#fingon: the eldest is the daughter

[annoyinglandmagazine]

#silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #caranthir #celegorm #elrond peredhel #curufin #Feanor #Maeglin #Genderbending to me is a poorly masked excuse for more lesbians in canon #Which I love #genderbending #rule 63 #I’m not putting any dwarves here because to be honest I don’t see that as Genderbending #I think saying Telchar #Narvi or Azaghal were female is a perfectly reasonable interpretation of canon

[eccentricmya]

#maedhros #silm polls #silmarillion #my polls #maitimo #JustBizarre

[thelordofgifs]

In light of recent interesting discourse about Beren and Lúthien's Silmaril theft, and the Fëanorions' priorities in the lead-up to Nirnaeth and after, I started wondering how things might have changed if B&L had managed to steal two Silmarils rather than one. Would pulling the Union together be harder with only one jewel left to draw focus in Angband?

Then as soon as I thought about it some more, I realised the most inevitable path diverged earlier than that.

Then I started writing a fic, got 400 words in, and realised I wanted to actually figure out what happened first. So here's a half (or potentially a smaller fraction) of a sort of bullet point fic/plan/thing, which may or may not get properly written up later. First I need to work out where to go from here.

Angrist was forged by the greatest of the Dwarf-smiths in the master-workshops of Nogrod. It cuts two Silmarils from Morgoth's iron crown before the blade snaps, and Morgoth stirs in his enchanted sleep.

Beren passes one Silmaril to Lúthien, and they run for it.

Carcharoth still meets them, snarling, at the gate. Beren still holds out a Silmaril to ward him off. His hand still gets bitten off.

But when the Eagles come for them, and Lúthien clambers sobbing onto Thorondor's back, she clasps a Silmaril in her hand.

The Eagles bear them towards Doriath, and the Treelight undiminished shines out over Dorthonion and Gondolin.

In chilly Himring, Maglor is shaken awake from nightmares of fire and smoke by his eldest brother, who drags him out of bed and towards the window. "Look! Is that not a Silmaril that shines now in the North?"

Maglor recognises it, of course. Moreover, he recognises the size and shape of Eagles in flight, even at a distance. Recognises, too, that as often as not they bear doom itself upon their great feathered backs.

(His father's jewel stinging his Oath awake, his brother's emaciated bleeding body wrapped in Fingon's cloak - they all mean failure.)

"Thingol's daughter and the mortal must have succeeded," he says. "What can we do?"

Maedhros and Maglor, you see, are Not Happy with the news out of Nargothrond.

That Celegorm wanted to force an elf-maid to wed against her will, after what they heard befell Aredhel—

That Curufin could turn against his favourite cousin, and betray him to his death—

"I am afraid," says Maedhros, "of what it will make us do. What it will make us become."

"We could ignore it," says Maglor, whose first response is always inaction. "Let it go to Doriath—" But it is hard even to finish the sentence, with the Oath choking his words.

And there is a bigger problem: Celegorm and Curufin, who are sleeping now (it is only Maedhros who can be relied upon to pace the fortress by night), will not do so forever. They have already attacked Thingol's daughter once - will they do so again, before she can pass into the safety of her mother's Girdle?

"We have to get to Doriath before they do," says Maedhros, and wonders when his little brothers became the threat to be outpaced.

"And then what?" asks Maglor, who never shies from difficult questions.

Maedhros gives him one of his quick strange smiles. "This is how it works, you know," he says. "Huan has turned from Tyelko. Tyelpë has repudiated Curvo. It turns you into the worst version of yourself, and then it strips away the best thing you have left."

Maedhros has ridden out to claim a Silmaril before, and lost all of himself in the process.

Maglor, too, has been offered all he ever wanted - his dearest brother, returned to him - and turned away for the sake of the Oath he renewed at his father's deathbed.

They are both afraid of what they could become.

They ride out from Himring anyway, swiftly and secretly, before the dawn.

Meanwhile, Thorondor sets Beren and Lúthien down on Doriath's southern border.

Huan comes to join them, and with the power of the Silmaril, Beren is healed sooner than he might have been, otherwise.

The Quest is fulfilled. Beren has no reason to stay away from Thingol's house.

Instead of wandering in the wilds, the lovers return to Menegroth, present a Silmaril, and promptly get married.

Thingol is very surprised (and overjoyed) to see them; the last news he had of Lúthien was that she had vanished from Nargothrond.

In fact, he's just sent out a couple of messengers, led by Mablung Heavy-hand, with a scathing letter to Maedhros Fëanorion demanding his aid in finding the princess.

North of the Girdle: "Hey, isn't that Maedhros Fëanorion?"

"Sure is," says Mablung, who was at the Mereth Aderthad.

"Hail, Mablung of Doriath!" calls Maedhros, who never forgets a face. "What news from King Thingol?"

Well, there isn't news as such. Just... fury.

Maedhros considers the merits of keeping his cards close to his chest versus the dire diplomatic situation he's currently in, and opts to share what they saw from Himring, and what it bodes for Beren's success.

He decides not to share that Lúthien was definitely with Beren, which he knows because his brothers attacked her.

Maglor is not sure how stopping to chat with an Iathren marchwarden is going to get them closer to a Silmaril, but he isn't in the habit of arguing with Maedhros.

Anyway, before the conversation can wrap up, a marauding werewolf appears.

