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swanmaids · 9 months

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The girl on the bedroll is small, and silent as she sleeps, and her life has just been torn apart down the middle. Or, more accurately, it has been torn once more, having never been quite whole since the Trees died. Glorfindel looks down at her tiny sleeping form, bundled in so many furs, and winces.

“Will you take her?” Aredhel, currently stationed to watch over the child, asks him, “I’m not really any good with children. And I want to go to my brother.”

A selfish part of Glorfindel wants to blurt out that he is no good with children either. In Aman, he was the youngest of his family, the longed-for boy after four sisters, and doted upon. He had been, in a sense, an eternal child - when he had followed Ecthelion onto the Ice, he had not known anything about anything. But the Ice is a severe and unforgiving teacher. Now, he can butcher a seal, strip a corpse for anything worth the taking, and rally his friends to press on through the snow. Surely he can learn to care for a sleeping seven year old girl.

“I’ll take her,” he says, and Aredhel ducks out of the tent almost instantly, towards the anguished wails of her brother across the camp.

He can hardly blame her for it. Glorfindel did not see Turgon’s wife and daughter fall, but he has seen others lose spouses and beloveds to the snarling jaws of the Ice, and it is always a horror. Sometimes, the partner left behind will simply stop walking and refuse to start again. He suspects Idril is being kept away from her father while her aunts and uncles struggle to persuade him against doing the same himself.

It is unsettling, to see one normally so strong and powerful reduced like this. Turgon faces down all manner of sea-beasts, jumps in to mediate when tempers flare hot among the host, wears the grim stance of a leader as easily as a cloak. He does not falter, he does not break. But now he does.

Moments later, Idril’s snowdrift-pale eyes snap open.

Glorfindel flounders. He should not have let Aredhel leave - he does not know what to say to this tiny child.

But Idril, upon waking, simply pushes herself up onto her elbows, and clutches something to her chest, muttering to it. Perhaps it is a gift granted to children, Glorfindel thinks, the brief forgetting of life’s all-too-real horrors. In any case, he has no intention of reminding her.

It takes a few minutes for Idril to even notice him. When she does, she holds out the bundle she has been mumbling to.

“Did you want to play with my doll?”

The thing in her hands can just about be called a doll. It is a cloth poppet made up of spare bits of rag too small for any other purpose, stitched together to resemble a figure with limbs and a head. Turgon and Elenwe have - had - many skills, but sewing was apparently not one of them. The doll is leaking stuffing where it is starting to come apart at the seams.

Through the mending of clothes and of tents as is necessary on the Ice, Glorfindel has learned that he has some skill with a needle. Perhaps there is one small thing that he can do for this girl, after all.

“She’s a very pretty doll,” he says, “but she looks as though she’s hurting a bit. Would you allow me to try and heal her? You can watch me the whole time.”

Idril looks a little dubious, but she presses the doll into his hands with all the grace of a queen bestowing a gift upon a loyal vassal. She will make a fine lady someday, he thinks, and soon. Childhood ends swiftly on the Ice. Hers is in its dying throes. He only seeks to make them a little more comfortable.

Glorfindel digs out Aredhel’s little sewing kit and takes the doll apart as carefully as somebody mending a broken bone, Idril’s gaze on him all the time. He unpicks stitching, redistributes stuffing, closes up tears. When he’s finished, he’s rewarded with a little smile.

Well, nearly finished. Because -

“She’s bald,” he realises, causing Idril to giggle shyly, “we ought to give her some hair.”

He takes a small knife from his belt and cuts a lock of his own sunflower-bright hair. He makes tiny, delicate stitches, until the doll has a full head of glossy, golden hair. The same colour as his, the same colour as Idril’s, the same colour as her mother’s -

But before he can curse himself for his mistake, Idril is holding the doll tight to her chest. “Thank you,” she mumbles into the cloth, tears dampening the fabric.

#my post #my fic #part 2 coming soon maybe...#idril #glorfindel #helcaraxe

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undercat-overdog · 5 months

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Ok, I said in this post that I wanted to talk about POV and what different characters would use for their species; I've been thinking about it for a while, because it's important to me to portray Elves as thinking of themselves as the default and I like having them think of mortals as different, as a way of worldbuilding and establishing POV. It's the same basic principle as why I think the War of the Elves and Sauron is a Númenórean name, not an Elvish one.

In brief: man and woman can and should be used to refer to Elves when writing from an elven POV.

I think about markedness a lot when I think about writing generally, and one of the concepts is that there are things that are unmarked, the standard, the default, the normal, the unexceptional. To an elf, the default species is elf, not human or dwarf or ent. I want to write from that POV - to an elf, humans are different, even alien. They're other. Elves are us, humans are them.

I, meanwhile, am writing in English, and man and woman are common words, the most "unmarked" words for the concepts; they're standard (e.g., woman sounds more normal than female human). Something like elf woman or female elf is more marked. Why would an elf use a more marked term to refer to their own race? Using she-elf or whatever for Elves but woman for humans uses more marked words (more uncommon, more specific, etc) for elves than it does for humans - but for elves, it should be the opposite! Elves are unmarked! Elves are default! Humans are different. If an elf is talking about someone, the default assumption would be that the someone is an elf, so if they're not an elf, it would be specified.

So when writing from the POV of an elven character, I would use woman for a female elf and mortal woman for a female human (if necessary to disambiguate). Man, meanwhile, means "Human" when it's capitalized and male when it's not. (Now, if I were writing from a human or dwarven pov, I would use elven woman, if necessary to specify that she's an elf.)

But, you say, what about using Elvish words? Well, first of all, I hate it. We're not writing in Quenya. English is great, and so are the other human languages people use to write fanfic. But that is a subjective matter of taste and you may disagree! Nothing wrong with that, de gustibus, etc.

More objectively, nér and nis are not words specific to Elves; nér means all males, so using it for specifically elf men and not human and dwarven men is incorrect (to quote Elfdict, "Nér can be used regardless of species and so is equally applicable to male Elves, Men, or Dwarves, but is unlikely to be used of male animals, for which the word [ᴹQ.] hanu is more applicable."") (Sindarin is a little more complicated, given the more complex out-of-universe changes, but it too has race-neutral terms for man and woman.)

