#... i feel like this is how maglor thinks of itself after the end of it all

[melestasflight]

Writing Year Wrapped (2023)

thanks for the tag @sallysavestheday

3 Favorite Fics You've Written This Year

Red - a return to my favorite relationship of all times, Fingon/Maedhros after a semi-hiatus. I let myself feel more than think while writing this, and let the words turn into a painting. Thanks to @helyannis for making that painting come true (see above).

What Lies Beyond the End - the giving up of the Silmaril by Maglor has been and still is one of the most impactful moments for me in the Silm. The writing of this ficlet was a gloriously cathartic music-high.

To Find a Home in the Twilight - Aredhel! All about Aredhel and her contagious sense of freedom. I went wild with the worldbuilding here and dug into characters that are blank slates in canon. Thanks to @toastedbuckwheat for supplying art inspiration.

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most

Against His Wisdom - this was a personal challenge to convince my brain to accept a topic I found extremely challenging for a long time. I also really got my hands dirty with elven psychology and dug into Fingon and Fingolfin's complicated characters. Thanks to @polutrope and @ettelene for the encouragment.

The Seven Trials of Fingon the Valiant - this was a sweet challenge in learning how to co-write with someone else. I am a chaotic writer, I feel as I go, I let stories write themselves. I learned a thing or two about planning ahead and writing in order with @polutrope.

Character Biography: Húrin Thalion and Part 2 - these are not fics but reference works, but putting them here because it was a long labor. A deep dive into canon to look at the evolution of Húrin's character and a critical analysis of the themes and symbology surrounding his character. (also: 11.5k words for this stingy writer!). Thanks to @dawnfelagund for the support.

3 Favorite Lines You've Written (loosely interpreting "lines")

I'm taking quotes from landscape writing because it was very enjoyable this year.

From Voices That Were Once Ours

The hills of Himring stay to the west, and the plains unfold. Lothlann makes an uncomfortable flatness, naked and exposed. The Iron Mountains rise in the far distance and interrupt the seemingly endless sky. In the light of day, they seem almost fair, and for a brief moment, Finrod believes they are not the work of violence.

From What Lies Beyond the End 

The jewel illuminates the liquid space around it, calling all life to itself. Sea creatures, enormous and minute, come to offer their welcome, spiraling in a meditative dance around its brilliant streaks. Even the seagrasses reach their slim fingers with such longing they all but detach themselves from the corral that nurtures them to grasp but a strand of light. It is a silent spectacle of marvel and dread, like the sight of an erupting mountain seen from a great distance. A convergence that perhaps should never be allowed to happen upon Arda, of Sea and Sky, of profound darkness and starlight. In that fleeting instant, Maglor comes to believe that for this alone, it was all worth it.

From Red 

On the rare occasions when Fingon allows himself to think of Beleriand, one image takes shape in his mind’s eye above all others. The last moments of sunset spilling down the prairies of Ard-galen.  If one was to wait for the exact hour and find just the right angle, its hue matched to perfection the color of Maedhros’ tresses under bright daylight. The dark reds coming alive with the gentle swaying of tall grasses in the breeze, Fingon would wade between them with his palms spread open and believe that a beloved braid was untangling between his fingers.

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you)

Caranthir in The Seven Trials of Fingon the Valiant 

Galadriel in crowned with the Sun

Zimrahin Meldis in To Find a Home in the Twilight 

3 Unexpected Inspirations

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin. This book left me reeling. Thanks to @searchingforserendipity25 for convincing me to finally read it. The Helcaraxë will never be the same after this.

Age of Empires, yes, the game. Fantastic outlet to let me plan and imagine all my battle-writing, military formations, units, etc.

Paul M. Barford' The Early Slavs: Culture and Society in Early Medieval Eastern Europe. It helped me think deeply about the relationship between the Edain and the Elven lords in Beleriand.

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year

Fingon's Kingship long fic - Fingon-centric exploration of the period between Galdor's death and the Union of Maedhros. Focused on Fingon's relationship with Círdan, Húrin, Maedhros, and Maglor.

One Thousand Days - a ficlet for Maedhros & Maglor week exploring their relationship with the Esterlings.

Scion of Kings - looking forward to finishing this Fin-galad story inspired by art pieces by @ruiniel @welcomingdisaster and @searchingforserendipity25

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs

no pressure tag to share if you'd like @searchingforserendipity25 @imakemywings @theghostinthemargins

#writing year wrap #silm fic #silmarillion #tolkien

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

I am completely sure that this is directly disproven somewhere in the Tolkien universe, but I also don’t care enough to actually look it up.

But anyway, what if elves in general (but Noldor in particular) have rather strict roles when it comes to titles. So an elven Lord has to do certain things (like collect taxes), but is absolutely not allowed to do other things because those activities belong to an elven Lady (this goes for Prince, Princess, King and Queen as well). It’s just that this system has nothing to do with gender, and barley has anything to do with class. If it’s relevant, elven partners discuss which role they want and use the appropriate title accordingly.

But the distribution of tasks (at least superficially) falls close to what a human would consider to be appropriate for a Lord and Lady, and elves are largely indistinguishable when it comes to gender anyway, which leads to a multitude of hilarious and also politically tense misunderstandings.

fuck yeah i love headcanoning fantasy races who don't do sexual differentiation and gender and all that the way humans do at least humans of the western variety but i don't have the background to get into that. dwarves just don't gender at all, i figured out pretty early, which is why i they/them gimli, but i wasn't too sure what to do wrt elves? they obviously Have Gender, and i like the idea of it looking superficially like the human system but operating very differently underneath, but i wasn't quite sure where to take it

but this made it click! the titles thing - i'm not sure why that wouldn't have much to do with class, you'll always have important people doing the important jobs (and vice versa!) but gender, yesss. elves describing a gender as a role in society they happen to be taking, almost like a facet of their job. and like, these roles aren't inherent or anything, a different person will do different things through the course in their lives, especially when they're immortal. the same elf might go by 'he' or 'she' or 'they' or some fancy-shmancy vanyarin neopronoun at different points in their lives, all more connected to their hypothetical dnd class than whatever their reproductive organs are doing that's a speculative biology rabbit hole i'll leave for another day

i feel like this could explain the apparent preponderance of dudes in the finwean family tree, for one. like, when the first humans come over the blue mountains, most-but-not-all of the local third-generation finweans are doing variations on the warlord archetype, which generally gets coded male. they get put down in the human histories as Always Guys, even though like half of them were going by she/her before the darkening. the exceptions, aredhel and galadriel, are both doing more subordinate female-coded social roles - very different female-coded social roles, if you asked them they would consider themselves different genders, or at most extremely culturally divergent takes on the same gender. orodreth probably also falls into this category, he's just either (a) doing a male-coded support role or (b) going down in human history as male from that time he failed to finrod

i dunno, i just like the image of humans initially assuming elf gender works like theirs, but slowly over the decades coming to the realisation that it’s completely different on every level below the surface

#ask #whotookliterallyallthenames #elves #humans #sorry for getting on my Weird Gender Shit soapbox i just enjoy playing with these ideas #i'm not sure how much of this i buy but it was interesting to think up #there's a specific gender role/pronoun set associated with capital e Evil #humans tend to translate it as 'it' but its connotations are more... malevolent #orcish in the sense of the shadows in the woods around cuivienen #it's an absolutely massive insult to use this set on anything that isn't a slavering monstrosity #'you're not a person you're a threat' #... i feel like this is how maglor thinks of itself after the end of it all #honestly this whole thing exists mostly to justify my genderfluid transfemme mags brain worms #'which one of them's the guy?' 'they're the lords of the gap the fuck do you mean' #weird gender shit

[valasania-the-pale]

Do you have thoughts on what Galadriel did in Valinor once she sailed?

There's a bunch that I think happens to her after she hits Aman, ranging from the obvious to probably less-so.

First, I think it's inevitable that there were many difficult reunions. Galadriel is a big personality even among heavyhitters of the First Age, and depending on who all is revived by the time she and the others reach Aman - even if you discount the entourage awaiting Elrond and Cirdan - the dock was almost certainly full. I personally imagine Galadriel as someone who probably collected people over her long term overseas - people like handmaids, advisors, protegees, craftspeople, personally loyal subjects, guards, etc. - who would have all left before her, and would be eager to meet her again. From how she meets the Fellowship, and how personal to each of them her contact was, I imagine her as the kind of person who, when she speaks to you, you feel as though she's speaking only to you. It's a good trait for a ruler, and it would go a long way to build loyalty for those who spent a long time around her. Add to that number family, of which she has plenty, as well as the formerly departed (those killed in the various battles in Beleriand, Doriath, Sirion, the War of Wrath, in Eregion, the Last Alliance - it goes on), and, again, that's a lot of people to catch up with. Galadriel lived a long life and she wasn't a hermit.

I can't imagine all of those meetings would be too kind either - her parents and siblings will all likely just be happy to have her back (with feelings mutually returned), but how might she feel about Fingolfin, who as-good-as killed himself and left Middle Earth to survive without a strong, rightful king? (not intending to give Fingon too little credit here - he was excellent, but still) What of Melian and Thingol, whose personal failings doomed the realm Galadriel spent so much of her time in during one of the most interesting periods of history? How might she greet all those family (brothers, cousins, all) who spent their lives in war and left her to carry on virtually alone? For similar reasons that I see Galadriel as someone who collected people over time, I also see her as someone who does so to fill in the gaps others' leaving has created. A lot of people have left her behind via various means. Elrond is special for not having done so, never mind that he's wise and staunch and her son in law. Celeborn is pretty much the only other, and he stayed behind (not forever, though).

But all that aside, I think once the reunions are over, I think Galadriel would seek out the gardens of Lorien. Valinor is cited as a place where 'night is quiet and sleep is true rest.' Galadriel is likely the most tired of any soul in all of Arda by the end, bar perhaps Maglor. Everyone else died or departed before her, and few could be said to be so personally involved in virtually all of history. I don't personally subscribe to the idea that Lorien can magically reinvigorate everyone so that they're seemingly unmarked by their cares, but I would imagine it would restore some of the lost, vital spirit and take the ragged edges off the spirit. Only time and love from one's surroundings can truly start to work the deeper healing.

And after that? It's hard to say; it kind of depends on the nature of Aman itself. If there's any political system at all, I would imagine she might enter it perhaps as an advisor. Galadriel's days as a monarch ended with (what I believe was) Hollin, but she would make an excellent councilor to whoever reigns, if not an occasional regent. I find it hard to imagine she would be uninvolved at all. Perhaps after that she would spend time in Lorien with Este and Nienna and Yavanna and Melian, and other times perhaps with the likes of Aule and Varda (this is the elleth who crafted Galadriel's Phial, which contained the light of a silmaril - she has some craft to her), and maybe on some days Manwe, debating the nature of authority in a world that defies limitations. I don't see her taking up a realm of her own like I see Elrond doing; instead I see her as a fixture of wherever she so places herself, with perhaps a very nice house and/or talan set aside for her own usage.

#Galadriel #Erynalasse

[mai-sau]

Prompt "give me attention" for kidnap family?

"haha, im gonna take it easy with prompts this time around, only a few hundred words -" cue spongebob title card "2.3k words later"

seriously tho thank you for the prompt!! (and sorry about the wait!) i had fun working on this one bc well i love any chance to write about this lil family of murderers and tiny bois :') hope u enjoy!!

Prompt: "Give me attention."

“Nelyo.”

“Nelyo.”

“Ne-”

Thump. Maedhros slammed his book shut. A puff of dust wheezed out from the crusty pages; Maglor could make out the swirl of particles flying about in the dim shafts of sunlight peeking into his brother’s study from windows that he was sure were clean at some point in their existence.

Said brother tossed a glare over to Maglor from the other side of his desk.

“You’re allowed to be here. Quietly.” Maedhros threw a pointed look towards the abandoned scroll in Maglor’s hands.

“But I’m so very lonely, Nelyo,” Maglor pouted, and dropped the scroll on the desk. The parchment rolled out towards Maedhros, whose face was fast approaching the same shade as his hair. “Besides, I’ve already taken care of all my correspondence for the day. Nothing much else to do, really, but seek out the company of my darling brother.”

“I’m older than you,” Maedhros grit out, rubbing his temple in terse little circles. Which one of them he was reminding Maglor couldn’t say.

“Only by a few years,” Maglor teased. He let the corners of his lip curl up - he was well aware this made him look like “a cat about to feast on the fattest saucer of milk it’s ever conned” according to his brother, and that was why he did it.

On top of that dusty old book, Maedhros’ fingers twitched. Got you.

“Come on, Nelyo,” he whined. “Give me attentiooon.”

Maedhros threw him a positively hateful look, but Maglor knew he wouldn’t throw him out just yet. By this point, Maglor liked to think he knew his brother well enough.

There were some things he didn’t, of course, and this was fine. When his brother would wake and traipse out to the courtyard in the dead of night, staring at the moon hungrily for hours and hours as if he would never glimpse its light amidst the pitch dark again; when one of the many elves around Amon Ereb would do something wrong - not when one of their craftsmen made the same excited little exclamation as Curvo used to, or hunters fletched their arrows just how Tyelko did, Maglor understood these, at least - but a request phrased too sweetly, an abrupt movement, a smile too wide, and Maedhros’ throat would tighten, his words clipped, before excusing himself to go lock himself in his room for an hour, or two, or three: these parts of his brother Maglor may never know.

But he knew much, or at least enough. A few months after they’d taken in the twins, Maglor had just finished mopping an explosion of jam on the dining floor and sweeping up the shards of what was once the hefty jar that contained it. He’d first gently let Elros know that if they wanted food, they need only ask; he’d then let him know that no, of course they wouldn’t cast him out for breaking the jam jar, with no small amount of tears or internal panic on either end of that conversation.

By the time Maglor slunk into Maedhros’ study that evening to go over reports from around the fortress, he was maybe a bit tired. When Maedhros told him to wait for just a few minutes while he wrapped something or other up, Maglor might’ve let slip a touch of petulance and no small amount of theatrics into his voice when he asked when his dear Nelyo could spare just a moment for his poor baby brother, simply wilting away from the neglect.

Maglor had frozen, fearful of what his second-most severe brother would have to say in response to - well, whining. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d let himself do so. Oh, he’d been quite the brat in Valinor, and used to be quite proud of that fact, thank you. Each and every one of his brothers’ last nerves practically had his name on it. But it seemed ever since they arrived here, it was as if they simply couldn’t afford the waste of time. Ribbing was a favored pastime of his in Aman, but Beleriand offered no such frivolities.

But living with the twins, putting on playful words and coaxing laughter from two young faces that Maglor couldn’t bear to see two seconds from breaking anymore, had apparently loosened his discipline.

He’d thought Maedhros would treat him to one of his signature frowns, barking at him that neither of them had time to make things any harder for each other, but instead he’d… laughed. Just the slightest huff of air, yes, but a laugh nonetheless. Maglor hadn’t heard his brother laugh since…

Well, if anything, he was honoring his cousin’s memory.

So Maglor experimented over the years, let a few more teases and whines slip into his day-to-day interactions with Maedhros. His brother had since mustered a valiant effort to act annoyed, but Maglor could still catch a muffled chuckle or smothered grin here and there.

So. All in all, he’s sure he knows his brother pretty well at this point, and Maedhros was not troubled (bad), just bothered (good).

Which, of course, meant they could continue to play; Maglor would show no mercy.

“Please? Please, please? Just a smidgen of tender love and care from my dearly beloved big brother?” Maglor asked, eyes wide and pleading, hands clasped in front of him as he leaned over the desk. His hair, inky black, spilled all over his scroll.

Maedhros’ nose twitched. His right ear flicked. Oh yes. He was close to a chuckle now, he could tell. His dearly beloved big brother stood no fucking chance.

“Oh dear Eru, let my brother pay attention to - MANWË’S TITS!” Maglor shrieked, springing up from his seat after spotting a dark shadow peeking through the window.

His brother whirled around. Quick as a viper, his hand darted out to grasp the hilt of his sword. Despite this, Maglor could hear a choked noise he was more than halfway certain was the chuckle he had so desperately hunted. Oh well.

A chubby face stared right back at them, eyes round as saucers. Wait, make that two faces.

Both Maglor and Maedhros sagged with relief.

“Elros, can you please come in?” Maglor croaked, feeling five feet to the left of his physical body. “You too, Elrond.”

The two of them nodded bashfully, heads bobbing as they fumbled over to the glass. And they were… flapping. Each twin sported small brown wings on their back, looking much like the falcons Tyelko used to play with as a child. Maglor supposed, thinking of a great bird soaring away over the sea with light itself clutched tight in its talons, maybe they should have expected this one in particular.

Elros pushed once, twice at the windows, tiny arms straining against the pane and looking more panicked by the second. Behind him, Elrond simply pointed to the - oh, the window latch. Yes.

Maedhros stood up and flicked it open. Elros came tumbling through, nearly bashing his skull on the desk before Maedhros caught him midair.

Elrond flew in smoothly and landed on Maglor’s empty chair, wings neatly folding in. Maedhros dumped Elros on his own chair. His wing smacked Maedhros’ arm by mistake.

