a father scolding his errant offspring.

I smile sadly. "Not this one, Elrond. This was foretold by the Doom of Mandos, and that prophecy, if none else, will come true."

"The Doom was lifted," Elrond says. His eyes catch my own, but, for the first time in centuries, I look away. "No, Elrond. It was not. Only the Ban was lifted. The Doom was not. This way, at least I do not die for nothing. At least your brother's people will gain something from this."

Before he can reply, I walk out of the tent, into the dust of Mordor.

Venice, profile pic

Motionless in Time

Hey. I suppose I should do a brief intro: I'm  Wave, a mildly crazy student prone to misspeaking and tripping over things, who, in her spare time, writes fanfics, reads 6-inch-thick books, plays the piano, philosophizes on a variety of obscure and boring subjects, and eats anything chocolate. A confirmed Feanatic and Valar-basher.
Now, that's out of the way (copy-and-paste from a fanfiction profile, thank you very much),  This post is about my poetry drabble collection, Motionless in Time.
I'm extremely nervous about this, because I'm new in the Tolkien fandom (though not new to writing fanfiction) and it seems...presumptuous of me to write a lot of drabbles before doing anything solid.

But I've noticed, recently, that when I read poetry, I immediately link it to The Silmarillion, to a specific scene in it. And so drabbles are born.

Granted, none of them are any good, but sometimes I have a sudden urge to share them--but I'm scared to. So...this became one of my Season of Writing Dangerously projects. And so, I'll add a link to each drabble on this post when I add them to LJ. (Oh, and the title is from Ars Poetica by Archibal MacLeish, though the meaning has been twisted (I think).)

01. The Selfish King