Lastly, Tolkien himself uses man and woman to refer to non-human species. He calls Galadriel and Finduilas women, and Aredhel is "taller than a woman's wont." Earendil is a man (though he is not a Man) and Curufin is a horseman and there are lots and lots of kinsmen and kinswomen. Hobbits meanwhile, in Appendix F, have "women" and "man-children" (Tolkien is talking about how Hobbits name babies, thus the children part, but I like to think he's getting one more dig in at Pippin).

#meta #linguistics #writing #imo it's breaking pov to use 'man and woman' only for humans when writing from an elven or dwarven pov #the only time Man/Men means human is when it's capitalized #thanks to polu and aipi for examples of tolkien using 'man' and 'woman' to refer to non-humans #also man and women are great! i'm not going to abandon such useful words

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sesamenom · 10 months

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day 1 of @tolkiengenweek: fingon & maeglin in mandos.

a little while ago i did this piece and @tanoraqui mentioned maeglin in the tags. anyways i was thinking about which nolofinwion would be best at dealing w maeglin's trauma.

turgon means well, but maeglin probably doesn't want to talk to him. aredhel is a) his mom and b) part of the traumatic backstory so that would also be difficult. argon never even made it past the grinding ice (and frankly i havent figured out his personality enough to do one of these). fingon, however, kept nicely to the theme of eldest son & youngest grandson and made sense trauma-wise.

so anyways here's fingon helping maeglin deal with the aftermath of his time in morgoth's captivity and the trauma of losing aredhel.

#silm #silmarillion #tolkiengenweek #fingon #maeglin #while fingon himself hasn't been captured #he remembers maedhros' nightmares after his rescue #so he has experience dealing with that trauma #he also remembers hearing then news of aredhel's death #at a time where he hasnt seen his only surviving brother off the battlefield for centuries #and his father died years ago #his best friend is halfway across the continent dealing with his own army and battlefront #he knows what it feels like being alone like that #and can help maeglin work through his other problems #i wonder if fingon calls him by his father-name and apparent chosen name #or lomion #the secret name aredhel gave him

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imakemywings · 7 months

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So Maeglin apparently was handsome af, popular, charismatic, and a close confidant of Turgon during his time in Gondolin. In fact, he was a lord and was close to Turgon's ear so he was heard more than Idril. I just wanna know why the fandom loves to portray him as this kid who was hated by everyone (he was not), whom Turgon hated (didn't Turgon love that kid so much?), and whose love for Idril was seen in a good light (when in fact, he was willing to kill earendil just to get Idril). I was honestly shocked when it was such a popular narrative that he was being abused and hated pretty much by everyone in Gondolin and he didn't mean to cause the fall of Gondolin because he was a poor mew mew when the real poor mew mew was Turgon for listening to him in the first place. Lmao I was just genuinely shocked when it was the other way around. I like his character, he's interesting and complex but it kinda takes away the complexity of his character when he is being woobify but that's just me. What do you think?

Anon, idk if you looked at my blog and could tell I would be receptive to these takes, or if you just happen to keep landing on things I agree with XD

But yeah, I have thoughts on Maeglin's reception by the fandom and it's mostly in agreement with what you said.

With Maeglin, he is sympathetic in a lot of ways, which makes you want to root for him. He did have a difficult childhood--Eol was a shithead spouse so it's not hard to imagine he was not a great father either. Maeglin grew up almost totally isolated from anyone but his mom and dad, who did not have a good relationship, thanks to his dad's abuse. When he and Aredhel make a run for it, we want them to succeed! We want good things for them (we've been rooting for Aredhel since the beginning of the chapter)! When Maeglin witnesses his father kill his mother in an effort to kill him, we want him to find peace and security in Gondolin.

The thing is--Maeglin grows well past his difficult childhood. As you noted, Maeglin does very well for himself in Gondolin. At the end of the chapter Of Maeglin, it is described how he "grew great among the Gondolindrim" and there are various indications he was generally trusted and well-liked.

"Thus all seemed well with the fortunes of Maeglin, who had risen to be mighty among the princes of the Noldor..." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

At this point, this is we want for him! We like the idea that he's shrugged off his past, that he's doing well, and that he's not like his creepy bride-abducting father.

We don't get much in Silm about what Maeglin's relationship with Turgon is like, but I talked here about why I can't buy that Turgon neglected or abused Maeglin.

"Then the King listened with wonder to all that Aredhel had to tell; and he looked with liking upon Maeglin his sister-son, seeing in him one worthy to be accounted among the princes of the Noldor. 'I rejoice indeed that Ar-Feiniel has returned to Gondolin,' he said, 'and now more fair again shall my city seem than in the days when I deemed her lost. And Maeglin shall have the highest honor in my realm.'" ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

The only fly in that pudding is that he and Idril get off to a bad start which never improves. He's into her, she's not into him, but he can't let it go. He lets it fester and generate anger, jealousy, and hatred, and in this way, he's like so many creepy guys who can't take rejection.

"But as the years passed, still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart. And he sought the more to have his will in other matters, shirking no toil or burden, if he might thereby have power." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

But even so, Maeglin is trusted by Turgon! He's popular! He has his own craft and people who admire and follow his ideas! In almost every way, Maeglin should be happy. But he cannot stop obsessing over Idril, and he lets that spoil everything else that he's achieved, to the point where he's wiling to betray the entire city to possess her.

I think there's also a disconnect between those who've read The Fall of Gondolin and those who haven't, because TFOG expands on a lot of things only really hinted at in Silm proper. For instance, the attempted murder of Earendil (who, it should be noted, is seven years old during the sack of Gondolin). In Silm, we get this:

"Tuor sought to rescue Idril from the sack of the city, but Maeglin had laid hands on her, and on Earendil; and Tuor fought with Maeglin on the walls, and cast him far out..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

In The Fall of Gondolin, we get a much more detailed account:

"Messengers by great stealth he had dispatched to Melko[r] to set a guard about the outer issue of that Way when the assault was made; but he himself thought now to take Earendil and cast him into the fire beneath the walls, and seizing Idril he would constrain her to guide him to the secrets of the passage, that he might win out of this terror of fire and slaughter and drag her withal along with him to the lands of Melko[r]... Now then M[a]eglin had Idril by the hair and sought to drag her to the battlements out of cruelty of heart, that she might see the fall of Earendil to the flames...When M[a]eglin saw [Tuor] he would stab Earendil with a short knife he had...the mail of the small coat turned the blade aside; and thereupon Tuor was upon him and his wrath was terrible to see." ("The Original Tale," The Fall of Gondolin)

In TFOG, Maeglin's malice is even more apparent as we get a blow-by-blow account of his effort to force Idril to watch him kill her child and then drag her to Angband, but even looking exclusively at canon Silm, Maeglin clearly swings into the villain path. I don't like to criticize him too much for caving under Melkor's threats, because being threatened with torture by Melkor would be fucking terrifying and I don't think any of us can say for certain how we would respond in that kind of situation. Tolkien even tells us Maeglin wasn't a coward, but Melkor is Melkor. Not everyone can be Hurin "Noted Badass and Snarkmaster" Thalion. What I am happy to criticize him relentlessly on is that he allows Melkor's plan to move forward.