“We talked about this. No new shapeshifting without me or Maglor there,” Maedhros said, fixing each of them with a stern look.

Both the twins looked down at this. Elrond wrung his little wrists.

“We’re sorry!” Elros burst out, tears welling up in his eyes. “We won’t do it again, promise!”

“That’s what you said last time, sweetheart,” Maglor told him.

“And the time before that,” Maedhros grumbled.

“What we’re saying, dear, is that we understand that you’re sorry. But keeping your word has to take first priority,” Maglor explained softly.

Maedhros coughed.

“Or, er, not doing it again,” Maglor corrected. “That’s what counts.”

“We understand,” Elros sniffled. “It’s just, we wanted to hear, but you weren’t there to check with, because well, you were here, and, well, um, yes -”

“Bringing us to the next point of order,” Maedhros rumbled. He raised a brow at both of them. “Eavesdropping. We have also been over this.”

Oh dear. Elros looked like he was about to drown in a puddle of tears. Maglor rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades soothingly, careful of the new feathery appendages.

Thankfully, Elrond stepped in. “We remember, it’s not nice because we like to be in private sometimes and it’s not fair for us to not let other people be too,” he recited shyly. “Um, we just… we know you both meet up a lot like this, and we know it's important… but… um…” His lip trembled; his voice cracked. “Do you... talk about us? Do you not want us to hear because it’s bad? Because we can do better!” He promised quickly, eyes wide and wet. “Elros is getting really good at his music lessons, he’s practicing a lot! And I’m working on my writing lessons every day!”

Something in Maglor’s chest twisted. “Oh, honey, no -”

But his brother beat him to the punch. Striding out from behind the desk, he knelt down in front of Elrond. “Can I hug you?” he asked very quietly.

Elrond bit his lip and nodded. Without another word, Maedhros wrapped him up in his arms.

They stayed like that for a moment, Maedhros’ hulking frame wrapped around Elrond’s body, like a drape of russet locks, leather and rich furs. When his brother finally pulled away, he gave a heavy look to both children.

“We will never give you away because you’re not good enough. Alright? You will always be good enough. Both of you,” he told them. He reached out and covered Elrond’s tiny hand with his own, fingers curling around and intertwining. “And not because you’re caught up on your lessons, or do what we say.”

“Though those are certainly nice,” Maglor added. He flashed them a teasing grin before taking care to soften his expression once more, and laid a gentle hand on Elros’ shoulder. “You will always have our love. And nothing, not even the worst jam spill, or missed harp lesson - don’t think I didn’t notice that last week, dearest - can ever reach in and steal it. It is your’s by blood and birthright.”

“Love you,” Elros sniffled. Elrond echoed him, voice no less wobbly.

Maedhros gifted them with a small smile. “Love you both, starlights.”

“And -” Elros started, hiccuped, and continued. “And same for me too. Nothing can change that! I’ll always love you two.”

Maglor felt a pang of sickly guilt invade his chest and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maedhros stiffen.

“Me too,” Elrond said, voice suddenly clear. Maglor glanced at him and met a gaze that seemed years ahead of its time; he froze, rooted to the spot. “We’ll always love you no matter what you do.”

“Well -” Maglor started. “That’s…”

“No need to worry about us,” Maedhros recovered quickly, waving his hand. “Now then, it’s nearing bedtime, hm?”

“But wait!” Elros cried. “What were you two talking about then?”

“Yes! We saw Atya going like this,” Elrond clasped his pudgy hands together and shook them. “And his voice sounded all funny, and then he prayed to Eru about Atar paying more attention to Manwe’s t-”

“ALRIGHT!” Maglor yelped, clapping his hands. His face must’ve been steaming, his cheeks were burning, oh stars - “Bedtime!”

“But we want to know why you were saying all those funny things,” Elros complained loudly. His voice slipped into a high pitched whine, dripping with petulance. “Nelyo, Nelyo, give me attentioooon -”

“I do not sound like that!” Maglor gasped, scooping up a giggling Elrond to be carried to bed.

“I do not sound like that!”

Maglor turned around, gaping. That was not Elros’ voice.

Maedhros stared back. His eyes glinted with mirth and the most shit-eating grin curled his lips. In his arms was a starstruck Elros, who looked no less shocked than if the clouds themselves had just burst into song and danced a lively jig. And quite frankly, Maglor would be less surprised.

Maedhros dealt him one last smirk before twirling on his heel and walking out of the room to go deposit one elfling in his bed. Maglor still had the other, who poked his cheek.

“Atya? Are you okay?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Maglor felt a smile grow across his face. His eyes stung with tears. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve before they could fatten and spill over his cheeks and probably make Elrond worry even more.

“Wonderful, dear.” He frowned for a second, considering. “Although I think there is a dreadful amount of mockery in my future.”

He looked down at Elrond. His son merely tilted his round head, offering a blank look. Maglor sighed happily. “But that’s okay.”

XXX

In time, it became clear that there was no need to worry about the looming threat of brotherly teasing paid back in full; Maedhros may have been looser with his laughter, but even this was a rare occasion still. Maglor did not mind, for any time he saw his brother’s eyes alight with anything other than fatal passion was a gift.

The true threat that lurked within Amon Ereb made itself known eventually.

Two weeks later, Maglor was scurrying to meet up with one of the smiths to discuss pending repairs but stopped short in front of a small figure in the courtyard blocking his path.

“Not now, sweetheart, Atya’s very busy,” Maglor told Elrond, harried, ready to flag down someone on the way to attend to whatever his son needed.

And then it happened. Elrond’s face crumpled just so. His eyes widened: big, round, and wet. His lip wobbled. When he opened his mouth, his voice took on a tone so absolutely, horribly pitiful that Maglor half-suspected the echo of Lúthien herself lived in his words.

“Please, Atya,” he begged, every word a death sentence. “Give me attentiooon.”

Oh Eru, Maglor despaired, even as he opened his arms for an evil little elfling to leap into, repairs forgotten. I’ve made a monster.

#this was also my first go at writing more humor #but the hurt/comfort managed to sneak in #kidnap dads #kidnap fam #maedhros #maglor #elrond #elros #my writing #writing prompts #fic #jaz-the-bard

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

Urusalirë (copper-song)

For @tolkienocweek Day 2: Family Members

Urusalirë (she/they) is Mahtan’s partner and Nerdanel’s other parent. The pair are in a QPR and married because it was more convenient and neither of them minded. They’re one of the reasons Mahtan gets his epessë “Urundil” (copper-lover/friend) besides loving the material itself.

Art notes: Those clover-sigils on her shirt? Took me forever to decide on them. I did a full colored version as well for the background but decided it looked too busy. I think I figured out a way to draw ✨treelight✨ in eyes, the star-pupil eye shine+glow. And speaking of eyes: yes I have her radial heterochromia, no I'm not ashamed.

Overall they’re a fairly lighthearted, cheerful, friendly person, and very chill compared to most of pre-Darkening Valinor. Urusalirë doesn’t possess the typical Noldorin form of crazy (PASSION! Make things for 3 days straight! Disagree with me and taste my blade! Food/sleep is for the weak!) and tends more towards “feral, possibly nocturnal, can’t settle on one hobby for more than a month, always busy but no one knows where/with what? disappears and reappears at random, are they a person or an Entity???” She has informed me that this is because they’re a Noldo by assimilation/ adoption, and their birth family were Tatyarin Avari. Of her grandchildren, Caranthir looks the most like her, and Maglor most takes after their personality (see: beach cryptid Sad-lor).

Officially, they’re a copper-smith “by day”. One of her adopted parents worked in a forge, which is how she and Mahtan met. They took one look at him and went “I’m gonna friend that.” She hung around the forge to talk to him so much that they got pretty good, but she isn’t passionate about it. Mostly, she focuses on everyday things to make and repair, which in Valinor means they aren’t often in high demand, so they have time to experiment with other hobbies. “By night” they enjoy singing and have a small but cult following. It’s one of the few things that’s kept her interest throughout their life (the others being socializing and stargazing, though she can’t do that in Aman pre-Darkening), but she doesn’t want to do it professionally.

Before everything goes Wrong, Fëanor ends up very close to his in-laws because Mahtan was his mentor, and Urusalirë took one look and instantly vibed with him (they do that a lot). She doesn’t become a mother figure (mommy-issues) but he goes to her when he needs advice about stuff he doesn’t want to be logical about. They end up being one reason Fëanor and Fingolfin’s relationship doesn’t deteriorate beyond repair pre-Melkor. They’re good with people, which means she can figure out what’s up and then tell him in a way that he doesn’t immediately dismiss their advice, unlike Mahtan. If it weren’t for Fëanor and Nerdanel’s big fallout, they probably would have gone along to Beleriand with him at Urusalirë’s urging.

She's an extrovert with a huge social circle, but despite having an abundance of friends, there are very few people they feel close enough to have a deep, sincere friendship with- though they’re perfectly happy with those who don’t realize this and assume their closeness is reciprocated in her. This is the result of an event while they were still in Cuivienen involving a spy of Morgoth, a much younger and looser-lipped Urusalirë, and her (dead) brother. It takes a lot for them to legitimately dislike a person, but one of the easiest ways is by hurting her family in some way. This makes Nerdanel and Fëanor’s separation especially heartbreaking for her, because they really did count him as family but they have to side with her daughter.

After the Darkening/Flight/Exile she becomes serious, approaching on grim. The majority of their friends and family are gone, and Tirion is near-empty. No one has the light-heartedness they used to, but those that went on the Great Journey have at least some idea of what the exiles are getting into. Her songs become significantly darker and bitter- she doesn't like the people trying to pretend nothing is wrong while vilifying the exiles, and though they don't blame the Valar it’s clear the trust there is gone.

They’re the only one of their remaining family to join the War of Wrath, since she and Mahtan agree that he should stay with Nerdanel. Hypothetically, they shouldn’t be involved in the fighting often, as she joined up as a smith. In practice, that doesn’t end up happening. Fortunately, they find killing orcs very cathartic. Unfortunately, she ends up dying in the end stages of the war. Fortunately, Mandos’ therapist skills have improved significantly with all the practice, and the Halls give her some much-needed rest and closure. They return relatively quickly, though not quick enough to be ahead of everyone else’s return and the list of the dead. They have a very emotional reunion with their family, and then settle into a routine that lasts until the very beginning of the fourth age, when Celebrimbor is reembodied.

#tolkien #silmarillion #tolkienocweek #mahtan #nerdanel #nerdanel's parent #urusalire #my ocs #my art #my writing

[animatorweirdo]

The frost breath

The fortress has been taken over by a force out of another world. Even Langon was embraced by an emotion he thought he couldn't feel, fear. Maglor finally finds you, but in a strange state. You were wrapped in flowers.

Warning; Violence, death and fear

Chapter 19

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It was utter chaos.

Orcs were screaming, trying to flee through the gate, but the beast chomped down on the first orc, who dared to step out of the fortress. The orcs stayed inside. They were trapped.

The orc captains tried to calm down the soldiers and take control of the situation, but orcs were dying one by one around them. Those who tried to escape on their own were devoured whole by the beast's maws. Those who tried to fight back were torn by its massive claws. Even as a group it was hard to fight against it. It would lure the individuals by mimicking the voices, sending a false sense of security and hope before devouring them after they stepped into its trap. The freezing snowstorm didn't bother the creature at all. It was like the snowstorm was its ally rather than dangerous weather.

"Hold your position! Hold your position!" The last surviving orc captain ordered the soldiers. His voice was muffled by the wind and the terror which controlled the orcs made them unable to hear what he was even saying.

"Hold your..." The orc captain froze in his place for what he saw. Like in a slow-motion; giant maws appeared before him. He was whisked away inside the beast's jaw before he could even react. The orcs yelled and screamed after they witnessed the fate of their last captain. There was now no one to lead them. The army scattered into chaos and despair. They were unable to fight against the beast that came out of nowhere.

The snow queen watched the chaos from one of the destroyed high towers, unfazed by the blood and the death before her. Even though; she held no emotions. She was rather proud of how the young one dealt with her enemies.

The chaos continued, the beast continued its slaughter until there were no screams left to hear. The conquered fortress was now filled with haunting silence, like the cheers of victory when it was taken; never occurred.

The doors opened, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Langon walked out into the main hall. Shock and confusion were written on his face as he witnessed the state it was in. Snow and ice covered every stone of the floor and the walls. The frozen statues of the orcs just decorating halls with a haunting theme. "My lord!" The last surviving orcs who came to the main hall for safety ran up to him. They bowed down to him. "My lord! There is a monster outside!" One of them said. "Every orc outside the fortress has been slaughtered or devoured! What do we do?!" Another orc asked. Devoured? Langon questioned in his mind. His thoughts then came to you. Were you doing this? That's impossible, you were in Maluk's hands. Come to think of it; where was Maluk? He should have dealt with the trivia outside long ago.

Everyone froze when they heard a growl. The main hall fell into a deep silence. Langon picked up something dark with his fea and looked toward the ceiling. The huge hole he had covered was now visible again, letting snow inside the hall.

One certain orc recognized the growl. "It's the monster," He whispered in a quiet tone, his face becoming pale with fear. The orcs yelped when the two main doors to the hall opened. The doors slammed against the walls, creating a loud banging noise. The orcs prepared their weapons for a fight, but no one came in. The doors were moving and leaping around because of the wind. "Wait... Didn't two orcs stay behind to guard the entrance? Where are they?" One of the orcs asked. Like his question has been answered; two bodies fell from above. They slammed against the floor with a loud thud, scaring the life out of all the orcs inside the hall. They yelled and pointed their weapons at the bodies. Langon looked at the state they were in. They were decapitated. Their bodies were fine, but their heads were missing. They were ripped out of their bodies. Langon looked up toward the dark part of the ceiling. He had a feeling where the heads were.

Something large moved in the dark. A giant, pale skull showed itself from the shadows. The orcs stood back in fear when they saw the head in the ceiling. Two bright frozen eyes stared down on them like two bright pearls in the dark. One certain orc recognized those eyes. He escaped from a monster which hunted the whole raiding squad and killed his brother. It had the same eyes as the monster in the forest. "I... It's the monster!" He yelled.

The monster growled and lunged toward them. Langon and the orcs got out of they way, so they wouldn't get crushed, but a one certain orc didn't got out of the way in time. The monster landed right on top of him. He was crushed by its weight and died on the spot. It lowered its head toward him then let out satisfied crumbles. It finally caught the prey that got away. Langon stood back and took in the creature's appearance. He recognized your frozen eyes. This was... You. How could this be? You looked nothing like before. He could barely tell if you were even a human anymore. Your frozen eyes glowed under the giant skull of a deer. You were taller than a troll but shorter than a Balrog. Your arms were longer and your fingers were covered in thick ice formed into claws. Thick Grey fur covered your shoulders and your neck like a lion's mane. You stood on your four, but if you were to stand up; you could reach the height of a Balrog.

You were... A terrifying sight. Your human fea was gone; replaced by a dark fea which was cold as ice and was just blazing with dread, and hunger. A hunger to devour every living being. You could be equal to Ungoliant and Langon has never even met the great spider of the void. Only heard stories about her never-ending hunger.

You turned your gaze toward Langon. He stood back, he almost allowed shivers to run across his back. A deep growl came through your throat. You raised your skull face, leaned back a bit, and let out a powerful roar. The orcs stood back in fear, but one orc decided to charge toward you, yelling like a maniac. You smacked the orc away when he got too close. He was sent flying and he hit one of the frozen statues which shattered from the impact. You smacked that orc like a fly. The attack the orc tried to make was feeble and pathetic, but it somehow managed to encourage other orcs to attack. They yelled and came at you like they were in a war. Langon watched as the fight began.

The orcs attacked you from every direction that you were in the middle and unable to escape. They were just about to hit you, but you then disappeared and their weapons hit the dead orc which was under you. "What the-!?" One of the orcs yelled. You snarled, catching their attention. You were high above the ceiling. Langon looked at you, shocked. When did you manage to get there? With a roar, you leaped toward the orcs. Your maws snatched one of the with speed Langon has never seen.

You leaped on one of the stone pillars. The orc in your blood drenched maws struggled until you bit down on him. His body went limb and dark red blood flowed between your sharp fangs. Opening your maws, you let the dead orc fall from your mouth.

The surviving orcs started shaking and whimpering in fear. They didn't see you come at them, but you already caught one of them and killed him in cold blood. This sent a deep, dreadful message to them.

They're gonna die.

You snarled and leaped toward them again. They yelped, preparing for a fight. Even though; it was hopeless.

Langon watched as the onslaught was happening right in front of him. One by one; you killed an orc with your teeth and claws. You moved around the hall, using pillars, the walls, and the ceiling to move yourself to your another victim. It was like moving your large body was a child's play to you. Orcs screamed and yelled as they were slaughtered. You bit some of them down, but some of them you sent flying against the walls, killing them with brute force. Langon has seen your speed when you were in your human-like form, but now as a large beast; you were faster than before. He could barely keep up with his eyes.

Langon finally realized that the screaming had ended. It was silent. He looked for the remaining orcs but found all of them dead. He was alone. Alone with you.

