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lidoshka · 20 hours
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@feanorianweek #3 Celegorm - waves
Having Aredhel was like having a sister throughout their childhood.
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@feanorianweek #3 Celegorm - olas
Tener a Aredhel era como tener una hermana durante toda su infancia.
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thelien-art · 18 hours
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Day 3: Celegorm for @feanorianweek
Lust|Chastity
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Coriander Flowers: Coriander flowers symbolize lust, as the seeds were used as an aphrodisiac in ancient Greece they were found in tombs of Egyptian pharaohs as far back as 5000 BC.
I thought the white and green flowers also fitting to him as it makes him blend in more with them than Maedhros and Maglor´s flower, since he is a hunter, who learned under Orome. I also let his hair be free from the usual ponytail just this once to make the wild come across. I think he puts a lot of his self value into what he is good at, such as hunting, fighting, tracking, looking like Miriel, etc, which also makes him fall so much quicker and harder than most of his brothers, but that also means that he can relate to Curufin better in a strange way, that leads to harmful loyalty and their downfall on both sides.
Maedhros|Maglor
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Goblin
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windrelyn · 17 hours
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@feanorianweek 2024
Day 3 - Celegorm and Curufin - "Warm"
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mag-lore · 19 hours
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@feanorianweek day 3- Turcafinwë Tyelkormo
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magedarkwood · 1 day
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@feanorianweek
Day 3: Celegorm
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linden-leaf · 20 hours
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Turkafinwë Tyelcormo // Celegorm
For @feanorianweek, day 3
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leucisticpuffin · 12 hours
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Day 3 of @feanorianweek: experimenting with strawberry-blond hair for Celegorm. I think it suits him.
(the scars look dramatic but they're actually from a regrettable incident with a weasel)
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nyx-genderfluid-bean · 13 hours
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@feanorianweek Day 3 - Celegorm
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helyannis · 14 hours
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Celegorm for @feanorianweek
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isilwhore · 22 hours
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Feanorian Week- Day 3: Celegorm
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“…he got great knowledge of birds and beasts, and all their tongues he knew.”
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What if the birds and beasts go silent?
(Ok but I still think he’d go looking for his dog, despite all that happened)
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wanderer-clarisse · 7 hours
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Celegorm for day 3 of @feanorianweek !
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ethanray · 19 hours
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Celegorm and Huan
For @feanorianweek Day 3
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ayaosguqin · 16 hours
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“Much happier days, Less complicated ”
Day 3 of @feanorianweek :celegorm + Aredhel as a special guest
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starspray · 18 hours
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Doriath
A Celegorm drabble-and-a-half for @feanorianweek
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Celegorm stalks through the halls, squinting through the thickening smoke. He would not have thought there would be much to burn in stone caves, but the people of Menegroth appear to love their tapestries. Flames lick at the brilliantly colored fabric, eating away at scenes of revelry and beauty.
(He comes upon one depicting three figures standing upon a hill before the Trees, on silver, one dark, one golden, and turns quickly away. He does not want to see Finwë’s face, not here.)
Finally, he comes to the throne room, enormous and echoing. Fountains line the floors, their sculptures smashed and broken, dust and stone shards littering the tiled floor. The blood flows read.
Before the throne stands Dior Eluchíl, young and bold, a blaze of righteous fury, bright enough to blind, though he does not wear the Silmaril. (Where is it?) Celegorm bares his teeth and raises his sword.
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Day 1: Maedhros
He looked at his brothers, ragged silver and black hair carelessly splayed over their muddied, torn cloaks and tunics, no retinue in sight and only one horse between them. Still they held their chins with a haughty tilt and glared disdainfully at him from the moment they were summoned to his study. Still they did not apologise nor express any regret whatsoever over Finrod’s death, over their scheming for the kingdom of the only one of their cousins who would have taken them in at their lowest -well perhaps no longer their lowest.
They had most likely shown Finrod just as little deference and gratitude as they were showing him right now, for they’d known Finrod would no more turn a faction including the not yet grown Celebrimbor away than Maedhros could find it within himself to reject his brothers once and for all. They knew that though the Lord of Himring was not known for empty threats or being more talk than action, in this case whatever he would say, however he may profess his disgust and fury, however much he may wish to never cast his eyes upon them again, it would all be bluster of no material consequence.
However their relationship fractured he would not turn them away, could not sever it entirely and discard it like it was nothing. They knew it from the way he had kept the same rooms free for them from their last visit half a century ago, from the hint of concern when he heard the strain on Curufin’s throat, the seemingly dismissive way he asked him to lower his collar so he could inspect it to verify their account of events. He heard them out, filling in the gaps where they glossed over facts from his knowledge of them and previous reports, and it was no less disastrous than he’d feared.