"But Morgoth sent him [Maeglin] back to Gondolin, lest any should suspect the betrayal, and so that Maeglin should aid the assault from within, when the hour came; and he abode in the halls of the King with smiling face and evil heart..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

He never warns the Gondolindrim of what's coming, and in fact he encourages Turgon to refuse Ulmo's advice and stay in the city (where Melkor expects them to be). In TFOG, when Melkor does invade, Maeglin and his house fight on Melkor's side.

Maeglin fucked up by selling the city out, no argument. But it's more than that--he could have tried to fix it. But he doesn't. Because? Because he doesn't want his treachery revealed, and because Melkor promised him possession of Idril if he helped.

"Great indeed was the joy of Morgoth, and to Maeglin he promised the lordship of Gondolin as his vassal, and the possession of Idril Celebrindal, when the city should be taken; and indeed desire for Idril and hatred for Tuor led Maeglin the easier to his treachery, most infamous in all the histories of the Elder Days." ( "Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

People resist the narrative of Maeglin the villain I think because they are still in phase 1 where we want good things for Maeglin and for him to overcome his past. And he does...but then he chooses his own shitty path and throws away all the things he gained because he can't be content without everything that he wants, which includes Idril. Making all Maeglin's bad choices someone else's fault--Idril's for rejecting his advances, Aredhel or Eol for parenting him wrong, Turgon for not understanding him, Tuor for who knows--means not having to acknowledge Maeglin chose to become the person who betrayed Gondolin and tried to murder his family.

"Then the heart of Idril was turned towards [Tuor], and his to hear; and Maeglin's secret hatred grew ever greater, for he desired above all things to possess her, the only heir to the King of Gondolin." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

Maeglin's story is a tragedy of someone consumed with their own malcontent, someone who had so much opportunity to be happy but chose to perserverate on the things he couldn't have, who became so obsessed with his own desires that he was willing to hurt everyone around him to get what he wanted. Maeglin's story is of a man who could not handle rejection by a woman he wanted, so he decided to ruin her life and kill her family. Maeglin begins the story as someone we are meant to sympathize with--but he doesn't end it that way.

#asks #anonyous #maeglin #meta

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thesummerestsolstice · 3 months

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Headcanon Crafts for the House of Finarfin

Earwen: a sailor. Yes, I know, the Teleri are the sea elves, but while most of them can manage in a rowboat, only a few are true sailors; able to navigate the Teleri's finest ships, even in rocky bays or stormy waves. And Earwen was the best of the best. She was particularly fond of venturing out where no one had before, seeing everything there was to see on the ocean, though she always turned back to Valinor eventually.

Finrod: a bard. While Maglor's focus was always on the oral history of the Quendi, Finrod preferred to learn folktales and lays, which were often preformed more casually and retold with somewhat improvised lyrics on the fly. By the time of his death, he knew more myths and legends (elvish, mannish, and dwarfish) than anyone else, though most of it remained unwritten and died with him.

Angrod: a spinner. Well, he didn't just spin wool into thread– though he did keep a few sheep, and was very fond of them. He spun thread and yarn from various materials, and then hand made dye to turn it various colors. He valued his work for its rich hues and remarkable resistance to fraying. He was basically the only person whose thread was high quality enough for Caranthir; the two of them really bonded over fiber work.

Aegnor: a dancer; more in-line with traditional Vanyar work than most Noldor crafts. He had the strength and precision for the most complex dances, though he was sometimes a bit awkward when it came to dancing with a partner. Some speculated that he would swear his service to Nessa, as one of the few dancers skilled enough for a place in her halls, but he never did. He always felt there was more for him in life than endless routine.

Orodreth: a gardener. Look, a garden is an amazing work because it's always growing and changing, and it's made in collaboration with nature. Orodreth loved that sense connection with the world around him, and tried to make garden that looked more natural and weren't bound to beds or boxes. His favorite flowers were always tulips. Though it was underground, Nargothrond still had beautiful gardens thanks to some creativity on his part.

Galadriel: a baker, like Finarfin. As a child, she wanted to follow in her father's footsteps and make something that everyone would be able to enjoy; she learned a lot of her craft directly from him. Aredhel would often bring her fresh ingredients from the Valinorian woods. After going to Middle-Earth, she set her craft aside because she had no use for fancy craft work when she had to deal with fighting hordes of orcs and trying to deal with Sindar-Noldor political relationships. Also Finarfin and Aredhel weren't around anyone. She came back to it in the Second Age, and was able to find peace and happiness in her craft once again, although she never lost any of her warrior's skill.

Bonus! Although he wasn't aware of it, Finrod actually managed to make his way into legends and folktales throughout the peoples of Middle-Earth. Though his story was changed over time, he's always remembered as a faithful friend and a ray of light in dark times– and as having a rather impressive amount of fancy jewelry. He learns this all in Valinor, from his conversations with another famous keeper of tales: Bilbo Baggins.

Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the rest of the House of Finwe.

#silmarillion #silm headcanons #house of finwe #house of finarfin #noldor #noldor crafts #finarfin #earwen #finrod #angrod #aegnor #orodreth #galadriel #caranthir #aredhel

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velvet4510 · 1 month

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I ship every canonical Tolkien couple - except Aerin & Brodda, Aredhel & Eöl, and Tar-Míriel & Ar-Pharazôn. Those poor ladies deserved so much better than those pathetic a-holes.

(I also kinda think Melian could’ve done better than Thingol.)

These are the “non-canonical” Tolkien pairings that I ship, since nobody asked.