You dropped the dead orc on the floor as your gaze was fixated on the dark maiar. You set yourself down from the pillar and slowly approached him. Langon's heart started beating fast, there was also a dreadful feeling shaking his core. He couldn't almost believe it. He was afraid. Afraid of you.

He started chanting in the dark tongue. The shadows in the hall started responding to him. He then showed his hand toward you. The shadows went to approach you. You noticed the same trick he once used on you. You growled, stopping on your tracks. You cried out a haunting howl like roar. Langon closed his ears from the loudness of it. Your fea suddenly pulsed like a wave. The shadows scattered away from you, returning to the darkness. You focused back on Langon. You quickened your pace and approached him. He quickly recovered from his shock and focused on you. He couldn't believe it. Somehow, you 'scared' the shadows away. He growled in anger. He opened his palm and a blue, grey fire engulfed his hand. He never thought he would have to get serious and use more powerful magic on you. He threw the fire at you in a powerful blast. You took a direct hit to your face and backed away with a cry. Langon observed if that had any effect on you. What he sent was ghost fire. It's a form of flame which doesn't harm the physical body but burns the fea. It's a dangerous flame which would erase a fea from existence. You screeched and growled as it was like something was burning within you. Langon observed as his fire started burning your monstrous fea. The flame was visible in his eyes, it was taking effect but then something impossible happened. You roared and the monstrous fea... Devoured the ghost flame, then it went out. Langon stood back in shock. You devoured the ghost flame! One of the most powerful forms of fire. The dark fea around you started blazing with fury. You roared and charged at him. Langon formed more ghost fire, and threw it at you. Your head only moved a bit from side to side as you took in the hits. You didn't even bother to dodge them like they were nothing to you. You got closer to him and now you opened your maws at him, ready to stab your teeth through his flesh. Langon stopped and stepped back. You showed your fangs then brought them down on him.

Camilla and Maglor jolted when they heard crows cawing , and flying away from the fortress. It became quiet soon and the snowstorm seemed to start calming down. Maglor rubbed his eyes because he almost fell asleep during the wait. How long have they been waiting? He glanced at the snowstorm. The cold air soon vanished into a mild chill. The wind calmed into a gentle breeze, bringing less snow than before.

"I think she's done. Let's go," Camilla continued toward the fortress when the path became clear. He glanced at the fortress. His heart beating anxiously on thoughts of seeing you again. He wasn't sure how your meeting would go, and he was a bit afraid of what he will find when he enters his former fortress. He stopped thinking and followed Camilla toward his former fortress, and toward you.

In a lonely tower. You walked with careful steps into a room. The hole in the ceiling gave you a clear view of the sky and snow was gently falling inside the room. Your blue eyes gazed down on the deer skull. You laid down on your knees, and placed the skull mask in front of you. You placed it that it was looking at you. You stared at it for a moment before looking at the sky. Dark roots suddenly grew around you. It started wrapping around you and grow blue flowers. You leaned your head back, opening your mouth wide open and closing your eyes. Blue flowers started growing out of your mouth until it reached the full growth. You sat there, wrapped in flowers. Your eyes closed like you were in peaceful slumber; unbothered by the snow and the cold.

Camilla opened another cell door. "Alright people, you can come out, you're free!" She told the elves inside the cell, then went to open another cell. The elven prisoners walked out with hesitation, but then calmed down when they saw Maglor. They yelled in their language; relief and joy in their tone. Maglor calmed them down. He recognized some of them as his former servants and soldiers. He spoke to them and told them the way to leave the fortress. To be honest, he was surprised that so many prisoners were still alive. Maybe the cells protected them, or maybe you don't go after a easy prey. Maybe as a wendigo, you still have some of the morals still in control. He noticed Camilla opening another cell and the prisoner who came out gave him a shock. It was a very familiar face, who he thought was dead. It was his captain. He vanished when the sudden flames assaulted his fortress.

The elf bowed to Camilla in gratitude. "Rhaon!" Maglor called out, walking up to them. "My lord!" Rhaon said in deep surprise before bowing to his lord. Camilla walked away to give the two peace. "(I'm glad to see you alive)" Maglor spoke in their language. "(Same here, my lord, but... What are you doing here?)" Rhaon questioned. Maglor was about to answer, but then someone loud decided to use their voice very loudly. "Excuse me! Has anyone seen a human girl this tall, with these features and a personality of a fool, who knows how to get into trouble!" Camilla explained. Elves started whispering to each other as some shook their head. "Human girl... Wait, isn't she?" Rhaon pointed at Camilla. "Yes, we once saved her from a warg. The other human girl was captured here. Have you seen her at all?" Maglor asked. Rhaon stood quiet for a moment. "I don't think so... I did hear there was one human captive, but..." He started. "Wait..." He remembered something. "I did! She was forced to work under a crazy maiar named Maluk as he did experiments on us! But then the creature arrived and... I haven't seen her since," He explained. "I don't think she might be alive..." He added. Maglor sighed. "Don't worry... I know she is," He said. "Rhaon, lead these elves to Himring. The roads should be safe enough to travel," He explained. "I will follow you behind," He was about to go to Camilla until Rhaon grabbed his arm, stopping him. "My lord! The creature has slaughtered every orc in the fortress and it might not be friendly to us! I don't think it wise for you to go!" He explained. "I will be fine. Take these elves to Himring as fast as you can. And I will not be alone, trust me on this," Maglor pulled his arm away and walked toward Camilla. "... Yes, my lord," Rhaon said with hesitation before going to fulfill his lord's order.

Maglor walked up to Camilla, who was standing in the entrance of the stairway after checking every cell." I guess that's a no since no one answered my question," She said. "Oh well. Let's go," She turned around and started walking up the stairs. Maglor is right behind her. "She might be somewhere around here, so let's hope we will dump into her sooner or later," She said. "I was told (Name) was taken by a maiar named Maluk," Maglor said. "Maluk... Now, who the heck is that?" Camilla questioned as she came to the top of the stairs. She opened the doors then they came to a hallway. "Who knows most likely just one of the maiars who got seduced by Morgoth's power," Maglor explained. "Who are the worst maiars under his service?" She asked as they then walked along the hallway. "They would be the balrogs, they are his most cruel servants, and their bodies are engulfed in dark flames. My father perished when battling with them," He said. "How many was he against?" Camilla asked. "At least six," Maglor remembered the day like it was yesterday. "No offense, but going alone against six balrogs without backup is a plan of a fool," Camilla boldly stated. "I... You're not wrong," Maglor said. They came to another hallway. "Are there any other maiars we should be worried about?" Camilla asked. "There is Gorthaur the cruel, or commonly known as Sauron. Morgoth's lieutenant," Maglor explained. "Interesting, now let's end the chit-chat and try to find our girl here," Camilla looked around. Maglor nodded and followed along.

The two looked around for minutes, going from hall to a hall, checking out rooms and rooms. Camilla turned around the corner, then stopped when she saw a dead body in front of her. It wasn't another orc and it was in another state than all the other dead bodies. "What did your guy said about a maiar named Maluk?" She asked, turning to Maglor. "That (Name) was taken by him and that he's crazy," He explained. "Well, we don't need to worry about him anymore," She pointed out. Maglor frowned then walked around her to see. On the floor in the hallway laid a dead body of Maluk. He was white and covered in frost. He looked like he was frozen to death. Even Maglor knew this was not your doing. Your handiwork is more like ripping and tearing limb from a limb. This had to be the snow queen's doing.

"I think I know why (Name) hasn't shown up yet," Camilla said. "What is the most desolated place here?" She asked. Maglor looked at her with a confused frown.

The two walked into an open room of the tower. "Ta-da! Here's she is!" Camilla said, then walked up to your figure. Maglor stopped at the doorway and stared at your state. Why were you wrapped in vines and flowers? He walked closer toward you and Camilla, then was startled when he saw the blue flowers growing out of your mouth. Out of instinct, he grabbed on the roots of the flowers, intending to pull them out. "Don't!" Camilla grabbed his hand, preventing him from pulling the flowers. "But-!" Camilla interfered again. "Don't worry, this is normal and she's not suffocating," She explained, letting go of his hand. Maglor pulled his hand away from the flowers. He stood quiet for a moment. "What happened to her?" He asked. "She's in a... Hibernation-like... Slumber. There isn't really a proper term for it. When a wendigo gets severely injured, they tend to go to a desolated place and shut down their bodies. These flowers are like their healers, they fix their injuries," She explained. Maglor took a moment to progress the knowledge. "Why are they growing out of her mouth? "He asked." They're called Frost breaths; I think that's why, " Camilla then stood up. Maglor frowned at her. "Let's make a fire and wait. It's for the best we wait her healing is done, then we don't need to worry about getting her to the healers, " She explained. "Now help me look for some dry wood, " She started looking around the place.

Maglor crouched down to you. You looked peaceful. Even though; you had flowers growing out of your lungs. He inspected the injuries you had. Your shoulder was in a bloody mess; he can guess in what kind of pain you were in. What kind of torture you went through. It broke his heart to even think about it. The frost breath was wrapped around you like you were a decorated corpse. He glanced at the deer skull which was sitting in front of your slumbering figure. It was disturbing to look into its eyes, so he turned it around that it was looking elsewhere than you. He then glanced at you again. He wasn't sure if you even were alive, but he's gonna trust Camilla's word and wait for you to wake up.

The night soon came. The snowstorm stood calm and didn't bother you three at all. The bonfire crackled and illuminated the room with warm light. Camilla tended the bonfire and made sure it wouldn't go out. Maglor was glancing at you from time to time. He was usually a patient elf thanks to his younger brothers, but now he felt restless. The silence was overbearing and he kinda wished he brought his harp along; so he could at least fill the silence with music. But his worry over you was the main reason...

His ear caught cracking sounds. He looked toward you and saw the dark vines wrapping tight around your arm. There was a loud crack before your arm moved up by itself. He watched the scene with utmost concern. Were those sounds... Your bones? The cracking sounds stopped and the vines moved no more, but his worry for your health didn't cease at all. It just got bigger. "The frost breath fixed her broken arm," Camilla stated. "They can fix broken bones?" Maglor questioned. "Yep, that's what makes them special and very rare," She answered, then pointed at the flowers on your body with the stick she has been poking the bonfire with. "The frost breath outside will place the bones back to their places and hold them there until the frost breath inside her lungs heals all the internal injuries," She explained. She then put the stick down and moved next to you. "Check this out," She said, moving your shirt to show your bare shoulder. Maglor almost looked away because Camilla was literally showing your skin without your consent, but his attention was caught when he saw water flowing on your skin. Your deep shoulder injury slowly started healing itself then... It was gone. The water even cleaned all the blood away, like the injury was never there. He looked closer, there wasn't even a trace of a scar.Camilla finally covered your shoulder. "Let's boil some water. I think it's a good time to return to Himring," She stood up. "Do you have a kitchen around somewhere?" She asked. Maglor snapped out of his trance. "Yes, I show you," He stood up.

After boiling the water in a pot. Camilla held your mouth open and moved the frost breath a bit to make space. Maglor stood in front of you, holding a bowl of boiling water. "Now, carefully pour the water into her mouth in tiny pours, too much hot water might damage her lungs," Camilla explained. Maglor looked at her with hesitation. "Isn't this gonna hurt her?" He asked. Boiling water in your lungs didn't sound great at all. It sounded very painful, a bit worse than drowning. "Don't worry, her body temperature is so low that a little bit of hot water will not do anything to her. We just want to remove the frost breath," She explained. "I... Uhm..." Maglor looked at you. You were now in a better state, but pouring hot water didn't appease him at all. "I can do it if you don't want to," Camilla suggested. "No! I can do it," He quickly said. To this point, he hasn't been much of a help. He wants at least to do something for your sake. He leaned the bowl toward your mouth as Camilla held you steady. He poured tiny drops against the walls of your airway and a bit against the roots. The act continued until the petals of the frost breath suddenly died down and started withering. Maglor stopped and stood back. He watched as the blue flowers became colorless and withered. "Now, we just need to pull it out," Camilla stood up. "I take care of this part. Keep her steady while I pull it out," She said.

Maglor set the bowl down, then did what Camilla told him to do. He carefully held your head steady as Camilla grabbed the withering flower. She slowly started pulling the flower up. Maglor watched discomfort when he saw how long the roots were. That was in your lungs?! He almost jumped when you suddenly jolted. He held you tighter in his hands, then glanced at Camilla with worry in his eyes. "Don't worry it sometimes happens," She said then continued pulling the flower. She kept going until it was fully out. Your eyes suddenly opened, still blue in color. Your head leaned forward, closing your mouth. Maglor caught you in his embrace. The flowers around you withered, releasing you from their hold. You let out a deep breath before your eyes closed automatically.

Maglor held you in his arms, unsure what to do. "It's done. We can go home now," Camilla said then held the withered long plant up. "Check this out, it's almost long as your sword," She said. "Please put that down. It was in (Name)'s lungs," Maglor said. "Alright," She crushed the flower into dust. Maglor glanced at you then held his fingers against your cheeks. You were cold as ice. He took off his cape and wrapped it around your body. He put the hood over your head. He can resist the current weather, but you needed some warmth in that state.

"Ready to go?" Camilla asked. "Yeah. Let's go," Maglor picked you up in bridal style. Camilla kicked snow into the bonfire, putting the fire down and letting the room fall into darkness.

#silmarillion x reader #maglor x reader #silmarillion #maglor #wendigo reader #silmarillion imagines #maglor imagines #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagines #Silmarillion fanfiction #supernatural reader #silm fic #tolkien #maglor x wendigo reader

[arofili]

If you are still doing the dialog prompts, I would like Elrond and Caranthir for 11.

(I tweaked the prompt a bit to fit the scene I had in mind!)

~

11. “We could get in big trouble for this,” Elrond whispered to his twin. 

“We’re always in big trouble,” Elros dismissed. “Don’t you want to figure out who this place used to belong to? Atar always gets so sad when we ask, and Atya...”

He trails off, but Elrond knows what he means. He wouldn’t know what else to call their Atar, but it still feels strange to name Maedhros Atya. He’s always been the more distant of their caretakers, only recently warming enough to show his softer side, and neither of them have the courage to ask him about the castle’s former owner for fear he’ll snap back to that cold, distant person he was before.

“Okay, fine,” Elrond relented, and crouched down to let Elros climb on top of his shoulders to reach the door handle.

He turned the key they’d stolen from the chamberlain in the lock, and Elrond held his breath as he heard it click open. Elros scrambled down and together they pushed open the door, at last entering the forbidden room.

A thin layer of dust coated every surface of the room, showing it had been undisturbed for years, and yet every item it contained was neatly tucked away in a bookshelf, on a desk, beneath the bed. It was sad, empty, lonely, but most of all it was orderly, in a way neither of their father figures ever were. The room was grand, bigger even than Maglor’s bedchamber, and blazed with Fëanorian stars on every inch of embroidery: curtains, bedsheets, tidily stacked robes. Elrond hadn’t known what to expect, but this was certainly not it.

He stared, taking it all in, as Elros prowled forward. He sneezed softly as dust tickled his nose, and for some reason it struck Elrond as wrong that the layers of years had suddenly been mucked up by his footsteps. And yet, he could not undo it, nor would Elrond dare hold back his gnawing curiosity any longer.

He stepped after his brother, peeking into drawers full of papers written in a neat script he could not read. The numerals he recognized, as well as the sign marking it as currency, and he squeaked as he realized just how much money whoever lived here had dealt with on the regular.

“Elrond,” Elros hissed, “look at this!”

Elrond turned to see Elros pointing at a strange device on a high shelf, a frame fit with several rods stacked with beads. He had never seen such a thing before, and had no idea what it was supposed to be.

“Who lived here?” Elros wondered. “They must have been the lord of this place, or—or something...”

“Could it be a guest room?” Elrond said uncertainly. “Look...that’s a dwarvish hat, on that stand. I’ve only ever seen Mae—Atya’s dwarf friends wear something like that...an elf wouldn’t have it.”

Elros gasped, pulling at the sleeve of one of the long robes. “That’s the Haladin symbol!” he exclaimed, only for Elrond to shush him. “But it is,” he insisted, quieter. “I remember, Ada, I mean our first Ada, he had a shield with that on it, from his ada... It’s a mortal thing.”

“Dwarves and mortals?” Elrond said, scratching his head. “And, I couldn’t read most of it, but there was a paper with some sort of treasury account, and it was so much money. We could’ve rebuilt Naneth’s tower with all that money...”

They didn’t often speak Ada and Naneth, especially not when their new fathers were around, but the reminder of them both, in this room, stirred something within him.

“Do...do you think...” Elrond began hesitantly. “Do you think...we know Atar and Atya, we know they stole us. And if they hadn’t burned it down they could’ve stole our old home. Do you think...they stole this place? Maybe from dwarves, or mortals. Maybe we’re not the first children they’ve...kidnapped.” Maglor and Maedhros were their fathers, they were, and they loved them, but—well, Elrond knew what else they were, too, even if he didn’t like to think about it.

There was a cough from the door. Elros yelped and hid behind Elrond, who stared guiltily up at...oh no. They were in big trouble, because the adult who had caught them wasn’t Atar...it was Maedhros.