This was the kind of story that would spring to mind at the words Sons of Feanor, a trusting kingdom betrayed and overthrown, a heroic king dead to his own kin’s spite, lust for power and fruitless oath, a good Sindarin princess lusted after as a bride and held captive against her will. They would be the villains of every song and tale told to warn Sindarin children to behave, the bad example echoed through history of the horrific depths a soul can fall to when driven only by greed, pride and obsession.
Celegorm and Curufin were intelligent enough to know that, to know how this would destroy so much of what he had been working towards this whole age. Throughout it they glared right back at him unashamedly, ready to meet whatever raging he may give them head on, aware that it would be meaningless. There was a trace of something else in the set certainty of their faces though.
They knew the chaos they had just set in motion, they knew that the consequences would be dire for all of them as a whole; they had come here for another reason than to get his rebuke over and done with so they could progress with reorganisation. Somewhere buried deep inside the things they held as certainty, they’d always liked certainty, alongside that the oath must be fulfilled and their father could never have been wrong about a single thing in his life because if he was then maybe he had been wrong about this and their entire lives had been sacrificed for nothing- well they needed certainty may be a better way of putting it; they still believed that he could make it all go away.
They would never say it, never acknowledge it because when examined too closely it would shatter into a thousand pieces, refuted time and time again from the moment at the docks when their father had dismissed his attempt at avoiding further escalation offhand and he could only stand aside and watch; not fall into line and help, not rail against him and attempt to halt it, just watch from a few feet away. From the moment he had walked into a trap, the moment they had sat by the bedside of the wreck Thangoridrim had left him and seen with their own eyes that he had brought to utter helplessness, complete despair.
Yet still he could see somewhere in their faces beneath the proud defiance, a child bringing a broken toy to their parent saying with unconvincing sorrow, I’m sorry I broke it- it was an accident- please fix it now.
He was reminded of the first time he had realised he could not solve some things however much he tried. That some things were to broken to be mended. ‘I cannot do this with you anymore Feanaro, you self important, arrogant, spiteful excuse for a husband! I don’t know why you think I should stand for this any longer, I really don’t-’ Ammë’s yelling had carried up the staircases, vibrating off every surface, joined frequently by Atya’s furious offence.
He could practically see her hands up about her head, the glint in her eye, the way her frizzy red curls would frame her face; he’d seen them fight enough to picture it very well from where he lay in his bed several floors above them and resolved himself not to pull his pillow over his ears to drown them out as he had when they had begun to do so, it felt like centuries ago but must only have been a few years- they’d never argued like this when he’d been a child.
Then things had begun to shatter. He froze in shock, wondered for a moment if he should intervene in case something went completely, horribly wrong but he couldn’t move from where he was curled up tight underneath the blankets, slightly muffling the crashing but only slightly. It was so loud, like thunder, crashing relentlessly below. It shouldn’t have surprised him that despite his chambers being nearest to the staircase Curufin had heard it from down the hall; his door creaked open on its hinges and little feet thudded across the carpet until he felt the quilt being pulled back and a cold little body sliding in next to him.
He drew the child in to his chest and tried to steady his breathing so it was not obvious that he had begun to sob; if Curufin noticed he was much too busy sobbing himself to mention it. The front of his nightshirt was quickly soaked through by the child as he tried to soothe him to unusually little effect. When Curufin’s breath evened out as he fell asleep curled into him, both of them still hiding under the covers for the illusion of a barrier between them and the chaos still ongoing downstairs.
He’d just stroked his hair and held him, as he finally begun to let his body tremble with quiet tears. Ammë’s eyes had been stormy and bloodshot at breakfast the next morning, her hair still wild and unbraided. She had not quite managed to sweep up all the fragments of a statue he recognised as being of Atya, an eye still poked out from under the table. Its subject was not present at meals for the next week. This was the first time he had known that there was no point hoping that it would get better, that they would work things out.
There was no fixing this. Perhaps there was no fixing any of it and there never had been; it may have been futile from the beginning. Or maybe it hadn’t been and he had just failed and would keep failing. It was so very hard to hope that one day his efforts would be enough to come to good; he tried because there was nothing else but he wasn’t sure he quite found it in himself to hope anymore. He wondered if perhaps his brothers had only stopped pretending to be something they weren’t and that was the only difference between them.
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bunnyhuggingflower · 18 hours
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Feanorian Week - Day 3
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Celegorm is in a rush and so am I
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