Frodo x Sam (it’s literally canon, period, forget the “non-canonical” category, it’s right there, it’s real)

Frodo x Sam x Rosie (Sam being shared during that year in Bag End; also all but spelled out)

Bilbo x Thorin (obviously; even in the book, it’s subtextual, but it’s THERE)

Fingon x Maedhros (Beren/Lúthien + Frodo/Sam parallels are no joke; yes yes i know i know they’re first cousins and that should be a dealbreaker, and for a while it was for me, but technically they’re HALF-cousins, they only share one grandparent, and it’s not like they can procreate together, so it’s very different from what it would be if one of them was female, also their story is inherently tragic and I think their being related adds to that)

Túrin x Beleg (also, obviously; i mean Túrin only thought he loved Níniel because he felt some kind of connection with her but misinterpreted it in his desperation to get over Beleg)

Finrod x Bëor (yes, Finrod loved Amarië too, and they definitely got their well-deserved happily ever after when Finrod was re-embodied…BUT look at how Bëor gave up everything to spend the rest of his life with Finrod, and how Finrod lost Bëor to mortality but then laid down his life for Bëor’s descendant; the angst is just too juicy to ignore)

I do not ship Merry and Pippin at all; not only are they full blooded first cousins, but since Merry is an only child and Pippin only has sisters, they very clearly fill that “brother” role in each other’s lives.

After a lot of thought, I’ve decided that queerplatonic Legolas/Gimli makes the most sense to me. They also fill the “brother” role in each other’s lives since they both have no blood siblings. I understand why many people do ship them romantically/sexually, but the thought of anything sexual between them just doesn’t feel right to me, personally. Even the thought of kisses just doesn’t seem to fit them, IMO; they’re about mutual respect and sharing quality time, rather than anything physical. To me they exemplify “heterosexual life partners” perfectly.

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searchingforserendipity25 · 4 months

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'envy is unbecoming.'

'then you ought not to make bribes from the east so beautiful, or at least keep your brother's best steeds for yourself! you know not the treasure you have in maglor,' said fingon.

he ran his hands gently down the sides of the mare, to test her sleek muscles, see how her ears twitched fearlessly.

'maglor sent his excellent horseflesh from the gap into your stables - my stables and my kennels and all my halls are silent of brother and sister, and you sit in your great fortress gnawing at impatience because your brother wants more riders.'

'more riders, more supplies, and no armour at all -'

'you do not want to be covered in steel when against a dragon, be sensible -'

'orcs care not for these sensible precautions. and he is enjoying making battle on wyrms too dearly. he keeps challenging them to games of song and riddles - it's unbecoming.'

fingon laughed. not an excellent elder brother, fingon; fond in his great steadfast way, but it would not cross his mind to fret about the weapons and wear of his siblings - he was not enough their lord, and trusted them too well.

which was perhaps how he misplaced two of them in one mistake, and barely noticed before harvesting season.

maedhros would have gone quite mad in his position, but then he never would be in this position. he was wise enough to give his brothers realms of their own, right where he could see them.

'maglor would not bite the mastering hand and drift away into mist with an army.'

maedhros snorted. 'not for lack of wishing, i suspect. can i interest you in a binding oath sworn unto all the powers of arda? it tends to suit quite well as a bridle on wayward siblings.'

'they would not swear a thing i should believe,' fingon said.

his mouth was supple still, in the half-gloom of himring's great stables, but eyes were tight. slating amber light fell on him, gilded his ribbons and the paint on his lids, made him apiece with the dusty quiet, the straw-smells. 'not they that swore fealty to fingolfin, and broke it on a whim. perhaps i do envy you.'

maedhros had kept to fingon's back, a decorous half-step behind, making himself a warm barrier against the bitter draft. he laid a hand over his, where it was stroking the mare's mane.

in closeness, he could feel fingon's shifting thoughts, his spirits like a wind-rush, full of its own momentum always.

it had fascinated him, when he was younger - how forceful and shameless in thinking and speaking his half-cousin was, swift to laughter and tears and friendship.

it had seemed the greatest foolishness to him, to go shield-less and bold through life.

he showed it to fingon, the silver-lit memory of tirion's squares and tirion's gossip. 'then maglor would chide me,' maedhros said. 'and claim you had the greatest courage. still i think you are very foolish. you ought to stop playing favourites, o prince.'

fingon's cheek pressed against his chin, dimpling, and then growing damp. maedhros felt the sting of his grief as sharply as the cold wind seeping through his furs, for to fingon all grief as a desolation of the weather.

he came to himring only after returning to barad eithel empty handed. after scouring all the wild places he could find, singing to old oaks and firs with begging voice to betray the secrets of the lady aredhel, whom they loved - putting his ears to stone and dust, spying for his brother's tread.

he had not wept under his father's eye, kneeling in shame for his failure. harvest was finished, and vinyamar gathered sand-drifts on its high, spiraling flight of stairs, and stray lynxes came to mate and breed and fight in their rooms.

fingolfin did worry, and moreover fingolfin felt any touch of betrayal dreadfully.

fingon would not betray his father, not in anything. he did not need an oath to make it so. maedhros was not without some jealousy for his king, though not for crown and sceptre.

he could not be sorry, at least, to be himring the ever-cold, where fingon the valiant came when he was furious, wretched, and in need of some relief from the encompassing sense of cool mosaic under his knees and failure in his throat.

the mare wickered, nudging at fingon's hand. an intelligent, sensitive, as maglor's breeding tended to be - fingon smiled, and breathed deep before stepping away from him.

valiant, maglor had said, during those word-guessing games they played as youths, sharing insights on all they knew, preparing cunning songs and clever manoeuvres. do not discount him just yet! i have an ear for these things. see how he makes all the world fond of him, and gives generously, and lives as a prince ought; nolofinwë has made himself a champion. i daresay he is not apt to be anything else. i should think he must be very brave, not to flee for the wild, or go mad a little.

his eyes in the dark were all amber, glowing. maedhros could not imagine any walking away from him. were he mountain-stone and greening bush, he would have betrayed to him the secrets of any lost realm. he would have found it himself - if he were anything but himself.

'do not ask me to impartial,' fingon decreed. he touched the corner of maedhros's mouth to him, a brief warmth. he was moving already onwards, thinking new thoughts fresh and brimming over with the engine's work of his mind, making bright again the paltry sun of the stable's gloom. 'i am not king, merely the prince that remains! the lords of the east keeps paying the most outrageous weregild, and i need the horses. i am naming her for a spear or some such, i think - but my father the king will have the stallion.'