“What are you doing here?” Maedhros rumbled. His voice was so, so very low, and always sounded rough and scary, like he had some mortal illness. But he was an elf, despite the mass of scars across his body, and elves didn’t get sick like that.

“We...we...” Elrond stammered, trembling.

Maedhros sighed, and Elrond realized...he wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even that sad. He was...tired.

“You’re not in trouble,” Atya said, “though I think the chamberlain would appreciate it if you returned the key you stole.”

Meekly, Elros returned it to their father. Maedhros reached down to grasp his hand, hesitating before offering his cold golden prosthetic to Elrond. Not wanting to push their luck any more than they already had, Elrond grabbed onto it gingerly, still not all that fond of the inanimate touch.

Atya led them from the room, locking it behind him, and outside to a nearby balcony. It was a cloudy day, but a slight breeze blew from the north, running through Elrond’s hair and making him shiver. Elros clung to Atya’s hand, leaning into his warmth. Atya himself stood still, unaffected by the cold, and Elrond remembered Atar saying something about them having lived in a cold place before.

“Now,” Atya said, soft as his gravelly voice could manage, “would you like to tell me what you were doing in my brother’s room?”

Elrond exchanged a wide-eyed glance with his twin. “Your...brother?” he asked hesitantly. “That was Atar’s room? I thought...”

“No,” Atya said, looking out to the horizon, utterly still. “Not Maglor’s room.”

“You have another brother?” Elros guessed.

“No.” Atya looked down at them at last, and Elrond saw that his eyes shone with unshed tears. “I had...five others.”

“Five?” Elros gasped, as Elrond whispered, “Had?”

“You don’t know.” Atya smiled, the scar on his lip twisting his face into something that would’ve been frightening if Elrond didn’t know him well enough. “I suppose, before...they would have just called us ‘the Fëanorians.’ More than one, but not how many.”

“What were their names?” Elrond asked, before wincing as he remembered that Atar and Atya had so many names, and likely their brothers did too.

“There were seven of us.” Maedhros lifted up his hand, then sighed. “Right. I don’t have that many fingers anymore. Well, there were seven: myself, the oldest. Maglor. Celegorm. Caranthir. Curufin. Amrod. Amras.”

Something like dread made Elrond shiver. Those names...they were harsh, cruel. He thought he’d heard them before, not in the way Naneth and Ada had told him stories about their ancestors—the Haladin, Bëor’s folk, Hador’s line, Gondolin, Doriath, Lúthien—but in hushed tones, whispers of ancient evil. Like they’d spoken of the Enemy.

“Celegorm...?” Elros asked hesitantly. “Like...Celegorm who killed Naneth’s brothers?”

“He didn’t—” A shadow of pain flickered across Maedhros’ face, and Elros flinched back. But Atya did not fly into a rage, or even reprimand him. Instead he said quietly, “He did many things, but not that.”

“Will you tell us stories about them?” Elrond asked, wanting to know more about their uncles.

“Maglor is a better storyteller.”

“Atar won’t talk to us about the room,” Elros blurted out. “He gets sad.”

“The room...? Oh.” Atya grimaced. “Well. They are all dead, and he is sentimental. This castle, that room...they used to be Caranthir’s. The middlest of our brothers. He died in Doriath.”

Doriath. Dimly Elrond remembered his mother’s stories, though it was Oropher who told better tales, for he remembered those halls well. Doriath had fallen, assailed by enemies, and so Naneth had fled to the sea. He had always assumed those enemies to be orcs and other terrible things, but...Atar and Atya had burned down Sirion. Maybe they had burned down Doriath, too.

He didn’t want to dwell on that, not now. He needed to learn that other script, the other language that Atya and Atar spoke to one another, for he was sure Caranthir had been writing in it. If he could read those papers, those journals, the history of this place would unravel itself for him, he knew it.

“Did you love him?” he asked instead of some other, damning question. Because really, that was more important, if his atya had loved his brother Caranthir like he loved Atar.

“Yes,” Atya murmured. “I wish I had told him that, more, before the end.”

“I love you,” Elros offered, squeezing his thigh. “And Elrond does too.”

“Mhm,” Elrond agreed, clutching his other leg.

Atya smiled again, and this time he didn’t look nearly as scary. “I love you, too.”

#silmarillion #elrond #elros #maedhros #caranthir #feanorians #kidnap fam #silm #my writing #my fic #tefain nin #ask games #this...is probably not what you had in mind lol #i thought about a post-reembodiment fic but then this happened. oops #also this is long geez #ceridawn #answers #long post #love grew after between them

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Silmarillion as a TV/Netflix Series (Part 6)

This is by far the trickiest part, because I have no specific ideas for adapting the strategy and tactics of the War of Wrath. But there are a few big points to settle first. One of the major questions is whether the Valar themselves are going to be involved in the war.

If they are, it’s hard to imagine how the war could take 50 years.

If they aren’t, it’s hard to imagine how it could be won at all: the Vanyar-Noldor army of Valinorean elves is not especially larger than the original Noldorin forces in Middle-earth, and the remaining forces of the Sindar and Noldor of Middle-earth are so far depleted as to be neglibible. So, if it was virtually impossible for the Noldor to defeat Morgoth when they first arrived near the start of the First Age, or during the Long Peace, before he’d had the time to develop more and more dragons and other monsters within Angband, it’s hard to see why it would be possible for similarly-sized Elven armies to defeat him now. (Remember, the Valinorean Noldor are only 10% of the original group of Noldor.) Also, if the Valar aren’t involved, it’s hard to see how the war could be so cataclysmic as to literally destroy the landmass of Beleriand.

The Silmarillion states “The Host of the Valar were arrayed in forms young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet.” I take this as meaning at least some of the Valar did go to war themselves; while it’s possible to read the phrase as referring to only Maiar, that seems like far from the most obvious reading. Manwë and Varda would not go (I think Tolkien said or implied this somewhere), but Tulkas and Oromë, whose purposes specifically include combat against evil things, certainly would. Ulmo, also, would undoubtedly be involved. And I think Aulë and Yavanna would as well, for love of the shapes and creatures of the world that Morgoth had destroyed and corrupted. I’m not as good as imagining Vana and Nessa in battle-shape, but it’s certainly possible. Of the Fëanturi, Lórien, Estë, and Nienna would come at some point, but in non-combat roles and to do what healing and cleansing of land and spirits as they could. And all these would be accompanied as well by large numbers of Maiar. (Including Melian! Likely including Curumo as well, he seems like the type of person who would want to be involved.)

If there’s a question as to why Eönwë would be commanding when Valar are there, I don’t see a contradiction. The general of an army is neither inherently the most powerful warrior nor the person of the highest social status. If he’s generalling, it’s because that’s the role he’s suited for.

The second major question lies in the basic contradiction between timelines indicating the War of Wrath took about 50 years, and the statement that the onslaught of the winged dragons lasted for “a day and night of doubt” and is one part of the battle noted where the Host of the Valar was on the defensive and retreating. Now, I have no military knowledge, but even to me it seems obvious that a war which lasts for fifty years and in which the largest setback for the victorious side lasts for one day make no freaking sense.

And on top of that, cinematically a fifty-year war would be very difficult to depict. So for the show, I think we’re better off having events proceed considerably more quickly than that.

As far as individual episodes go:

Episode 1: This episode is set-up. In Valinor, preparations for war, and the rising of the Star of Eärendil, seen in Middle-earth (including by Maedhros and Maglor, and Elrond and Elros). In Middle-earth, some scenes of Maedhros and Maglor raising the twins (I think it’s stated somewhere that they went far south, beyond the regions where Morgoth’s for es had a heavy presence). Some scenes on Balar dealing with the aftermath of the Fëanorian attack on Sirion. (What do they do with Fëanorians who surrendered afterwards? What do they do with Fëanorians who changed sides and fought on in their defence but who they still don’t trust?) The episode ends with arrival of the Host of the Valar.

Episodes 2 through 8 are the War itself, which, again, I have no idea how to construct. The Elves of Valinor are arriving by boat; and I expect that the Valar and Maiar would, for the most part, accomoany them. The landing would take place mainly all along the Falas, from Nevrast to the Mouths of Sirion, as well as farther north around the First of Drengist where Fëanor first landed.

Morgoth’s forces are spread throughout all of Beleriand, but vary in type. Hithlum stands out because it is not mainly inhabited by monsters, but by Men - the Easterlings and those among the Edain who are their thralls. I have an impression - partly from the Manwë’s reaction to the later Númenorean invasion, yielding authority to Eru even though the Valar certainly had the capacity to defeat Ar-Pharazon’s army - that the Valar and Maiar would be very uncomfortable about making war against Eruhini, even those who served Morgoth. So the portion of the invasion force at Drengist would be in large part the Edain, with some Elven and Maia support, and soon aided by uprisings among the Edain thralls. The role of Maiar or Valar here would largely be to keep the orcs and wolves and monsters of Morgoth at bay outside the mountains of Hithlum, but to leave the conflict against the Easterlings of Hithlum largely to the Edain and Eldar.

This would bring the northern portion of the army quite close to Angband, but they couldn’t attack from there - the Anfauglith would be packed with monsters and defenses, never mind the ever-present threat of Morgoth flooding the place with lava.

The greater part of the Valinorean forces would sweep east and north from the coast, facing substantial armies’ or Morgoth’s creatures (including cold-drakes, non-winged dragons, wolves, giant spiders, and really anything else horrifying you can think of; but the balrogs are being held in reserve by Morgoth for the defense of Angband). Various Maiar of Morgoth would be involved, including Sauron. One thing to note is that despite the presence of Valar, the Valar aren’t (aside from Tulkas and maybe Oromë) inherently suited to combat - that’s why Tulkas showed up in the first place. Even back in the Ages of the Stars, the Valar’s attack on Utumno was a hard fight - and that was when Morgith’s forces were far smaller than during the War of Wrath, though Morgith himself was personally more powerful then). So it’s not implausible for things to take some time and be challenging.

Episode 7 is the fight against the winged dragons and death on Ancalagon, and Episode 8 is the destruction of Angband and the casting of Morgoth into the Void.

Episode 9 includes Maedhros and Maglor’s demand for the Silmarils, Eönwë’s response, the brothers’ attempts to steal the jewel, and Maedhros’ death and Maglor’s departure from the known lands. This episode would also include scenes of the aftermath of Angband’s overthrow, the freeing of thralls and of captive spirits, in which the Fëanturi and their associated Maiar would have a large role (shout-out to @thearrogantemu’s latest fic!). At least a few of the Maiar who served Morgoth would genuinely surrender, which could be contrasted with Sauron considering surrender but ultimately choosing against it due to being unwilling to face consequences.

Episode 10 is the journey of (some of) the elves of Middle-earth to Valinor; the choice of others to stay (including Galadriel and Celebrimbor’s choices, and Galadriel’s last conversation with her father); and the promise of a new land for the Edain. It would also include the rebirth of Finrod in Valinor, giving hope that many of the audience’s favourite characters are not permanently dead, though it may be a long while before they return to life. I think having this at the very end is the best way to deal with elven rebirth without it feeling like a bit of a cop-out. If Finrod’s alive at the start of Season 6, you’re going to have pragmatically-minded viewers asking why the Valar don’t revive the Noldor as a whole and chuck ‘em at Morgoth - after all, if they die again, they can just come back again! Elven rebirth needs to be treated seriously, not as convenient respawning, so I think introducing it just as a possibility, for many years in the future, and at the end of the series, is the way to go.

This is also a great episode to show all the different reasons for different elves’ decisions on whether to return to Valinor. Returning out of weariness, or desire to see their families, or repentance, or simply having had enough of the endless wars and suffering of Middle-earth, or wanting to see the beauties of Valinor. Staying because they’re attached to Middle-earth; or want to make their own decisions outside the tutelage of the Valar; or are too ashamed to return and see the people they once knew; or, for some (especially Sindar) being unwilling to go to Aman if the Kinslayers can go there and be pardoned as well (“I’d rather live in the Anfauglith than have to share Valinor with them”); or still being curious about what the lands of Middle-earth beyond Beleriand are like; or wanting to know more of the Edain and Dwarves; or feeling a responsibility to aid and heal the world rather than leave it. I could even see a small handful of Vanyar or Valinorean Noldor choosing to stay for a while out of fascination with this world and its people, despite so much of what they had seen of it being horrible.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #maedhros #maglor #edain #elves #valar #war of wrath #sauron #adaptation

[sweetteaanddragons]

A Guide to Feanorian Elves, by Bilbo Baggins

This is for @mstreason who wanted Feanor, Bilbo, “Have I mentioned I hate you?”, and fake academia. 

I struggled for a long time with the “Have I mentioned I hate you?” aspect of the prompt as Bilbo is not a particularly hateful person and while Feanor is certainly very capable in that area, Bilbo is not a particularly likely target.

I ended up going with a more playful direction with that prompt. Unfortunately, the words, “Have I mentioned I hate you?” never directly appear in the fic, I feel that they are somewhat implied towards the end; I hope this story fits the prompt well enough for you to enjoy it.

. . .

Well! With all the hustle and bustle and new guests arriving, it shall be all I can do to remember everyone’s names, and while Frodo seems to be muddling along well enough, I fear poor Sam is in the same boat as I, and he has had even less time to learn the oddities of elvish naming conventions. To that end - and for the benefit of any future travelers in Aman who find themselves rather over their heads - I have constructed the following guide. Hopefully it shall do us all some good.

The House of Feanor:

Feanor, also called Feanaro, or, rarely, Curufinwe: His first two names at least have the benefit of being rather similar to each other, and he stands out in a crowd rather nicely. It seems rather trite to say that you’ll know him when you see him, but I find that it is indeed true. If you are in any doubt, I personally recommend dropping the use of Þ and replacing it with ’s’ while speaking in Quenya in his earshot; if he flinches and visibly restrains himself on the basis that you are a mere hobbit and cannot possibly know better, then it is almost certainly Feanor.

The main difficulty here lies in his title. It is as of yet unclear whether he should be referred to as ‘High King,’ “King,’ ‘Prince,’ ‘Lord,’ or if perhaps all titles ought to be dropped altogether, and picking one to use makes a rather large political statement. I recommend pretending to be old and confused enough to refer to him as ‘Mayor’ and then using whatever you’re corrected with, although admittedly this strategy may work better for some of us than others.

Nerdanel: If she has other names, I’ve never heard them, which makes her rather unique among the elves here in Aman. If she has preferences on titles, she’s yet to make a sufficient fuss about it for the gossip to reach me, so just figure out what you’re going to call Feanor first and then call her the feminine form of that. She’s almost as easy to spot as her husband; just look for the red-headed woman with the rather impressive muscles, presumably from hauling around all that stone for her sculptures.

Maedhros, also called Maitimo, also called Russandol, also called Nelyafinwe: There is no one alive who needs that many names, and I stand by that point firmly.

That said, the names provide several useful descriptors of him, so, in order: Maitimo apparently means well-formed, and although I suspect most mothers would say the same upon seeing their first child, apparently there are a fair few maidens in Tirion who agree despite everything that’s passed since. Russandol is a reference to his red hair, which matches his mother’s very well, and Nelyafinwe means “third Finwe” and seems to be regarded as a backhanded insult to Feanor’s two half-brothers, so I recommend avoiding that one unless you intend to wade far deeper into elvish politics than good hobbitish sense would dictate. Maedhros seems to be safe enough and even the preferred form, so it might be best to stick with that.

He has been a king, a prince, and a lord, and although no one seems to be keen on calling him the first, the rest are still up in the air, and I’m hearing now that they’re considering making up some brand new title for former kings, of which they seem to have an abundance. I recommend repeating the mayor trick, or, if they seem to be catching on to that, coughing in the middle of mumbling your pick of titles. This has the added advantage of the nearest elf usually offering to fetch you a beverage.

Maglor, also called Kanafinwe, also called Makalaure: If you don’t recognize him after all this time in Elrond’s house, I can’t help you. Personally, I think it best to just stick with calling him Maglor, as that’s what we’re all used to, but I’ve written a brief etymology of his other names in case you hear anyone calling him something else.

Kanafinwe means strong-voiced of Finwe. The strong-voiced bit sounds like another name that would occur to a great many new parents, but it also turned out to be rather prophetic, so it suits him. Makalaure, on the other hand, means gold-cleaver, which makes little sense to me, as I’ve yet to see him cut anything in half, much less gold, but apparently it is meant to refer in some manner to his skill with a harp. 

You may also hear a few people with more voice than sense call him ‘Elrond’s pet kinslayer’; I recommend giving these people your best look of disappointment and/or disapproval until they look ashamed of themselves and stop.

Celegorm, also called Turcafinwe, also called Tyelkormo: I am told Turcafinwe means ‘strong Finwe’ which is appropriate enough, given his skill at hunting, but it seems to leave a rather poor implication towards the original Finwe’s comparative strength. (This observation is probably left kept to yourself, however.) There seems to be some disagreement about what hair color to expect from him (I have no idea why; perhaps he likes to dye it), so if you miss his introduction, try bringing up hunting and seeing who looks most enthusiastic about it. Alternatively, see who looks most awkward around Elrond - I imagine there will be some lingering difficulty about the whole Luthien affair. Goodness knows there was in the Shire after Poppy turned down Otho, and this is a good deal more awkward a situation than that.

