Fanworks Tagged with Dior/Nimloth

one time salt / the next honey / each disguised to cover poison by atlantablack

In which Celegorm tries to do some reconnaissance on Doriath, finds some children in the woods, does his good deed for the century, and promptly gets taken prisoner for it.

Dior's bitter he can't just murder Celegorm. After all, he's not one of the eldar, it doesn't count as kinslaying if he does it.

Nimloth's impressed no one is dead yet and plans on keeping it that way for as long as possible.

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our souls real enough to burn by atlantablack

“Dior, son of Luthien,” Námo intones, “you do not belong in these halls. I will show you the way to where your path is meant to lead.”

Celegorm looks to Dior and tilts his head in curiosity at the defiant look being directed at Námo. “No,” Dior says, voice hard. “I feel no call to follow the path of men. I will stay in the halls with my kin.”

“I was not presenting it as a choice,” Námo says severely and Celegorm frowns. Sees Curufin across the room shaking his head and gesturing for Celegorm to join him. He thinks to but then looks at Dior again and gets distracted by the look on his face.

An animal backed into a corner, his mind supplies, glancing down at the way Dior’s fingers are beginning to press into Celegorm’s fëa from how hard he is gripping Celegorm’s wrist.

Dior bares his teeth. “I was not either."

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Until the final flicker of life’s embers by Quente

Dior did not see the arrow until it pierced his own flesh, a hard thrust of a point entering his back and blossoming out of his heart. The pain of the wound, and the feeling of his body in uncertain panic around it, was almost secondary to his curiosity.

Now what?

Dior felt strangely detached, as if he had stepped out of his body. He watched himself fall over the body of the Golodh he’d slain. Dior had worn no helm nor armor that day – and he saw his hair fan out to cover them both. They died together in the dark cloak of it.

Dior’s eyes closed, and all was dark.

And then Dior opened his eyes.

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Moon in the heat of summer by Quente

The rider loosed the arrow before Dior could call a warning, and so he did what he needed to without a second thought – he leapt from the bush where he’d been hiding, and yelled to startle the deer into motion.

The doe ran; the herd ran; the arrow sank into the ground behind Dior with a deep wet thwock.

And then the rider came up to him, and Dior saw that this rider too was naked.

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