#maedhros #fingon #maglor #(sir not present but vr relevant)#silm fic #my fics #russingon #tolkien #two guys who are so normal about their siblings and their fathers as relating to their self-worth

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shrikeseams · 10 months

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Tonight in sad headcanons: I genuinely don't think the celegorm&huan relationship is reconcilable.

Like, I feel like the Huan side of this is... self-evident. Celegorm has thoroughly and comprehensively betrayed the shared values that presmably brought them together as a team. Celegorm has ceased to be the person that Huan thought he was, and no amount of repentance and groveling can resolve that.

From Celegorm's side... his best friend made a very deliberate choice to aid and abet the people trying to take possession of the work of his father's soul. The work that Celegorm, and his father, and all of his brothers, have functionally staked their own souls against the ability to retrieve. And Huan decided to help a pair of fucking strangers take that work into the impenetrable territory of people who 1) hate Celegorm & brothers and 2) are complicit in Aredhel's presumed captivity. Like, damn. I agree that luthien deserved aid escaping Celegorm, but I don't know that my best friend could do something bad enough for me to aid someone in a way that would damn them to eternal darkness, even if it was ultimately the consequences of their own choices. From celegorm's perspective Huan's choice is an absolute cold-blooded betrayal that helps to fuck over not just Celegorm, but every one of his brothers and his father as well.

Just. Damn. I couldn't trust that dog again.

#Tolkien #Huan: underrated problematic fave #Ultimate canine betrayal #san shoots the breeze

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arlenianchronicles · 1 year

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Years of preparation have finally culminated on this day. Turgon stands in what used to be his room, in the palace of Vinyamar. Early morning sunlight streams through the window and creeps across the far wall.

In the back of his mind, Ulmo calls to him. It is faint, not yet urgent. Turgon has planned his people’s departure and is certain that they shall reach the appointed spot on time. From there, Ulmo shall protect them on their way to Tumladen.

Everything is ready. Yet he hesitates, gazing unseeingly about the room. He sent letters to his father and brother in Mithrim. Admittedly, he did not give them enough time to send him their replies, if they did choose to write back at all. If he were to receive any letters from them now, it would only delay him further from departure. He cannot afford to delay any longer. He must do this.

As much as it pains him to go without proper farewells, it is his duty.

Footsteps reach his ears, furiously hurrying up the stairs beyond his room. There are many voices clamouring, getting louder, pleading, shouting. The door to his room bursts open.

Turgon turns. Standing in the doorway is Fingon. The sight of him is like a dose of ice water, and yet -- Turgon ought to have expected this. Part of him cannot help but feel relieved, glad even, to see his eldest brother one last time before leaving.

Fingon’s face is flushed from the flight up the stairs, perhaps from the entire journey here from Mithrim. At least, that is what Turgon assumes. It could very well be the heat of anger instead.

Standing behind him in the corridor are Turgon’s guards. Turgon waves his hand; it does not tremble, thank the Valar, and the guards retreat, albeit hesitantly. Fingon glances back at them to make sure they have left, then slams the door closed and turns on Turgon.

“So, this was your intention all along?” Fingon says. His voice quivers, though from wrath or from grief, Turgon cannot say. “You left us for Vinyamar. Now you are leaving us again for a city that does not exist!”

Turgon looks away. If he meets Fingon’s glistening eyes, the shield around his heart will break. “Who told you?”

“I questioned the messenger after receiving your letter. He would not tell me where this city is, only that you are departing very soon. I rode here as fast as I could.”

“We are leaving in a couple hours. Our travel must be kept secret; I trust you will not divulge it beyond Father’s confidence --”

“Oh, blast it all, Turgon!” Fingon cries.

Turgon falls silent. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, beating like the paws of a rabbit running from wolves. After a moment, Fingon speaks. “How did you find this city?”

“I had it built in secret.”

“Where?”

“I cannot tell you. Unless you wish to join me and remain within its walls forever.”

He hears Fingon take a step into the room. “You have not even told Father. And what of Aredhel? Do you think she will take this lightly?”

“Aredhel knows. She has decided to join me there.”

Fingon sucks in a sharp breath. "So you -- you plan to stay there till the end of Arda, never to see us again? You cannot mean anything else by ‘remaining within its walls forever.’”

“The city’s location allows for it to remain guarded and secret, so long as none give it away,” Turgon explains. “If I am to ensure that there is no opportunity for that, then all who know its location must stay inside the city.” He swallows. “That includes myself. If I were caught by Morgoth outside my city --”

“You do not trust yourself to keep it a secret if you were caught?”

“Is that such a surprise?”

“You are too strong to submit to Morgoth.”

It is Turgon’s turn to be surprised, enough so that he looks at Fingon to find his brother gazing back at him determinedly. Fingon saw him almost fall to pieces after Elenwë was lost. After that, Turgon drew himself so tightly together that his face became as stone, unmoving and unbending. Locked away behind his inner defenses, he kept his anger and grief, doubt and despair. He is to become the king of Gondolin. He cannot afford to fall apart when his people need him most.

But it is still a possibility. As much as he can appear tall and stalwart in the face of Darkness, he is still just himself. He can still be broken into a thousand pieces.

“You do not believe me,” Fingon says, a note of bitterness in his voice. The sunlight catches in his golden ribbons, turning them to molten fire in his dark braids. “But I know it. You would never betray your people, or Father, or myself. You need not stay hidden in your city for all time.”

“What laws I give to my people, I must also follow. It is only just.”

“So I am to never hear from you again?” Fingon demands. “This is to be our final meeting together?”

“I will think of you and Father always.”

“That is not good enough! What if you need my help, but I cannot find your hidden city? What if Morgoth finds out and descends upon you one night, and I am not there to help you and Aredhel, and little Idril?” Tears slip down his cheeks, gleaming like crystal drops in the sun. “Mother is gone. Elenwë is gone. Argon is gone, and now -- now you might as well be! What am I to do about that?” His voice cracks and his breath hitches, chest heaving with sobs not yet released.

Turgon does not have the words. It is for my people’s safety. As a prince, Fingon would understand, but it will do nothing to heal this wound to his heart.

So he reaches out and cradles Fingon’s face, bringing their foreheads together. Fingon grips Turgon’s wrists, and eventually, his breathing steadies.