I would try not to bring that up though as his mother name when translated reveals itself to be a prediction of a quick temper which, combined with his strength, might be best not to provoke.

Caranthir, also called Morifinwe, also called Carnistir: Morifinwe translates to ‘Dark Finwe’ which has led to some calling him “Caranthir the Dark” which contrasts rather nicely with those that call his older brother “Celegorm the Fair.” Said darkness is a reflection upon his hair, not his character, although since he is hardly the only dark haired Feanorian, I am not sure why it was considered worth commenting upon.

It still strikes me as a better name than Carnistir which as best I can make out means “red-faced.” I have no doubt that this was indeed true upon his birth, but as this is true for most healthy babes it seems rather pointless to make a name of it.

But I suppose I am being rather harsh; the duty of naming a child never fell to me as Frodo was already well secure in his name by the time he came to me, and I suppose upon being handed a newborn babe, it might be easy to panic and just say the first thing that came to mind.

Curufin, also called Curufinwe, also called Atarinke: If you look around and see someone that looks almost exactly like Feanor but who is deferring to the person that’s actually Feanor, that’s Curufin. Feanor passed down his less used name to Curufin, but it still seems best to stick the Sindarin form in order to help avoid confusion.

Atarinke means ‘little Father,’ a name that must have been wonderfully appropriate in childhood but seems a little less so now as Curufin has managed to surpass his father in height by approximately the width of a thumb, at least according to Maglor. I am also told that I ought not to bring this up.

Still, I suppose ‘little Father’ remains somewhat appropriate as he is the only son of Feanor to have actually achieved the state of fatherhood.

I think. I am still not entirely clear on which kings Gil-Galad is descended from, exactly.

Celebrimbor, also called Telperinquar: According to elvish naming customs at the time of his birth, he should have at least one more name, given to him by his mother. I can find no one willing to tell me this name, or, for that matter, to talk about his mother. I will continue searching what records I can but will decline from further questioning as, despite what the Dunedain might have thought, I am actually capable of tact in these things.

Telperinquar means silver-fist which works well enough for a smith, and, in an additional stroke of luck, he is the only who currently has a clear title: Lord of Eregion. The fallen state of that city appears not to matter in this case, so Lord Celebrimbor or Telperinquar it is.

This is additionally important as while you may not end up talking with all the Feanorians during this visit, a long talk with Celebrimbor seems rather unavoidable. Hopefully it shall be good for all of us.

Amrod, also called Pityafinwe, also called Ambarussa, also called Ambarto, also called Umbarto and Amras, also called Telufinwe, also called Ambarussa: I recommend calling them both Ambarussa as apparently even their own brothers sometimes can’t tell them apart, in which case, we haven’t a chance. Supposedly Amrod’s hair is a shade darker than Amras’s, but unless they’re standing next to each other, I’m not sure how we’re supposed to tell the difference.

As they’ll be arriving first, it seemed best to go ahead and give you this collection of notes as it stands; a continuation of the guide shall be presented shortly before the arrival of Fingolfin and Finarfin’s clans.

. . .

Dear Master Baggins,

I was delighted to make your acquaintance last night. I was slightly less delighted when I discovered this packet which appears to have fallen from your pocket.

- [ink blot over title] Feanor

. . .

Dear most honorable and hopefully most forgiving [ink blot over title] Feanor,

Oh, dear. In my defense, I never intended anyone other than my nephew and his good friend to read this; I assure you I would have made it far more polished if it were for public consumption.

Please forgive any lines that may have given offense. In the hopes of more readily attaining this forgiveness, I have enclosed copies of my notes on your half-brothers’ families.

- Bilbo Baggins

. . .

Dear Master Bilbo,

Your second set of notes was delightful; all is most certainly forgiven.

- [ink blot] Feanor

#feanor #sons of feanor #nerdanel #bilbo #bilbo baggins #silmarillion #lord of the rings #fic #prompted fic #feanor and his sons are released into Aman #and the hobbits have to wade through the approaching tide of names

[fuckingfinwions]

Scene: Alqualonde. The ship is docked, and most of the people are off it. There is a large happy crowd at the edge of the dock centered around Galadriel. Maglor and Elrond are walking briskly away trying not to attract attention.

A messenger stopped them, wearing a Finwean sun that marked her of the palace staff. She spoke in Quenya, “Excuse me lords, are you Prince Canafinwe and Lord Elrond?”

Maglor stood stock still.

“I am Lord Elrond, yes.”

“I am here to invite you both to the royal palace in Tirion. There’s a carriage ready, and a cart will be sent back to the ship to collect the rest of your things.”

“Hardly worth it for me,” Maglor said. “I have little, and I doubt I’ll need any of it much longer.”

“As you say, your highness. King Nelyafinwe made it clear to the palace staff that we are not to dispose of anything without your order, but that you likely have been living in circumstances below your station. There is a room set aside for you with a basic wardrobe including jewelry, and of course any member of the royal orchestra would be honored to lend you an instrument.”

Elrond said, “King Nelyafinwe? I had thought Maedhros was dead, and King Finarfin ruled Tirion, has the convention for titles changed?”

“Oh, not at all your lordship. King Nelyafinwe, known in Beleriand as Lord Maedhros, indeed died at the end of the first age, but he returned to life several centuries ago. Arafinwe returned the crown to the eldest line of the house of Finwe, as is proper.“

Maglor forced out a whisper, “And my younger brothers? Have they also been permitted to return?”

“Yes your highness, they have. All five of the other high princes dwell in the palace, as do most of the house of Finwe. I must sadly inform you that your father King Feanor is not yet returned to life, nor is your grandfather King Finwe.”

Elrond said,“The return of the House of Finwe, and the house of Feanor in particular, allays more worries than you can believe. I had been prepared to travel with Maglor through all of Valinor in disguise until we plead our case to Manwe himself, but I am glad not to need to.”

“Oh, certainly not your lordship! Manwe is quite content to leave elves to manage our own affairs these days, especially when we have such a skilled leader as King Nelyafinwe.”

“As grateful as I am for the offer of a carriage, would it still be available tomorrow? It has been long years since I was last in a elven city on the sea, and I find it nostalgic.”

“The carriage will be available whenever you wish it. But If I may be so bold as to offer advice, I would recommend that Prince Macalaure at least travel today. The city of Alqualonde will be far more welcoming to Lord Elrond on his own.”

“Even after so long? Have none in Tirion been willing to bend their heads and apologize, or none in Alqualonde willing to hear it? ”

“Restitution was made back in the First Age, and King Olwe accepted it. He objected though to King Nelyafinwe resuming the kingship, seeing an insult to his son-in-law and grandchildren. He also objects to a lot of customs that differ from Alqualonde, and the King sees no reason to force the Noldor to give up our traditions. Some Noldor visit Alqualonde, and a few Teleri visit Tirion, but official diplomatic visits are far between. The final son of Feanor preferring to stay in another city rather than return to his home will be an incident of some sort, though perhaps not a violent one.”

Maglor was on the edge of tears, whether of joy or fear even he could hardly say. But he would not show weakness in front of this stranger, not while he didn’t know if it was true and he hardly recalled how a prince should behave if it was.

“Is there an inn with private rooms in this part of the city?” Elrond asked. “This has been a very tiring day, and I would like a quiet place to collect my thoughts for an hour or two.”

“Of course, right this way.”

They reached the inn, and Elrond payed for a room. The messenger made to leave, but Elrond stopped her.

“Is there a noticeboard or town crier for reconnecting with those who sailed earlier? I stayed long in Middle Earth, and there are those I would dearly like to see again.”

“Each city has records of it’s citizens for taxes and other official purposes. All will confirm if someone resides in the city or not, and in TIrion they will also pass on a message. If whoever your lordship wishes to find is not a citizen of Tirion though, there’s no way to know if they’re in Tol Eressea, Alqualonde, Valmar or New Doriath without traveling there. If they were noble or famous I might know; its a messengers job to find people.”

Elrond swallowed. “My wife, Celebrian, sailed five hundred years ago, to seek what healing could be found in Valinor. Is she...”

“The Lady Celebrian recovered from her wounds and lives in Tirion. I don’t believe she resides in the palace itself, but I can certainly show you her house when we reach the city.”

“Thank you.” Elrond was relieved, though also a little surprised. Celebrian had always considered herself Sindarin, and found even Imladris to be annoyingly urban at at times. But he had never actually been to Tirion; perhaps it was a mix of all the elven kindreds with parks as common as forges. 

The messenger left Elrond then, promising to be back in two hours once he had a chance to rest and make a decision.

Maglor was incredibly tense in the room. “Do you think it’s real?”

“If a lie, it was be a risky one. There are many who would react poorly to learning that Maedhros is once more alive and in command.”

“She did ask first, who we were. A Feanorian is likely to approve of other Feanorians wandering loose.”

“Perhaps, though there are rumors that have all seven of you slitting each other’s throats. Someone would have to talk with a soldier of yours at the very least to find out otherwise. And she called you a prince, even before she was certain.”

“Yes. Prince Canafinwe, the most formal address possible. I haven’t been him since before my father died.”

“Being accustomed to Sindarin names can’t be that rare; I expect they’ll call you whichever name you wish. I certainly don’t want to go by Elerondo.”

“Maybe. If they’re telling the truth, I suppose I can just order all the staff to call me Lord Maglor instead. And if they’re lying, I’m sure they’ll switch to a ruder address soon enough.”

“I really doubt that they’re lying.”

“Maybe, but still I am nervous. I know you have already done much for me in Imladris and on the journey, but would you do me one favor more? Would you come with me to Tirion and stand with me before the king? I know that you have things to do first, reuniting with your wife for one. I could wait in this inn while you do so, and not leave the room to avoid being recognized.”

“That is hardly necessary. The messenger informed me that Celebrian is in Tirion, and after five hundred years we can both endure another hour easily enough. I will speak to the king, and Maedhros will make me feel like a very skilled child, and you will see your brothers again.”

“He doesn’t mean to condescend, it’s just habit from being the eldest sibling.”

“I know, I’m just out of habit to speaking with people older than me this past Age.”

#passed to darkness and ruin #the messenger is giving technically accurate explanations but is a very biased narrator #bias being: King Maedhros and the Feanorians are 100% awesome; if they weren't we'd all be terrible people for going along with it #and since I'm not a terrible person that must mean all the kinslayings were some non-Noldo's fault and everyone's who got hurt deserved it #spoiler alert: Celebrian is unharmed as Maedhros considers her Maglor's daughter-in-law #so it's up to Maglor and Elrond if they want to harm her #this logic will extend to Elrond's kids but not to Galadriel or Earendil #not archived yet

[thesingingelves]

The Elf Lord who brought Dior the Silmaril; what was going through his head?

@phoenixrisesoncemore​ wanted to know what about the Green-Elves of Ossiriand and their place in Beren&Lúthien, their relationship with the Silmaril and the perspective of  the Elf Lord who brought the Silamril to Dior

It’s done :’D

The Passage in question:

“There came a night of autumn, and when it grew late, one came and smote upon the doors of Menegroth, demanding admittance to the King. He was a lord of the Green-Elves hastening from Ossiriand, and the door-wards brought him to where Dior sat alone in his chamber; and there in silence he gave to the King a coffer, and took his leave.” The Silmarillion, Of the Ruin of Doriath.

Relationship with the Sons of Fëanor

“But the victory of the Elves was Dear-bought. For those of Ossiriand were light-armed, and no match for the Orcs, who were shod with iron and iron-shielded and bore great spears with broad blades; and Denethor was cut off and surrounded upon the hill of Amon Ereb. There he fell and all his nearest kin about him, before the host of Thingol could come to his aid.  Bitterly though his fall was avenged, when Thingol came upon the rear of the Orcs and slew them in heaps, his people lamented him ever after and took no king again. After the battle some returned to Ossiriand, and their tidings filled the remnant of their people with great fear, so that thereafter they came never forth in open war, but kept to themselves by wariness and secrecy; and they were called Laiquendi, the Green-elves, because of their raiment of the color of leaves. But many went North and entered the guarded realm of Thingol and were merged with his people.1”

“...And the Orcs took the fortress upon the west slopes of Mount Rerir, and ravaged all of Thargelion, the land of Caranthir; and they defiled Lake Helevorn. Thence they passed over Gelion with fire and terror and came into East Beleriand. Maglor joined Maedhros upon Himring; but Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had the aid of the Green-Elves; and the Orcs came not into Ossiriand, nor to Taur-im-Duinath and the wilds of the south.2”

“...and the sons of Fëanor wandered before the wind. Their arms were scattered, and their league broken; and they took to a wild life and woodland life beneath the feet of Ered Lindon, mingling with the Green-Elves of Ossiriand…3”

“The Nelyar [Teleri] were most reluctant to leave their lakeside homes; but they were very cohesive, and very conscious of the separate unity of their Clan (as they continued to be), so that when it became clear that their chieftains Elwe and Olwe were resolved to depart and would have a large following, many of those among them who had at first joined the Avari went over to the Eldar rather than be separated from their kin. The Ñoldor indeed asserted that most of the ‘Teleri’ were at heart Avari, and that only the Eglain*** really regretted being left in Beleriand.” After writing about the Tatyar (Noldor who remained in Middle-Earth) and their bitterness towards the Noldor, Christopher Tolkien writes, “This ill-feeling descended in part from the bitterness of the Debate before the March of the Eldar began, and was no doubt later increased by the mechanisms of Morgoth; but it also throws some light upon the temperment of the Ñoldor in general, and Fëanor in particular, Indeed the Teleri on their side asserted that most of the Ñoldor in Aman itself were in heart Avari, and returned to Middle-Earth when they discovered their mistake; they needed room to quarrel in.11**”

Amon Ereb is where the Green-Elves buried their king and lamented him ever after. During Dagor Bragollach, Ambarussa and Caranthir flee to Amon Ereb, where they "maintained a watch and some strength of war." There are two ways this can be; first, we can ignore the line "had the aid of the Green-Elves" since the Quenta Silmarillion was written in-universe and has been revised in-universe, so you can say that that's not an accurate retelling. You could instead say that since there is a War going on, the Feanorians just built there and the Green-Elves feared the retaliation of Murderers. Following that, even if this were not the case and most of the Green-Elves were understanding after the fact, there is bound to be some dissent or some begrudging feelings from others for building a fortress on their beloved kings grave. The second option is to accept the line and say that the Green-Elves allowed them to build there. This would imply that they have a phenomenally good relationship with the Sons of Fëanor (or at least 4, 6 & 7) to allow them to build on Denethor's grave. Personally, I do not think the first option is liable since the Green-Elves attended the Feast of Reuniting, and Thingol, a known Noldor-Hater, only sent two Elves in his stead. The Sons of Feänor also mingled with the Green-Elves after the Fifth Battle, which if canon is to be believed and that "a stranger might pass through their land from end to end and see none of them4," If the Green-Elves didn't want to mingle, they wouldn't have. The next mention of the Sons of Feänor's location (in the published Silmarillion) is after the Elf Lord brought the Silmaril to Doriath; at this time, they were "gathered again from their wandering." So while it's not *explicit* that both the Sons of Fëanor and the Silmaril were within the borders of Ossiriand at the same time, it is implied. It also seems as though there is some bitterness between the Teleri and Noldor. Though the Lindi* are a subsection of the Teleri, they are (along with the Avari), often an afterthought in writings, so I am unsure if the second quote could apply to the Green-Elves or if C. Tolkien was specifically referring to the Tatyar. Regardless though, it seems to me that the Noldor and Teleri have something in common--they're both Avari at heart and love Middle-Earth. Though the Second Kinslaying takes place after the events asked about, I’m going to touch on it briefly as well. Specifically, how “...[the Teleri] were very cohesive, and very conscious of the separate unity of their Clan (as they continued to be), so that when it became clear that their chieftains Elwe and Olwe were resolved to depart and would have a large following, many of those among them who had at first joined the Avari went over to the Eldar rather than be separated from their kin.” Teleri don’t like to be separate from their families and don’t do so lightly; this, to me, implies a high emphasis on family compared to the other clans. The Sons of Feänor, who they gave safe harbor to and allowed to build on their kings grave, really spit in Green-Elves of Ossiriand’s face when they killed their close kin in Doriath.

 Relationship with the Sindar

“But the victory of the Elves was Dear-bought. For those of Ossiriand were light-armed, and no match for the Orcs, who were shod with iron and iron-shielded and bore great spears with broad blades; and Denethor was cut off and surrounded upon the hill of Amon Ereb. There he fell and all his nearest kin about him, before the host of Thingol could come to his aid. Bitterly though his fall was avenged, when Thingol came upon the rear of the Orcs and slew them in heaps, his people lamented him ever after and took no king again. After the battle some returned to Ossiriand, and their tidings filled the remnant of their people with great fear, so that thereafter they came never forth in open war, but kept to themselves by wariness and secrecy; and they were called Laiquendi, the Green-elves, because of their raiment of the color of leaves. But many went North and entered the guarded realm of Thingol and were merged with his people.1”

“...Of those Nandor who took refuge in Doriath after the fall of Denethor is it said; ‘In the event they did not mingle happily with the Teleri of Doriath, and so dwelt mostly in the small land Eglamar, Arthórien under their own chief. Some of them were “darkhearted,” though this did not necessarily appear, except under strain or provocation.’ ‘The chief of the “Guest-elves,” as they were called, was given a permanent place in Thingol’s council…7”

I’m going to paraphrase this next bit by a lot, since it’s a couple pages worth of material11…

Celben: the Sindarin equivalent of Kalaquendi; all Elves other than the Avari and includes the Sindar. It is also equivalent to Eldar (Q.) and Elloi (T.)