“I know you feel it is your duty as the eldest,” Turgon murmurs. “But you are no longer responsible for me, Finno. I am a leader of my own people now, and I must do what I feel is best for them. Just as you do for yours.” He gently kisses Fingon’s cheek. “I will be alright on the journey there. I think I can safely assure you of that. Ulmo has promised us his protection.”

Fingon swallows hard. “I -- that is good to know,” he says hoarsely.

“Indeed,” Turgon smiles, but the grief finally cracks through his shield, and his next words are shaky. “So you see, you need not worry too much. Alright?”

Fingon nods, unable to speak. Turgon knows not how it happens, but in the next second they are holding each other close, a final embrace. Fingon has to stand on his toes in order to properly wrap an arm around Turgon’s shoulders; he tugs insistently, so Turgon must bend down a little. Distantly, he remembers that it was slightly more awkward with Argon, but that never stopped Fingon before.

Turgon listens to his brother’s whimpering and weeping, muffled against his shoulder, and hugs him tighter. On the far wall, the sunlight lengthens, and Ulmo’s call grows clearer in the back of his mind. But that time is not yet here. For now, Turgon stands with Fingon, and lets his tears fall into his brother’s hair, unnoticed.

_____

I wasn’t expecting to write an entire one-shot for this; originally, it was just going to be a small snippet of dialogue, but the scene kept playing out in my head and getting longer, so I decided to write the whole thing!

If I were to make this a full-fledged fic, this scene would likely be longer with more exploration of their feelings, but as it is, I think it works well enough for an art post! Plus you get a closeup of Fingon’s anguished face! Man, I just love Fingon+Turgon angst loll

#when will i draw them with happy feels? i dunno loll but hopefully someday XDD #art #my art #tolkien #silmarillion #fanart #elves #eldar #noldor #nolofinweans #fingon #turgon #brothers #family #platonic love #my fanfiction #fanfiction #findekano #turukano

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annoyinglandmagazine · 1 year

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Maedhros is ridiculously overprotective

During their childhood if any of the siblings were getting bothered by someone and they yelled for Nelyo he would drop everything and come running immediately. One time at a family gathering Curvo had started a fight with Argon and was losing. Badly. He hadn’t even gotten to the start of the second syllable and Maedhros was pulling them off each other with a first aid kit. He had been at the other side of the house in the middle of a conversation. Curvo hadn’t even yelled that loudly.

One time he found out Kano was being picked on. He was the equivalent of 15 and Maglor was like 12. He found Maglor crying after some 16 year olds had ripped up some of his music sheets. That was the first time Maedhros ever held a sword to someone’s throat. He had to be pulled off by three guards and no one could believe it because he was meant to be the well behaved sibling. When Feanor found out he was ridiculously proud and told Nelyo as much. Nerdanel glared at him disapprovingly but secretly agreed.

I firmly believe that even the whole way through the first age any of the brothers just needs to send one vague letter saying they might be in a bit trouble. Maedhros will be diverting the majority of his army to track them down wherever they are and make sure they’re ok. If Aredhel was Maedhros’ sibling Eol would have been found in a week and would be begging to be killed by the end of the week.

Anytime any of the Sinda diplomats get too aggressive towards Tyelko and Curvo about certain things Nelyo will make it clear that, yes, what they did was wrong and he’s aware they’re adults who made their own choices. But. They are also his little baby brothers so would you be so kind as to take a step back before he does something he most certainly would not regret. Everyone thinks Maedhros is scary enough to negotiate with on political matters. But that’s nothing compared to dealing with Protective Older Brother Maedhros.

Maedhros was very angry about the Angrod incident. He yelled at Caranthir for about half an hour. Moryo had apologised as soon as he’d seen Nelyo’s face but Maedhros still felt as if he couldn’t let his brother off so easily over something like this. He looked down at Caranthir’s face while he was in the middle of it and then he just stopped. Because that’s Moryo. This isn’t some general who went against his orders, that’s his baby brother and he looks like he’s about to cry. And he just hugs him. He knows it’s not even remotely the right thing to do, he can’t just not punish his brothers after they jeopardise relations with their allies. But damn it, he just can’t cope with any of his siblings look at him like that.

Maedhros loves his siblings a lot ok? Is this sort of about Maedhros losing the older sibling poll? Maybe.

#Silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #feanorians #maglor #curufin #celegorm #caranthir #feanor #nerdanel #sons of feanor

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youareunbearable · 27 days

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Against Curufin’s better judgement, he leaves Tyelko in charge of Himlad for a month while he goes off to visit with Finrod down in Nargothrond. Tyelpe, who lept at the chance to be away from his brooding hen of a parent for a moment, had begged to stay in Himlad with Tyelko and Huan.

Against Curufin’s better judgement, he allowed it. He knew his son would be safe and well taken care of as long as his brother and the dog didn’t vanish into the wilds on a month long hunt. The threat of siccing the wrath of their eldest brother onto the blonde if he did vanish and leave his son unsupervised also was a good incentive to behave.

Against Curufin’s better judgement, he had a peaceful and relaxing three and a half weeks spending time with his charming half cousin, telling himself everything would be normal and fine when he went back. It was honestly a delight to be able to catch up with Finrod in person, gossiping about what the rest of the Arafinwean brood was up to-- as truth be told they were his favourite kin outside of his brothers-- visiting the sights, and spending time in Nargothrond’s somewhat adequate forges. He spent many an afternoon swapping tricks of the trade with the Dwarven and Men smiths that had made themselves a home in the underground city, and it was so enjoyable and educational that he almost regretted allowing Tyelpe to stay behind. This would have been a good experience for him.

It was a handful of days before he was supposed to start the long trek back to Himlad and Curufin was with his half cousin, chatting amicably and strolling through the aboveground marketplace. It was interesting to see such a booming centre for trade, and Curufin spotted many of the traders baring Moryo’s version of the Feanorian Star Emblem on their person or booths. He knew his elder brother had an iron fist on the trade routes in Beleriand, but it was a different thing seeing it in person on non-Fenorian lands. Finrod, it seems, was either used to seeing Caranthir’s symbol all over his markets, or was woefully blind to it, which Curufin doubted. The two browsed the many stalls for trinkets and baubles, Finrod on the hunt to add to his dragon hoard of accessories, and Curufin looking to bring back home something for his son and brother for their good behaviour.

Against Curufin’s better judgement, he didn’t think the messenger hawk that was flying right at them was anything to be concerned about. He didn’t even think it was for him until he saw the scroll attached to the bird’s leg.

Continue reading below, or on Ao3

Then, Curufin felt his heart falter in its rhythm for a moment. No messenger bird for Finrod would ever carry a written message. His heart proceeded to plummet into the pit of his stomach as he recognized Celegorm's third fastest hawk, the one that his son doted on and normally took out when exploring the mineral deposits in the hold.

Vilya, he thinks with dread.Tyelpe named the bird diving at him with speed and exhaustion Vilya. The hawk flared out its wings and landed gracefully on Finrod’s outstretched arm, its chest heaving from a very long and fast flight.

Quickly, Curufin reached over and took the letter attached to the bird's foot. Finrod, being the empathic fool that he is, shuffled nervously from foot to foot beside him, craning his neck to try and read the letter over his shoulder.

Curufin almost crushed the letter in his grip when he read the first sentence.

"Don't be mad, but uncle and I were hunting out near Nan Elmoth, even though you told us to stay away from Eol's lands. We had everything under control, I swear! But, as I was walking along the river bed by our camp, hoping to find some new minerals, Aunt Aredhel and her son burst through the wood!"

Aredhel? A son? Curufin had no idea his half cousin was even married, let alone long enough to have a child. Last he heard, she was missing, along with her brother Turgon somewhere in the mountains. What was she doing near Nan Elmoth? Finrod made a choked sound behind him, like a drowning pig, and Curufin, instincts honed from so many nosey brothers, mindlessly shoved him away as his eyes roved over the letter.

"I managed to catch up with them, and her son- whose name is Lomion- told me they were fleeing from his father! Aunt Aredhel was apparently bridenapped by Lord Eol, were you aware of such a thing? Stealing a wife! Anyways, Lomion told me they were fleeing to his uncle Turgon's hidden home, where Eol would never find them. Gondolin, father! The city uncle Neylo and Fingon have been trying to find for years! And father, I couldn't just leave them! Aunt Aredhel looked so worn, her hair had streaks of grey just like uncle Neylo’s, and they both were so scared! Aunt Aredhel swung me on the back of Lomion’s horse, so I fled with them to Gondolin. Father, I’m so sorry but I was so caught up in the excitement, that I forgot to send Vilya with a message to uncle, to let him know what happened. But, I suppose when I wasn't back by nightfall, uncle and Huan went looking for me. He and Huan tracked me all the way to Gondolin's gates and demanded that they let me go or to let them inside. You should have heard him scream, father, I’ve never seen uncle so furious, I thought he was going to throw his hunting spear right at poor Glorfindel who was guarding the gate.

Oh father, it's been awful. Well, not Gondolin itself, it's a very beautiful city and the forges aren’t that bad, and they have so much mithril here father! Rog, one of the smith lords here says the mountains and caves within and surrounding the city are rich with it, which is incredible! He promised to take Lomion and I to see a mithril mine soon, can you believe that? Veins of the strongest metal just laying around, just think of the works you could make with such quantities! I’ve been talking with Lomion about the mithril jewellery they have here and I have some ideas I think you might like ab–” The sentence abruptly ends, the letters jerking into a smudge, like Tyelpe’s hand was jostled while writing.

With a frantic flip of the page he sees the writing continuing on the back. “Lord Eol showed up shortly after uncle, and he was a raving madman, father. He screamed and swore and made such ugly demands and if it wasn’t for the clear look in his eyes I would have sworn he had not a sane thought in his head. Uncle Turgon had to let him in before he attracted Morgoth’s attention. He and uncle and Uncle Turgon and Aunt Aredhel were screaming at each other in the throne room for a long time. I stayed behind with Lomion and Huan, and father, the poor boy was shaking. I can't believe he lived with such a creature for his entire life! I don’t remember what was said, but suddenly Lord Eol was brandishing his spear and launched it right at us! We would have been killed if it wasn't for Huan knocking away the poisoned spear at the last second. The poison on it must have gotten on him somehow cause Huan is really sick now, but believed to be better soon. Uncle Turgon was furious, he was yelling and demanding Eol's head for daring to kill Lomion, when uncle picked up Eol’s poisoned spear and threw it back at him. Oh father, I wish I could wash the memory from my mind, the way Eol screamed as Uncle Turgon dragged him from the halls, his blood trailing through the street as we followed them to the gate ramparts. Before Uncle Turgon tossed him over the wall Eol spent his last breath cursing his own son, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget how Lomion’s hand trembled in mine as we watched. I didn’t think Uncle Turgon could be so cruel."

Normally, Curufin wouldn’t be able to either. But the thought, no the memories, of what he did to protect his son and brothers during the Kinslaying, well he could easily imagine what his stuffy half-cousin was thinking as he ended that scum's life. His hands shook, just imagining the peril his son was in. What if Eol missed and pierced his precious Tyelpe? Or if his aim was true and his son would have to watch his new cousin die. Bless Celegorm’s unwavering aim and Turgon’s uncharacteristic rage.

Finrod was gripping at his arm, clearly having read the letter along with him. He was saying something, but the words were indistinct and lost to the ringing in his ears.

"Well, father I'm really sorry, but uncle, Huan and I are stuck here for the time being. Uncle Turgon told us we are not allowed to leave, or to tell anywhere where we are. I wasn't allowed to write clues or send a map along with this letter either. Infact, I had to argue very hard to be able to send it at all. Aunt Aredhel helped greatly with persuading her brother. But have heart, father! Uncle and I are faring well so far, and Huan is regaining his strength by the day! Maeglin and I are becoming fast friends, and it is nice to see Idril again, despite the circumstances.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your time with Uncle Finrod. I hope I’ll be able to see you again, father. I’ll write back as soon as Vilya returns.