Morben: Originally only referred to the Avari, but as other Children became known, it came to mean “Anyone dwelling outside Beleriand, or entering their realm from the outside.” “The first people of this kind to be met were the Nandor...when the Nandor were recognized as kinsfolk of Lindarin origin and speech, they were received into the class of Celbin.” However, later in Note 9 which discusses Eöl and Maeglin, “Some of the Nandor, who were allowed to be Celbin, were not any better,” is written and the Note goes on to discuss Saeros.

“Now word went swiftly among the Elves of Ossiriand that a great host of dwarves bearing gear of war had down out of the mountains and passed over Gelion at the Ford of Stones. These tidings came soon to Beren and Lúthien; and in that time also a messenger came to them out of Doriath telling of what had befallen there. Then Beren arose and left Tol Galen, and summoning to him Dior his son they went north the river Ascar; and with them went many of the Green-Elves of Ossiriand...In that battle by Sarn Athrad Beren fought his last fight, and himself slew the Lord of Nogrod, and wrested from him the Necklace of the Dwarves; but he dying laid his curse upon all the treasure. Then Beren gazed in wonder on the selfsame jewel Fëanor that he has cut from Morgoths iron crown, now shining set amid gold and gems by the cunning of the dwarves; and he washed it clean of blood in the waters of the river. And when all was finished the treasure of Doriath was drowned in the river Ascar, and from that time the river was named anew, Rathlóriel, the Golden Bed…5”

The Green-Elves and the Sindar are both a part of the Olwë’s Host that split off in Middle-Earth, albeit at different times. The Green-Elves had the “Friendship of Thingol,6” and “were welcomed by Thingol as kin long lost that return, and they dwelt in Ossiriand, the Land of Seven Rivers.1” Tolkien also writes that his fall was “bitterly avenged,” so Thingol probably held Denethor himself in high regard. Some Green-Elves even merged with his people in Doriath. However, there is more to this story. “In the event,” is not an often encountered phrase, but “In the event that” is, so myself and others were confused at this wording. As it turns out, the phrase means that after discussing what could’ve been, you’re now discussing what actually happened. “In the end,” “as it happened,” and “as it turned out,” are synonymous with “in the event.8” So this means that the majority of the Green-Elves who migrated to Thingol’s kingdom were unhappy within his kingdom, and though they had a permanent seat on his council, they were also called “Guest-Elves,” which likely alienated them more. I also want to discuss the classes of Calben and Morben; At first, it does seem to follow the published Silmarillion--that all of the Green-Elves were welcomed as kin and subsequently entered into the class of Celben. I don’t think that is the case anymore; I think instead, the ones who merged with Doriath were “allowed” to become Celben and those who returned to Ossiriand remained Morben. It could be, of course, that Green-Elves of Ossiriand are the only ones of the Lindi to hold the title of Celben--the rest of the Lindi throughout Middle-Earth are Morben. Moving on though, the Guest-Elves probably seldom left Doriath and weren’t in much contact with their kin in Ossiriand, so it’s difficult for me to say how this impacted Ossiriand Green-Elves and Sindar’s relationship; it seems that there was a very dichotomous relationship between the two. But! Either way, the Green-Elves in and out of Doriath are kin and while that may have caused some tension--Teleri don’t like to be separated from their family and don’t do so lightly--they are still *kin* and would not take too kindly to their families being slaughtered over a jewel. I think that the Sack of Doriath would be enough “strain or provocation” to bring about their “dark hearted-ness.” 

Curses, Dooms and Prophecies in the Legendarium

“Now word went swiftly among the Elves of Ossiriand that a great host of dwarves bearing gear of war had down out of the mountains and passed over Gelion at the Ford of Stones. These tidings came soon to Beren and Lúthien; and in that time also a messenger came to them out of Doriath telling of what had befallen there. Then Beren arose and left Tol Galen, and summoning to him Dior his son they went north the river Ascar; and with them went many of the Green-Elves of Ossiriand...In that battle by Sarn Athrad Beren fought his last fight, and himself slew the Lord of Nogrod, and wrested from him the Necklace of the Dwarves; but he dying laid his curse upon all the treasure. Then Beren gazed in wonder on the selfsame jewel Fëanor that he has cut from Morgoths iron crown, now shining set amid gold and gems by the cunning of the dwarves; and he washed it clean of blood in the waters of the river. And when all was finished the treasure of Doriath was drowned in the river Ascar, and from that time the river was named anew, Rathlóriel, the Golden Bed…5”

I will not write out every curse, doom or prophecy. I am only going to list them. The point of me listing all of these out is to show just how much power these types of things have in the Tolkien Legendarium and even if they are a self-fulfilling prophecy, they tend to come true in some way. 

The Doom of Mandos

Mîm cursing Nargothronds treasure and the Nauglamir(in some variations)

The Dead Men of Dunharrow

The Curse of Morgoth; "the shadow of my thought shall lie upon them wherever they go." And the events after Húrins release

Eöl’s curse “...Here you may yet die the same death as I.”

Beleg to Túrin; “If I stayed beside you, love would lead me, not wisdom.”

Melian to Túrin; “There is malice in this sword. The dark heart of the smith still dwells in it. It will not love the hand it serves; neither will it abide with you long.”

Glaurung to Túrin; “...but thou carest not for that Glad may thy father be to learn that he hath such a son; as learn he shall”

Melian to Thingol; “For you have either doomed your daughter, or yourself. And now is Doriath drawn within the fate of a mightier realm.”

Huans Fate

The Lord of Nargothrond cursing the treasures of Doriath and the Nauglamir

There is more, but I think you get the point. 

I want to touch on how the River Ascar flows into the River Gelion and "...after Sirion Ulmo loved Gelion above all the waters of the western world.4" In addition to this, the Green-Elves of Ossiriand rely on their rivers, not only for the nourishment water provides but also "lived in the protection of their rivers.7" I also want to point out that Ascar is the most upstream river of Ossiriand. "Why does this matter," you ask, "What does this have to do with curses?" Well…. The meaning of Ascar is "rushing or imperious (moving forcefully or rapidly).10" In addition to the river's name signifying its nature, it's also written that "...[the rivers] fell steeply and very swift from the Mountains of Ered Lindon.9" So there is no way that cursed gold is staying put. If the Green-Elves were upset at having cursed gold in their river, that they rely on for protection, imagine how upset they'd be if there was cursed gold in the Galion, that borders all of their land. 

Personally, I think that if it were any other Elf-Lord, we would have had a different story. The Silmarillion has a tragic thing going on where, if a tragedy is prevented, another one would take its place. Here, if it was any other Elf who was in possession of the Silmaril, the Second Kinslaying may have been prevented, but the Silmaril wouldn’t go to Valinor. 

The Sindar and Green-Elves seem to have a dichotomous relationship, where the Sindar seem to accept them as kin, but also refer to them as outsiders. The Noldor (specifically the Sons of Fëanor) and the Green-Elves seem to have a better relationship, but there is some old bitterness between the Noldor and Teleri and any good relationship would’ve been destroyed following the Second Kinslaying. But to answer your question, what was going through that Elf Lords head? I think it was something along the lines of "Ah! Cursed Jewelry that has poisoned our river and has been the cause of many deaths, better get this out of here before the Sons of Fëanor or my fellow Green-Elves who like them more than Doriath find me!"

Commentary

References

1The Silmarillion, Of the Sindar

2 The Silmarillion, Of the Ruin of Beleriand

3The Silmarillion, Of the Fifth Battle

4The Silmarillion, Of Belerinad and its Realms

5The Silmarillion, Of the Ruin of Doriath

6HoME X, The Annals of Aman

7HoME XI, The Grey Annals

8https://www.collinsdictionary.com/us/dictionary/english/in-the-event

9HoME XII, The Shibboleth of Fëanor

10https://www.elfdict.com/w/ascar

11HoME XI, Quendi and Eldar pg 376-77, 381, 409

*I don’t like the term Nandor and I refuse to use it unless I have to. It’s derived from the primitive elvish word “ndandō” which means, “one who goes back on his word or decision.” “Primitive elvish” is used by Paul Strack to describe the internal (fictional) evolution of elvish. “Lindi” is what the Green-Elves called themselves.

**I am aware that the quote continues to contrast this with the relations between Sindar, Green-Elves and other Avari elves, but this talks about the second age so I chose to not include it. 

***”The Forsaken.” The Sindar named themselves this, but it only refers to Sindar who wanted to go to Aman but arrived late or looked for Elwë for too long. Círdan is their Lord and they are the most friendly towards the Noldor.

Note: Who knew superscript doesn’t work on tumblr? I’m not surprised, but sorry for numbers interrupting the reading

#The Elf Lord who brought Dior the Silmaril #meta #my meta #green-elves #ossiriand #silvan #phoenixrisesoncemore

[halethkickass]

Too Long a Winter (reposted with permission from Clotho)

I found this wonderful fic on http://clotho123.tripod.com/mainlist1/winter.htm and the author kindly gave me permission to share it here on Tumblr. The story is phenomenally well-written and the characterization is excellent. I especially appreciate the dynamic between Maedhros and Maglor, which is far less sentimental and much more in line with how I tend to head-canon them than that of most fics I have read. The story is told from the perspective of a human warrior dwelling in Himring, which lends an interesting viewpoint to the elves we are used to seeing through the eyes of a somewhat removed historian.

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Himring is not a good place for old men.  Often I think of riding south again, to the Estolad where there are fewer cold winds to piece my aching bones and no long stone stairs to climb.  Yet to leave would mean never again to see the morning sun on silver stone, or turn a corner at night to see a solitary lamp shine on the carved street before me, or watch the magic the Strangers work as they coax flowers to grow on rock itself.  

It does help me having lodgings in the summit halls.  Himring is steep: in the town that lies beneath the peak a paved courtyard will prove to be the roof of the house below, nor is it rare to walk down long stairs and find yourself upon a deep balcony.  All space is used for dwellings, although all dwellings will be filled only at the height of siege.  Himring was built as a place of refuge as well as a stronghold; it has been full enough these last years.  It is fortunate my duties can be discharged with goodwill on the summit where the High Hall rises in the silver rock.  My mind goes often to the past now, recalling more clearly than for many years, the wonder I felt to see how so much if the city had been cut from the rock as it stood, the very contours of the stone summit kept alive.  Yet Himring is no hidden city, it stands proud as an eagle upon a crag, keeping watch on the lands below. 

The Midwinter festival would have been well attended even in the better times before the peace was broken; now the High Hall will be full indeed.  It is one thing they have learned from us, the great feast of fire at the year’s darkest point, and they celebrate it much as we do, even if some of the older ones like to recall the days when there were no seasons.  We have no tales even of that time, so such stories mark more deeply how much they differ.

 The green boughs are another of traditions they have borrowed although I recall from my gathering days that they practice it differently, each bough chosen with care, seldom more than two from one tree or bush and from some none at all.  “Trees,” one said to me once, “ can spare a limb if chosen right, indeed are often the better for it, but why would anyone wish to leave a tree limbless?”  The gathered braches look strangely fitting in the High Hall, for the rock-cut columns are carved as tree trunks, not all alike but trees of all kinds: oak and birch, beech, ash and pine.  With the evergreen boughs in place it will be a strange kind of forest in which we sit to feast. 

As I turned to leave the half-prepared hall I heard my name spoken sharply.  A little too sharply in truth, my sight is thankfully still good enough, but not so my hearing and I guessed I must have failed to hear at least one call.  That is not fortunate with this speaker.

 “Lord Makalaurë,” I greeted him.  He insists on being addressed by the High form of his name, although everyone calls him Maglor outside his hearing.

“Headman Hallach.”  I still hold the title of Headman for the Edain of Himring although Berach my nephew leads them in war.  He was out of the citadel of course; with fighting so constant he is rarely here.  “We have had word my brothers in the south will not be joining us for the feasting,” Lord Maglor continued, “so that will lessen the amount of accommodation that you will need to find.”  

“We could have housed them,” I said, “but it is better to know beforehand.”  Our word ‘inhuman’ is an old one, from the times before we came to these lands, it carries a meaning of something that is uncanny, disturbing.  It is held impolite to use it of Elves but it is seldom far from my mind when speaking to this one.  Like most of his kind he is handsome with black hair and winged brows that highlight the mobility of his features; still he is unsettling, even to one like myself who has lived amongst the Strangers for most of my life.  I cannot put it better than to say it is as though he is constantly listening to a tune that only he can hear, and thinks the less of others for being deaf to it.  In fairness, these days I unsettle him too, for he is one of those who are disturbed to the point of disgust by mortal aging although he would feel it beneath him to lessen his courtesy.  

“Do you know when my brother is expected back?” he asked.

“No more than you, although I am sure he will be in time for the feasting.”

“Of course,” he said.  “But I would wish to see him earlier.  Erestor does not know when he will return either.  It is inconsiderate.”  It was an unfair complaint, as he must have known.  A survey of territories, half visit, half scouting expedition, could not be completed to set times and his brother never dawdled not even with snow falling every day upon the hills.  We would always vary those chosen to ride with the lord of Himring, for no-one was expect to make two such exhausting rides in succession.  Knowing it unlikely that Lord Maglor’s temper would improve during the feasting time I found myself regretting we would not be joined by the twin lords who would have provided some leavening.  The absence of Lord Caranthir was less regrettable as no-one would count on his presence to prevent family arguments.  

We parted politely.  With so much else lost it is petty to regret that the great reverse has led to Lord Maglor being permanently at Himring, but it does nothing to make the mood easier.

~~~

The Feast was much needed.  Enough time has passed since the great reverse that the remembrance is no longer a dark cloud on the spirits, at least for mortals; but still the presence of war seems nearer, the mood at Himring darker, than in the days when I first came here from the south.  Perhaps that is only an old man talking, but certainly both peoples thronged to the gathering, eager to forget the wars awhile.

The Strangers are masters of light, although I have never known one who feared the dark, and the light in the High Hall was rich and golden.  Mead and wines from the south flowed freely, although some of my kindred preferred their ale, and there was no shortage of meat and pastry.  Their feasts, however, are not for the belly alone; there was much song and music, dancing, laughter and re-telling of tales.  A hall full Elves singing in harmony is not to be forgotten, it almost makes me understand that odd tale that the world was created by a song.  By long custom the songs and tales at the Midwinter feast are of good cheer, it is a time to look forward and to hope.

It was the third evening when Lord Maglor took the harp.  No, in fact he had taken it on the first two evenings also, but only for a brief light song, the third evening was the time that mattered.  I had heard him sing many times, and what they say of him is not too great praise, indeed it falls short as all words must.  A singer to draw the stars from the skies and turn back the moon in its course, a singer to make stones dance and streams stand still, despair laugh for joy and gladness weep like rain.  Not that he unleashed his full power every time he sang, that third night was the first time that Midwinter.

He sang in the High Tongue, as he always does which makes his power to move Men the more remarkable.  Few of us have mastered more of that tongue than a few words and commonly used phrases, such as war cries, and in that I am no different.  Yet what he sang was a lament as plainly as the night is dark.  The grief wailed in the strings and wept in words beyond my understanding, and through my tears I saw the whole hall was weeping, Men and Elves alike, weeping silently, some with faces hidden by a cloak fold, or buried in their hands or arms.  Erestor, the castellan, seemed completely overwhelmed, nor was he the only one among the elf kind.  Recalling the scene now it seems to me that the ones we call Flame-eyed, who have dwelt in the West, made up the greatest part of those who had abandoned themselves completely to grief, yet in light of how deeply moved my own senses were I cannot swear my memory is true.

After the song ended, as the nameless mourning at last released its spell, my eyes cleared enough to see the only one who seemed unmoved.  Maedhros sat upright and tearless in his accustomed place at the high table, only his face was locked in an intense stillness which showed to one who had dwelt in Himring many years how hard he had bitten down to hide all feeling.  He sat with his right elbow resting on the table, forearm upraised so the light fell on the marvellously worked copper sheath that covered it almost entirely.  With the copper circlet on his russet hair he looked every bit the King of the West March his followers call him.

“Remarkable as always,” he said in the cool even tone that spoke of steel control.  “Could do with a little taughtening in the central section still, you are capable of better rhythms.”

Maglor’s expression hardened and as they met each other’s eyes it seemed the winter outside entered the room.  In that moment they looked very much alike, and no fool would have mistaken either of them for young.

“You take a pride in it, brother, do you not,” Maglor said at last in a tone smooth as gold.  “You think you are the better that old loyalties, true duties, have been ripped from you and burned to cinders.”

Maedhros’s voice was cold as snow upon the high peaks, “If to spellcraft tears at time of festival is loyalty, Maglor, then I will not disagree.”  Spellcraft was close to being insult, the word was not used of things natural.  “Well, tears it must be for this night.  Bron, give us a song of your people.”

The young harper thus commanded was one of the followers of Bor only lately taken service with Lord Maglor.  It seemed to me hard to give him such a command and I wondered if he would be able to obey, but it seemed he took it with pride, as a young brave might accept the most dangerous post in battle.  I doubt if any in the hall paid much heed to his song though.

The next day I cornered Castellan Erestor.  Although he is one of the Flame-eyed who have dwelt in the West he seems less far removed from our kind than many Elves.

“What,” I said “was that about?  What was that song?”

“The song?”  said Erestor.  He seemed to consider for a long time.  I waited.  Elves cannot be rushed.  “The song was a lament for their father.  For Fëanor.”

“For Fëanor?”  I had heard tales, but only fragments.  Fëanor was dead before the first Men came to Beleriand from the east.  Maedhros speaks of him very rarely, and then in the calm tone he might use for a passing acquaintance, dead long ago.  “A lament was a poor choice for a feast, but is that all?”

“No,” said Erestor.  “The lament praised his skill, and his courage against the creatures of Morgoth, but it praised also his steadfastness in upholding what was due to him, his intolerance of weakness or those that followed with half a heart.”

“I begin to see, I think.  That could seem reproach to his brother, for letting the kingship pass from their house.”  I knew that much of their history.  

“It was a more than reproach, and not for the first time.  Lord Maglor has seldom agreed with his brother’s choices.”

“Yet he remains at Himring.”

“Whilst Lothlann is in enemy hands he will remain, I think.”  A mortal would probably have sighed at this point.  “You do not need to be told it makes matters difficult, Hallach.  At least when all the brothers are present Maglor and Celegorm spend half their time quarrelling with one another.”

After we had parted I spent some time thinking over this, and all the other things known of the king and his next brother.  I had come to Himring, following the tradition of my house, with a head full of tales.  Not all were reliable, or true at all, and of those which were true I knew only a small part.  But I had heard truly that Maglor the Singer was of all the East lords the most likely to be found riding or fighting with his brother Maedhros Left-hand.  I had thought that meant they must be close friends; it is more like the old saying ‘keep your enemy close in sight.’

True, that is not entirely fair, but the years have shown me Elves are not as unlike us as the first meetings make all Men think, so it should not have surprised me that where brothers are closest in age the divisions are bitterest.  So it is with myself and my nearest brother, although we are brothers still and would not hesitate to unite against any outside challenge.  How far this ran true with the Elf lords is hard to say, certainly the divisions between them made my own with my brother seem nothing at all.  I knew at least that Lord Maglor did not spend time with his brother Maedhros for the pleasure of shared company.

~~~

Two days later they walked in while I was listing the new recruits from my southern kindred in one of the summit chambers, one with walls painted so you seem to look out on scenes of moonlight.  It was still being made when I first came here, and I recall my surprise to see the Lord of Himring himself working on one of the painted scenes, completing the figure of an owl with the lightest of brush strokes.  He laughed at my expression and told me, “The need to create is never far from any Noldo.  I cannot claim my skill is remarkable, but it suffices.”  

Between the work and my hardness of hearing I was not aware of their approach until they had already entered.  As a young man I would have been abashed and slipped away, but being no longer young stayed at the table.  Since they were arguing in the High Tongue it was impossible to tell what they were saying in any case.

Lord Maglor does not shout.  Family meetings have been known to make the castle walls shake, but most of the yelling is done by Celegorm and Caranthir, although Maedhros can raise his voice loud enough when he wishes.  Maglor makes his arguments with level quiet.  It does not do him any good: he never wins.  Although there is nothing at all amusing about the lord of Lothlann in his moods of cold attack, he does make me think at times at times of a pair of young dogs I once owned.  The smaller of the two would attack the other over and over, without any warning; he never won the battles but he kept it up in the constant hope that one day he would win after all.

Whilst my mind had been running on that as my mind often runs on these days, the quarrel seemed to be reaching some kind of high point.  I have seen Maglor in battle and his face as he skewered the orcs of the enemy had not seemed any less pleasant.  I could not understand the words he was using, but took their meaning as clearly as the meaning of his lament in the great hall.  Maedhros’s answer was short and very ugly.  Again I could not understand the words, nor I am sure did Maglor, but that was unneeded.  

Elves do not have curse words.  The need for them is something they seem to have discovered only in these lands.  Most of those who feel that need use words they have learned from us.  I have heard Lord Curufin use the dwarf tongue at times, although with that speech it is possible that what sounds like a curse may be merely ‘Good Morning.’  I have never heard Maedhros use mannish curse words, nor have I ever known him lose control.  He had not used the Black Speech lightly.

I looked at Maglor and felt sure he had been shaken although he tried to cover it.  Maedhros took advantage to follow through with two or three short, cold sentences in the High Tongue.  Maglor’s reply was sharp, but he sounded wrong-footed, and after a brief, savage final exchange he flung out of the room.

Maedhros did not attempt to ignore my presence, instead he took a flagon and poured half a cup of wine for me and some into a second cup for himself.

“I would not have chosen for you to hear that, Hallach, but I do not suppose it surprised you.”

“I cannot say I understood what passed, my lord,”

“You may not have known the words, but you understood enough.”

Even Elves, even the Flame-eyed, have been known to speak of something unsettling about the presence of Maedhros of the East March.  It is not the same quality possessed by his brother; perhaps it is not so much any quality that differs from others of his kind as that he possesses their qualities more intensely, or that there is in him less of a barrier between the world and the thing Elves call the spirit.  There is a force about most of the Flame-eyed like a high wind or a river in spate, but with Maedhros it is like facing into the wind directly instead of being in the lee of a wall, or seeing a flame that is naked rather than one held in a horn lantern.  

I have served him most of my life and followed him into battle even when none thought that we could win.  And the old, I have learned, do not feel awe easily “He has never forgiven you for yielding the kingdom,” I said.

“That is part of it, although we were not on the most easy of terms before.”  His tone was matter-of-fact.  “Maglor would not even like to be king.  He is like our father in that way, the duties of kingship would take time from the works where his heart truly lies, and he would resent that.  No, the injury is to his pride and there is small healing there.”

He drained the cup.  “There was a time,” he said, “when fighting with my brothers was invigorating.  Like a day’s hard riding or a successful skirmish.  Now it grows wearisome, the more so because I fear for them.  They may lose us the war yet.”

We are used to thinking of the Strangers as changeless, and as my limbs ache more and more and my hearing fails I cannot but envy them, ever young as they are, forever straight of back and free in movement.  It does not do to dwell on the envy, some of my kin have been eaten up with bitterness as they grow older and that does no good to anyone.  I have looked at them and have seen only the constants, now for the first time I wondered if there have been changes.  Lord Maglor was never on friendly terms with his brother; I could not say if there have been changes beyond what would be expected from his being so continually at Himring.  Maedhros the king, has he changed?  Am I right to think there are more times of cold control, such as he showed his brother in the hall?

“Perhaps we should retake Lothlann before Thargelion,” I said.  The plans for recapture of the lost lands are still in an early stage and known only to a few, it had not been settled which lands to retake first.  

Maedhros laughed, with genuine amusement.  “No, strategy had better not be determined by which of my brothers is most annoying at present, tempting though it is.  Which is taken first must depend on the Naugrim; we will need their aid to retake Thargelion.  If I cannot convince them to give it until we can show them victories then we must retake Lothlann first, but it would be easier to take Lothlann if we already have Thargelion.”  His voice took on a wry tone as he added, “Whichever we take first Maglor and Caranthir will quarrel violently.”

Whichever we took would be a hard campaign, with Dorthonion in enemy hands.  He spoke as if there was no doubt of victory, but it is the task of a leader to show confidence.  

“It must be soon, with or without the Naugrim” he went on “We cannot afford to leave Morgoth with the upper hand for long.  I will go to Belegost.”  Although he still spoke calmly I recalled that we cannot expect Angband to rest quiet now the Siege is broken.  Himring is strong, but Angband is stronger and the alliance among the elf-kind is vulnerable.  For the first time I was glad of my mortal age, and the thought that I would most likely not see what lay ahead.  He would see it.

“I will fetch the latest maps, and Castellan Erestor if he can be found,” I said, “we can work on possible plans for a while.”  Inwardly I resigned myself to loss of sleep, no elf ever remembers how much more of it we need.

The maps are kept in a chamber painted as a glade in springtime.  I lingered for a while after I had found the ones wanted, and hoped that when spring came indeed it would bring promise of the victories that all within these walls would need.

Endnote: Just to say there is canon evidence (admittedly slight) for Maedhros being styled king, and also for the retaking of Lothlann and Thargelion

Source: http://clotho123.tripod.com/mainlist1/winter.htm

#maedhros #maglor #himring #silmarillion

[gffa]

Name ten favourite characters from ten different things (books, tv, film, etc.) then tag ten people

Tagged by @thewillowbends.  These lists are always hard, but that’s kind of the fun of them!  And that’s why we cheat and sometimes have lots of ties because no you can’t make me choose. 1.  Thor from Marvel’s Cinematic Universe - I am a sucker for a character who has their shit together but can still be human and face ridiculously traumatic experiences and come through them whole because they had a rock solid foundation to begin with.  From being thrown out of Asgard, made mortal, and taking that chance to suck it up and make himself better that he did that himself to the loss of pretty much his entire family and most of his people and his sense of purpose, the thing I love about Thor is that he keeps getting back up.  That kind of fortitude is even more appealing that the ridiculously hot lightning powers. 2.  Tsukino Usagi from Sailor Moon - I always loved her in the ‘90s anime, but reading the manga skyrocketted her into this special untouchable place in my heart.  The beginning of her journey is a girl who is so fragile that she would kill herself if she didn’t have the emotional support around her, who had to take step after step forward to find her inner strength, who wasn’t weak or terrible for her fragility, but instead her story was worth telling for it, that the point she started out as was just as valuable as the place she ended up, where she could be the one to stand up to save her friends and get them back herself, that journey was worth telling.  I LOVE HER TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH. 3.  Thranduil and Maedhros from Tolkien’s Legendarium - It was really hard to choose, because I love a lot of the characters (and I feel badly leaving Thingol and Maglor off the list and I will fight a bitch for Galadriel and Elrond and listen Glorfindel is pure joy and also the internet is too mean to Elwing and I kind of want alllll the Melkor and Manwe fic because sobs they’re brothers shut up you can’t make me not have feelings about that, but also trashbag Melkor/Sauron and--) but those are the two I usually wind up wanting to know their pov in a fic I’m reading or have them around when shit’s going down because I want to see what they’ll do or I just miss them the most when they’re not there. 4.  Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi from Star Wars - If you asked me to pick between them, I don’t know that I could.  Yeah, sure, I love Obi-Wan ridiculously, but if you give me five minutes, I’m pretty much always going to drift back to talking about Anakin and his issues instead.  I’m not sure I can even boil them down into a nutshell about why I like them so much, they’re the kind of characters that I love so intensely and with such big, sweeping thoughts, that I’d have to write a whole essay.  But my best attempt:  Anakin’s being both dumbass and genius at the same time, being charming and magnetic while also being a bag of garbage at the same time, who had such good in him but was also an absolute monster, who I desperately want to be happy, but I also struggle to forgive him sometimes and that’s saying a lot for a fictional character, he’s brilliant enough to truly carry an entire Saga about him.  And Obi-Wan is the bedrock of all goodness in that galaxy, he could be obnoxious at times and he didn’t always see Anakin clearly, but he always cared and he remained good and hopeful, he continued to serve the galaxy, no matter what it threw at him, and even forgave Anakin in the end, because he always rose above.  That’s it, that’s my shit right there. 5.  Inoue Orihime from Bleach - ORIHIME WAS MY GIRL FROM THE VERY BEGINNING, her unwavering kindness and care, her desire to be soft in a world (and, frankly, fandom) that wanted her to be hard and to fight everything, when she didn’t want to fight, she wanted to heal, she wanted to have fun and be weird, she wanted everyone to be happy, all of that made me love her.  Her loopiness is an absolute delight, but what I loved so much about her is that Orihime had the powers/abilities to be quite possibly the most OG of the entire cast, she could reject reality itself, and she never once wanted to use it to beat anyone up or to destroy anything, she wanted to make friends with her fairies and she wanted to help people.  That girl refused to let the world make her anything less than kind and caring and sweet.  She was THE BEST. 6.  Hara Akiha and Umeda Hokuto from Hanazakari no Kimitachi e/Hana-Kimi - Sometimes we all fall in love with those minor characters and they just fucking consume us.  A lot of it came from that they were both hot, they were both hilarious, and so they were just really fun, but what really got me was that I genuinely loved everything Nakajo did with Umeda’s character.  There weren’t a lot of gay characters in shoujo manga that weren’t complete comedic relief, where their sexuality was the joke.  Yes, Umeda was often a humorous character (all of the cast was) but he firmly was completely uninterested in high school kids, he liked adult men, and his advice to Mizuki may have been crabby as hell, but it was genuine and good.  His sexuality wasn’t the punchline of his character.  Then there was Akiha, who was also comedic, but his bisexuality (another rare thing to find in manga!) had nothing to do with the humor of his character, all of it was in the way he chased after Umeda.  He was a genuine suitor (and, reading the post-manga character interviews, apparently they got together, OMG MY HEART) and the kiss they shared was treated just as seriously as any straight kiss would have been.  That meant a lot to me, even though I’d have loved the characters just because they were so interesting and Umeda’s struggle to get over the guy who never cared for him and to let himself be vulnerable with someone that he could actually care about, was so great. 7.  Yuki Eiri from Gravitation - I can’t begrudge anyone for giving this show a lot of shit (and I definitely am going with anime!Yuki here, rather than manga!Yuki) or dismissing it as being god-awful, because it probably was pretty cringeworthy.  But Yuki got under my skin because he was one of the first characters I resonated with where his depression was real and it was ugly.  He could be cruel to people around him, he pushed them away, not just half-heartedly, but genuinely, and he couldn’t stand being vulnerable, because it touched on all the terrible places that had been damaged by what Kitazawa had done to him.  And he couldn’t just be magically fixed by Tohma’s devotion or Shuuichi’s unwavering amounts of love poured into him.  He couldn’t just be fixed with a hug or one good crying session.  He was damaged and it was going to be a hell of a long hike back up to anything even a little bit normal.  Especially back at that time, I felt like depression and trauma were never given any real weight, then along comes this ridiculous BL series that just refused to make Yuki anything less that genuinely damaged and it hit all these places in wee me that was struggling through my own depression that couldn’t just be cured with some hugs and people telling me they loved me.

8.  Hashiba Touma from Yoroiden Samurai Troopers - I’m not sure I could even say why this character got under my skin the way he did, other than that there was definitely a group of us who were SUPER into the show and it was fun to make a playground for ourselves, and Touma just really got to me.  The brilliant character who didn’t always know how to relate to others, but who cared very deeply about them, who gravitated to those who were better at social interaction than he was, who were better able to connect to people than he was, that he found this group where he really belonged, that just really touched wee me’s heart. 9.  Tendou Souji from Kamen Rider Kabuto - THIS OBNOXIOUS HOT MESS I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.  It was hard not to put Kagami on the list as well, because so much of what I love about Tendou is illustrated through his relationship with Kagami (whom I also love on his own), but I think I keep coming back to that I love his issues the most.  He’s the best at everything and so it puts distance between him and everyone else, all the more so because he’s so obnoxious about it and doesn’t slow down for anyone else to catch up, but the thing is that there’s a very caring heart underneath all that.  He loves his sisters, he loves Kagami, he even kind of tolerates the rest of their weird gang, and trying to find that difficult line of his superiority over the others versus that he wants them to catch up to him in his own way, all while being the most condescending dick ever, is absolute joy. 10.  Relena Darlian from Gundam Wing - I had a difficult path to liking Relena, because so much of fandom boiled her down to either being a creepy stalker who got in the way of Heero/Duo or they only ever wrote her in romantic pairing stuff with Heero, neither of which really encouraged me to like her.  But, as time went on and I rewatched the series a couple of times, I realized there’s so much more to her.  She’s a character who has to walk an impossible line between both of the legacies that weigh on her, the birth family that she never knew but maybe she could help bring peace to the world by taking up that name, by trying to bring back the Sanq Kingdom that promoted absolute pacifism and peace.  Yet, ultimately, for all that her relationship with Zechs is really important and she was the heir to that kingdom, she chose to be Relena Darlian.  She choose to try to bring peace to the world by standing up on her own as a politician, not a figurehead queen of the world.  The struggle to figure that out, who she wants to be and how she wants to achieve it, to go from a sheltered young girl at the start of the series to someone who has seen how terrible war is, is far more interesting than either of those first options for me! And I’ll tag @forcearama (and if I couldn’t put Obi-Wan as all ten entries, neither can you!) @belldreams @subskywalker @cacchieressa @bpdanakins @glompcat @writegowrite @fireflyfish @evaceratops @amarielah and anyone else who wants to do it that I’m not sure I feel quite like I’m able to try peer pressuring you into it.  ♥  I love seeing these from anyone who wants to do them, I’m just never sure if I’m allowed to go HEY YOU DO THIS THING.  orz

#i should have a personal tag around here somewhere

[art-of-a-diffrent-color]

The Coronation of King Elessar and What Followed

Maglor was careful, of course, traveling to the lands of Gondor. Although time had healed many of the aches in his heart, a final push against Sauron was too tempting to resist. Disguised in the helm of the armies of Gondor, the elf is sure no one would recognize him. Even if any did notice the ears, so different in shape than those of the mortal races, few are left that could recognized him, and none are present on this field of battle. Still, when the King sweeps past, their eyes lock. Grey eyes, seeming as old as an age and so achingly familiar but set in the wrong face, fix on the elf.