- Yours dearly,

Celebrimbor"

At the bottom of the letter was a little doodle, one not in his son’s detailed and precise hand, but looking more like Celegorm’s hasty scrawl. The doodle consists of a blobby figure that is clearly Finrod from the sparkles surrounding him and the wide smile splitting its crude face. The figure is surrounded by, annoyingly accurate and tellingly more thought out then the rest of the doodle, birds. They must be singing for there are lines and dots that Curufin realises are music notes around them all. Beside the blob-Finrod, is another hasty doodle, one Curufin could recognize half blind as Celegorm’s terrible interpretation of him. Shorter than blob-Finrod, scowling pout on its triangle face, and his version of the Fenaorian Star drawn on the blob that must be his chest. Little blob-Curufin also has his signature forge hammer in one hand. There was no note to go along with the doodle, nothing to give that hunt obsessed asshole’s side of the event, no plans on how to escape Gondolin, or to contact their other brothers. Not his account on how Tyelpe is handling everything, or some sort of bullshit reassurance for his favourite younger brother who has just read a terrifying account of what has just happened to his only son in his care. Nothing, not even Celegorm’s signature or emblem to sign off the doodle.

Curufin screamed.

His hands wanted to tear that damned letter to shreds but some distant part of his brain not blinded by worry and rage knew to stay his hand to the last thing he had of Tyelpe’s presence on this land.

There were hands on his face, and he looked through the tears he hadn’t realised were blurring his eyes at his dumb stupid half-cousin. Sudden rage shot through his body and Curufin wanted nothing more than to rip into the Elf cradling his face in his hands. If Curufin hadn’t visited this stupid blonde waste of space, he would have been home at Himland, and none of this would have happened! Tyelpe would be doing his forge work, and Celegorm would be off hunting and doing fuck all in the woods like he normally does! Eol wouldn’t have tried to kill his darling little boy, nor would his child be ripped away from him, hidden who-knows-fuck-where with fucking Turgon of all people!

Suddenly, all fury dissipated in his body, making Curufin feel off balance and light headed at the sudden change.

Finrod, who was still cupping his face in his hands and ignoring the snarling Curufin must have been doing, was humming a lullaby threaded with Power. As he wobbled, feet suddenly unsteady and vision blurring again, Curufin tried his best to rally up his anger again to no avail. He toppled into Finrod’s chest, feeling his older half-cousin scoop him up and cradle him close. The letter was gently plucked from his hand, and unable to fight the Power of the lullaby, slowly succumbed to sleep.

Fucking Singers, was Curufin’s last thought as he felt Finrod start to move. They never fight fair.

—

It was suddenly and all at once that Curufin was conscious again. He bolted up, arms tossed out blindingly searching for the son he knew wasn’t there. He looked around frantically, heart racing as tried to find a trace of his son, or what happened.

Finrod, however, was sitting at a desk across the room. He was staring at Curufin, a wary smile on his face as he studied his cousin.

Curufin met his eyes and snarled, suddenly remembering the dirty trick in the market. He shifted, ready to push himself up and throttle his half-cousin for putting him to sleep when he should have been looking for a way to save his son. And his idiot brother he supposes.

When suddenly, Curufin tumbled off the fainting chair he was laying on, having shifted too close to the edge.

With an embarrassed and frustrated snarl, he shook himself off and leapt to his feet, ready to verbally tear into his half-cousin when Finrod spoke over him.

“Now that you’re awake, cousin, we are ready to head out.” With that he folded up the piece of paper in his hands and stood. “If we hurry, we can leave before the letters I sent out reach your brothers and our uncle. I’m sure Caranthir’s little snoops have already sent their own messages to him about your outburst. If we leave now, we can have a day’s head start on them. The only issue will be Maedhros or Fingon cutting us off at the mountains. We could rest at Tol Sirion, but I’m afraid that would just give those two more time to try and stop us.”

As he spoke, Finrod was striding around the room, his office, shuffling documents around and looking over everything with a critical eye. He nodded, satisfied with the state of his office and turned to Curufin, giving his cousin a blinding smile.

“Come on now, I had the servants pack up your things and some of my stuff as well!” With that he bent down behind his desk and pulled out two large travelling packs. He tossed the bag with the darker bedroll at Curufin, who caught it and swung it on his shoulders absently.

Curufin studied his half-cousin critically, all traces of anger gone. “You know where my son is being held?”

Finrod nodded, “Of course, I asked Vilya. She was never sworn to secrecy about Gondolin’s location, and she loves little Tyelpe too, she knows how much being away from you will hurt him. So between her directions, and my blessing of Ulmo, I know we’ll be able to find Gondolin with no issues.” He paused. “Unless your brothers or our cousins get in the way. I’m very confident that if he gets the chance, Maedhros could very well stop us from going to the city that people never come out of again. Except for Aredhel apparently.” Another pause. “So let’s go!”

Curufin was already at the door, ready to see his son and strangle his brother for letting something like this happen. “Well, an easy solution for not getting Neylo involved, is to not involve him.” He snarked, striding down the halls of Nargothrond at a fast clip. Finrod with his stupidly tall legs following with ease. “Why send everyone a letter if you know they are just going to hinder us.”

“Well,” Finrod snarked back, practically pulling Curufin out of the main doors that were hastily opened by the guard. “I just don’t think it’s a wise idea for three of the Noldorian Lords of Beleirand to just up and vanish within the span of a month. I know your brothers, you know your brothers, and we both know Fingon. This knowledge should be enough to know that the world around us would burn down if we just left without a trace.” Finrod snorted and stopped yanking Curufin as they reached the royal stables.

His horse, a beautiful white and black spotted mare gifted from Maglor’s prized stock, knickered at him. She was eager to be on her way, right beside Finrod’s handsome all-white stallion who looked ready to run on command.

Curufin wasted no time leaping upon his horse, Finrod mirroring his movements beside him. With a brief mental nudge, letting his mare know we needed to leave and now, they were off.

The world around them blurred as they raced, Finrod humming a Song that made him and their horses feel energised, like they could run for days without stopping. Soon, Nargothrond was behind them, and they were racing across the vast open plains towards the Crossing of Teiglin. They rode without falter, without distraction. So focused on their journey, that Curufin didn’t even notice Vilya soaring above them, easily keeping pace with the help of Finrod’s Song.

Finrod shared her directions. Once they pass the Crossing, they must reach where the Sirion meets the Dry River, then she can lead them through the twists and turns of the mountains to Gondolin.

Just wait, Curufin seethed, no one was going to keep his son away from him. Not even his family.

Against Turgon’s better judgement, he should have known the Feanorians would ruin all of his plans.

#silmarillion #curufin #finrod #celebrimbor #celegorm #turgon #aredhel #maeglin #amber rambles #my stuff #silm fic

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