He knows. Although there is no possible way for this King of men to recognize him, Maglor can tell, bone deep, that this man knows who he is.

The King nods, a small private thing meant only for the two of them, but then the moment passes and the King rides on. The black gates grind open and a viscous messenger rides forth to be met by the King. All too soon battle breaks out, and the world narrows down to the ringing of swords and the taste of blood. Across the field, Maglor can see the King, head high and moving with a fluidity that no one else - save for the Sindarin elf who fights side by side with the dwarf, and perhaps himself - seems to possess.

It is after the battle, after the mountain blows and the tower falls, in the relative peace of a war camp that the King seeks him out.

His dark hair is blood stained and his armor tarnished, but otherwise he looks unharmed. Standing in the entrance of the tent, Maglor takes the time to properly look over the man before him. Of everything about him, it is his eyes that draw the elves attention once again. Eyes that have somehow endured ages and found their way to the face of this man. Yes, Maglor thinks, this is a Grandchild of Elros.

“I would know those eyes anywhere,”

“Would you?”

Maglor thinks back to the last time he saw those eyes open and full of life, how the tears had spilled from them as Elros explained his choice.

“Yes,” is all Maglor can find to say.

“I am surprised to find you here,”

“It is end of a battle older than your country that my family has been a part of since the beginning, where else would I be?”

“Where else indeed…” The man mutters to himself as he takes a seat on a barrel, quietly enough that Maglor almost misses the words. But the elf lets them go, now is not the time for arguments, now is a time for healing and rebuilding. It would not do to fight over a welcome from family that Maglor knows is there for him, but that he is unworthy of.

“Why have you sought me out?” Maglor asks, eyeing the new King beside him. “To sate a curiosity perhaps?”

The man’s lips twitch up into a wry smile.

“Perhaps a little,” he concedes. “You must forgive a childhood curiosity that it seems I have never grown out of. There are stories you know, of an elf grown monstrous with the weight of his sins, or that his sorrow and despair has left him a husk. Mayhap you started some of these tails yourself. Yet I have also heard tell of a wandering elf, with a voice that mirrors the lament of the sea, who has not yet withered or become some creature of the dark. I myself have encountered a shadow in the black woods, helpful and watchful, always gone before I can confirm what they are, but frequent enough that I know he is more than a trick of the light.”

The man stands from his seat and looks down at the regal elf.

“He always disappears before I can give him my gratitude.”

Those grey eyes are once again knowing, and Maglor feels exposed in a way he has not been for may years.

“I would have you attend my coronation, you need not make yourself known, but I have little family left to me and your presence would mean much.”

Before Maglor can make a comment, question the sensibility of a Fenorian within the walls of Gondor, the man is gone.

A dozen thoughts flit about inside the elves mind, and so Maglor does what many had often said in jest his family was incapable of doing, but what the ages spent alone had made him good at;

He thinks.

 In the end, it is a spur of the moment decision to attend the ceremony. Maglor stands towards the back, the view is less than ideal, but his elven eyesight proves once again an advantage. Covered in a black cloak, face almost entirely hidden, he must look like a shadow in the brightness of day. As the celebrations before the ceremony wind on, Maglor thinks back to the words spoken in the tent.

“I have little family left,” the man, Aragorn, Elessar some are calling him, had said. The words struck a chord, and even through the ages there is little Maglor would not do for his family. Aragorn knows this, seeming to have pieced together the reason the elf remains on Arda. It would seem a low blow to the elf, if he had not felt the sincerity of the request. Family it appears holds just as much weight to this man as it does to any son of Fëanor.

Soon the ceremony begins, and as Elessar turns to face the crowd, his grey eyes find Maglor much as they did on the battlefield. Maglor smiles, and watches as the King makes his first official debut to his people, only for the man to stop in his tracks before an elven delegation.

A woman steps forward from behind a banner, and Elessars face alights with joy. Maglor however misses this, his eyes fixed on a standard he had never thought to see again. The silver star and black cloth a proud display of allegiance to a house that most who know their symbology hold in contempt. Who then would-?

The Elf beside the flag turns slightly, revealing part of a face that Maglor should not be surprised to see. Elrond. Panic flares inside the elf, the old feelings of failure and disappointment rising like a wave. He needs to leave, to escape before he is recognized. But the crowd is too thick to beat a retreat that is both quick and inconspicuous. So Instead he claps, and bows with the crowds, and prays that he has not been seen.

Maglor takes the first opportunity that presents itself to move without drawing attention. He keeps his pace slow and clam until he reaches the first ally devoid of people and Maglor takes off at a run. The winding streets become a blur in his mind, no real destination other than ‘Away” driving Maglor onward. That is until an arm knocks the dark-haired elf to the ground. All at once the wind leaves his lungs and his head vaguely throbs from where it connected with the stone ground.

“O! Why not be staying?

Why now goes thou flying?

Does your mind go a straying

Now that daylight is dying?

To fly would be folly,

To stay would be jolly!”

Above him a voice lilts, bright and sunny, and Maglor would think they were being friendly if not for the signer having sent him to the ground.

“And listen and hark

Till the end of the dark

To our tune!”

“I regret writing that song.” Maglor groans our, the first thought that comes to mind.

“Oh, ho ho! Come now! It’s not at all bad for the first work of an elfling.”

The laughter, something Maglor had not thought he would ever hear again is what prompts him to open his eyes. Standing above him, arms crossed over his chest, his hair a golden halo and shining with inner light is Glorfindel. The Lord of the Golden Flower extends a hand, and hesitantly, Maglor accepts it, his hood fallen revealing his face.

“Did Elrond send you?”

“No,” the warrior shakes his head. “No, my Lord is a bit preoccupied at the moment, what with the wedding of his only daughter.” Glorfindel laughs again, friendly but calculated, and dread pools in Maglors stomach. “I doubt my Lord took any notice of you. My departure, however? It was sudden, suspicious, and far from discreet.”

The sound of approaching footsteps, much lighter then any of the men of the city, draw close and Glorfindel lays a supportive hand on Maglors shoulder.

“You have put this off for far to long my old friend, and there is not much time left.”

The steps round into the ally and a voice calls out,

“Glorfindel, there you are! Why-”

With a squeeze, the Golden warrior releases Maglors shoulder and steps to the side and the third party cuts off. Glorfindel disappears, where too, the ancient elf cannot say, all his senses now focused on the figure at the end of the ally.

“Ada,”

#maglor #elrond #aragorn #king elessar #arwen #glorfindel #some of these characters are probably a bit ooc #I will be writing more #but this is where I am at for right now #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #lotr fanfiction #my fanfic #fic wip #cross posted to ao3

[kyelek]

𝐎𝐧 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

a little bit about tyelko and his siblings, his relationships with them in an overview, and ( slightly more deeply ) his relationship with curufin.

First, on names: ( maybe it’s been apparent in my rps, I do have my own thoughts and formulae that I try to stick with after all ) Celegorm usually calls his elder two brothers by their mother-names. respectively Maedhros he’ll call Maitimo and Maglor he’ll call Makalaurë, both talking to them as well as to others of them*. His younger brothers Caranthir and Curufin are Morifinwë and Curufinwë, by their father-names. Ambarussa, again on the other hand, are Ambarussa to Celegorm as well. The explanation is this: Both Maedhros and Maglor were known to Celegorm by their mother-names from the beginning ( aka when he was born ), most often went by them** and so would have spoken of themselves most often and moved their little brother to call them the same. As for his younger brothers, the father-name is usually the name given soonest, the name an Elf is earliest known by earliest; so it’s a habit hard to break. Regarding Ambarussa, we know there was much debate on their names between their parents, but we also know that they called each other the same between the both of them and – I would wager Celegorm more or less simply picked their and their mother’s “side” in calling them ( except shortened names, Minyo and Atyo, and as they were most often called Minyarussa and Atyarussa in their days in Aman ).

----- [ *1) There are some exceptions to this, for him at least; speaking to his mother and father Celegorm also speaks, to them, of his brothers respectively by their mother- or father-names. Joining Fëanor in exile at Formenos, for example, it’d seem he abandons his own and his brothers’ mother-names entirely from use.

**2) I might be author’s intent-ing this but – we know the father-name was an Elf’s official name, even if no other name was known ( or preferred ). But we do know the mother-names of the sons of Fëanor and most of their Sindarized names, also, are clearly derived from their mother-names ( Celegorm’s as well ), so I would guess they preferred their mother-names in their daily-lives in Valinor as well. ] -----

On relationships among the seven sons: Celegorm is closest to Curufin, as we are plainly shown, told, etc. and it goes to assume also close to the twins since they are mentioned almost in the same breath when introduced and share an interest. More on Curufin specifically later. Then as for–

Maedhros: the eldest, and thus in age somewhat more removed from Celegorm, he understands to hold against that awfully volatile temper, or at least how to endure it. And Celegorm finds, then, even his reprimands not so harsh when his eldest brother points them out because he has been so often shown that there is goodwill behind that. That’s not to say that they don’t have their points of contention; Celegorm is one of the hardiest disagreers with Mae’s decision to give up the kingship of the Ñoldor, and they differ vastly in their understanding of the events at Nargothrond ( as well as in my survival verse, leaving Dior’s sons behind ). Maedhros doesn’t fail to fulfil his wise-older-brother role with Celegorm. And Celegorm has an appreciation for the more tender moments between them, and the things unsaid... On a slightly less gentle note, Celegorm does feel a lot of guilt ( more than Maglor, he might argue, and yet not argue because he won’t speak of it ) for deciding not to pursue Morgoth’s offer or to attempt his brother’s rescue from Thangorodrim. In fewer words, Celegorm holds fast to the authority Maedhros has as the eldest.

Maglor: I would argue Celegorm and Maglor are the least close; in terms of shared interests, they don’t seem to have (m)any, and neither does Maglor seem too easily swayed by Celegorm’s moods and attempts on his ( like Caranthir ) that this side would be entertaining in a way. I think they can easily come together over some certain music, but clearly they prefer other company. However, ultimately they also come to share the burden of deciding Maedhros’ doom at Thangorodrim; in those 30 years, maybe they stray closer to each other than ever before and after; misery loves company.

Caranthir: Like already briefly touched on, Celegorm’s own temper lends itself to riling up Caranthir. And I can not get around mentioning again at this point, but I do believe Caranthir received unfair narrative bias and was not in fact the most volatile among his siblings, so that title would stay with Celegorm. However, I do think that Celegorm had a special talent for riling him up ( though at times then twisting it around on himself ), and that it was worse still for being his most immediate younger brother; Celegorm had a lot of teasing to try on him. Still I think they’re fully able to share peaceful moments together, and certainly that Celegorm doesn’t always mean ill towards Caranthir, doesn’t only tease him.

I’ll skip Curufin to talk about him more extensively in a second.

Ambarussa: Though already having an equal number older and younger brothers by the time the twins are conceived, he surely didn’t not wish for them. At the latest with Curufin, Celegorm fell comfortably into his role as an older brother and he certainly looked forward to the prospect of more such. Bittersweet when their father named them with being the last two in mind. Like Celegorm they like to hunt, and there is lots they can share in from that – unlike with Caranthir or Curufin. Undoubtedly they went out much together still in Valinor, and I don’t think their placement in Beleriand was for a sudden misalignment so much as a tactic to move the youngest of the family furthest from harm’s way. As Celegorm left Himlad to ride with Caranthir at whiles, he also visited the Ambarussa that way south. -----

Curufin gets his own section because ... Because he is plainly who Celegorm is closest to among his brothers. They may not share interests as much, but they surely share ambition and greatest likeness to their father ( Curufin for his name, his skills of course, and while Maglor is mentioned for his voice Celegorm is mentioned for his voice specifically in relation to Fëanor ); that also later turns them into the most vicious of the brothers... more on that in a moment.

Curufin is very much the quiet cunning counterpart to Celegorm’s louder voice and forward moods and actions, but neither are they dull to each other’s temperaments nor unwilling to play on them. Specifically in trying to take over rule in Nargothrond they constantly play off of one another to move the people there over onto their side and you can’t say it doesn’t work until the very end. They look quite different each if looked at superficially, but I think being the two with greatest likenesses to their father it’s plain that they would best get along ( not always the most easily, but as in complimenting each other’s strengths ). 

While Maedhros understands better to soothe or at least somehow handle Celegorm’s temper, I don’t think Curufin often needs to try to accommodate it despite the understanding he might bring up for it. Curufin besides having the penchant to understand from their father’s likeness in each other, also has the benefit of being the younger brother – and on top of that being the second younger brother to Celegorm. By the time Curufin is conceived I think Celegorm has better fallen into the “role” of it – maybe dejected that Caranthir did not share his interests so much, even though Curufin doesn’t, on the surface, seem to either, he has come to greater acceptance of that fact and an understanding in where and how they do have things in common.

Frankly also – being most like their father both – obviously Fëanor was greatly loved by all seven. Perfectly being their own people, still seeing the likeness of him in each other must be some comfort.

They might not always balance each other, then, and become a “milder” more neutral force in that process, no, but they certainly compliment each other and bring out their greatest feats and skills ( for better or worse, whoever is on the receiving end ).

#𝑯𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒚 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓 ( headcanon ). #𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑭𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒓. #that's a whammy but i would still class it a brief overview and just for subtle reference of my understanding of them #tbh akjdh

[wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey]

rank the Feanorians bish

uGH I should have KNOWN

Maedhros obviously wins every contest ever but anyway here goes

The Original Sons, from before I invested my entire heart and soul in the Gold Rush AU

1.  Maedhros my FIRE SON aAAAAAAAAA WHO DESERVED BETTER GOSH hE IS JUST SO COOL AND THE ANGGGSTTT AND THE FAMILY FEELs

2.  Maglor my sad oath-weary son who took in Elrond and Elros and saw all his brothers die and who walked in exile all his days

3.  Amrod and Amras (I also cannot separate them everrr)

4.  Caranthir (I am vastly ashamed to say I never thought much about Caranthir other than that him being Caranthir the Dark was cool and that while he was a kinslayer he didn’t stoop to Celegorm and Curufin’s level, so yeah he was a 4 by default) (I am so ashamed)

5.  Celegorm and Curufin both kind of shared this level. I liked Celegorm because of Huan mostly, and Curufin for being named for Feanor, but I didn’t have much of an emotional attachment to them, so their whole thing with Luthien and with Finrod was not tragically sad just…sad and infuriating

The Sons after @thelonelybrilliance @abadpoetwithdreams and I got hold of them (and wrote 150,000+ words of a Gold Rush AU)

1.  I WOULD DIE FOR MAEDHROS I WOULD SUFFER ANGBAND FOR HIM IF IT MEANT HE COULD BE SAFE AND HAPPY AND WITH HIS FAMILY AND BEST BROS

2. Maglor is a mess but I love him so much and I LOVE his relationship with Maedhros SO freaking MUCH and and Emma that line you just wrote! where! he calls! one name!!! AAAAAA

3. Caranthir! I have been considering him more in general in the Silm itself within the past year but THEN tHEN we started the au and suddenly he became one of the dearest characters in my heart, my awkward son who loves so much and who keeps his [redacted]’s [redacted] (and on some days I think I love him as much as I love Maglor, and some days maybe more) (and then I remember how much I love Maglor) (I have a never-ending cycle of emotions it’s fine)

4. Celegorm just…took me by surprise in the au, and it is partially because we develop his relationship with Maedhros and partially because he just transformed so naturally into this precious hunter son and I Can’t

5. Amrod and Amras are still together because I cannot BEAR the thought of separating them and I can’T I LOVE them and MAedhroS Loves them and he HUGS them and he has been their brother and guardian and guardian angel and I JUST

6. Curufin Oh CURUFIN my OBSESSIVE JEALOUS WILD OUT OF HIS DEPTH CHILD HE IS A KID A KIDDDD WHYYYYY

…..OKAY LOOK HONESTLY IDK IF THESE RANKINGS ARE EVEN STEADY, SOME DAYS I WEEP OVER LIL GRUB SON CURUFIN AND THEN HE MEANS MORE TO ME THAN THE TWINS BECAUSE HIS STORY IS TURNING OUT SO PAINFULLY SAD BUT THEN i ALSO CARE ABOUT THE TWINS AND THEN OKAY REALLY WE HAVE 3 LEVELS AND THERE ARE LEVELS WITHIN THE LEVELS THAT FLUCTUATE

1. Maedhros

2. Maglor and Caranthir

3. Celegorm, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras

are you satisfied now Morgoth Emma?

#feanorians #the silmarillion #gold rush au #I HATE RANKING FAVORITES #I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH #thelonelybrilliance #three is company