Right. Carcharoth.

The Iathrim make the sensible call and scramble up some trees. Maglor follows a beat later.

Noldor don't climb trees very often. It isn't one of the skills Maedhros has had cause to practice one-handed.

Not that it matters, because he's frozen where he stands, eyes wide and bright and thoughtful.

This is unusual. Maedhros would not be the most renowned warrior of the Noldor if he were constantly dissociating in the midst of battle.

He saves the dissociation for after the battle, thank you.

The wolf is almost upon him.

Well, thinks Maglor, about time I did some saving for a change.

Maglor is not Lúthien. Does he need to be? He knows enough about madness, and enough about torment. He knows how to sing the suffering to sleep.

He drops down from his perch to begin a lullaby.

Carcharoth slows down when he sings, and comes to a momentary halt, and Maglor takes the time to hiss, "Nelyo, run—"

"They burned him," Maedhros breathes, still with that bright faraway look in his eyes that means he is half-lost in memory. "His hands were black and ruined. No evil thing may touch them."

The wolf lunges.

[I want to kill Maglor off here but I'm a coward. so.]

Carcharoth savages Maglor's leg and he collapses.

That brings Maedhros back to himself.

Mablung and his party aren't heavily armed. They were only meant to be messengers, after all. They get a few shots in at the wolf, who runs off, still maddened.

Maglor isn't moving isn't talking and there's so much blood—

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #beren #luthien #maedhros #maglor #I think I know what happens next #but not what that leads to #I had to look at a map for this do you know how traumatic that was #anyway turns out bullet point fic is quite fun to write #maedhros and maglor have entered leithian and derailed it #maybe fingon will make an appearance too #who knows I'm tired #what even is this actually #cw blood

[welcomingdisaster]

for no reason, here is a list of aus that i constantly think about in my head and have written less than 1k words for. perhaps one day some of these will happen.

au where i have genderswapped every eldest son in the legendarium (feanor, maedhros, fingon, finrod, etc) and assumed that traditionally daughters can Not inherit titles under noldor law. woe complicated sibling dynamics be upon ye

au where fingon is captured during the nirn

role reversal au where (the majority of) the nolofinwions end up on the swan ships and (the majority of) the feanorians end up on the grinding ice.

urban fantasy au in which fingolfin runs a museum, maedhros gets accused of faking his own kidnapping, turgon kills someone in cold blood and buries him in gondolin retreat, hurin isn't paid well enough for this shit, and finrod does magic tricks

modern au where indis and miriel team up to investigate their mutual ex-husband's murder, university student feanor hacks the government, 13-year old fingolfin sneaks into places he's not supposed to be in, and 7-year-old finarfin mostly plays a lot of minecraft

au where every dead elf is eventually re-embodied as a baby so long as someone is willing to pick them up from the halls. woe reverse sibling orders be upon ye

#lena speaks #feel free to ask me about these i think about them a lot

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

There’s been a persistent headcanon I cannot get rid of in my head. There’s been many contradictory statements on when Finwë and Indis got married and how old Feanor was when they did. We know Feanor married young and I don’t imagine Nerdanel and him wasted anytime to get going making babies unless Feanors fear of childbirth got to him due to his mothers death. But if we consider that elf’s are said to have other kids when the first child is grown or as close to it as possible and Nolofinwë was the second child of Finwë and Indis, there’s a chance that Maedhros is older or at least the same age as Nolofinwë. This means that at least four of Feanors kids are older than their aunt and uncles and the rest may be older than all their cousins added together. I’m just thinking of the dynamics between cousins if the Feanorians are that much older than them. We know Maedhros was close to Fingon in Valinor, Curufin and Celegorm was said to be close to both Aredhel and their Arafinwean cousins, it makes for an interesting dynamic if all of them were older than them.

If Maedhros was born around the same time as Fingons father their dynamic is all the more interesting. And since Celegorm is the third eldest he might be around Arafinwes age if this headcanon holds true, and that makes his friendship with both Nolofinwes daughter and the sons of Arafinwe all the more interesting. Although the most interesting may just be Caranthirs beef with elves younger than his younger brothers. Imagine a grown Caranthir glowering at 50 year old Aegnor or Angrod.

If Meadhros was born before Nolofinwë then his father name Nelyafinwë would be less of a pointed jab towards his uncle and more of Feanor reaffirming his own line of succession, but that could mean that Indis named Nolofinwë “high chieftain” in retaliation but I don’t want to think of her as that much of a petty person no matter how interesting that line of character development may be. Or if Nōlo was a bit older than Maedhros I can definitely see Feanor being that stupendously petty and aiming to hurt his new born infant brother who’s the same size as his son.

I think an AU where all seven of Feanors sons are closer in age to their aunts and uncles than their cousins would be really interesting, especially since we know how much each sons friendship with their cousins meant to them and vice versa inspite of the betrayal as Losgar and the First kinslaying. Even after the first kinslaying Celegorm and Curufin fled to Finrod and was welcomed and was the vanguard needed for Orodreth to escape, we know that even after the sons of Feanor condemned the entire host of Nolofinwë to cross the grinding ice Aredhel still went to visit them first after escaping her guards when she fled gondolin. I think it would be much more interesting if they instead were their fathers age then there’s cuz it really does show how fucked elven aging is compared to our understanding of how we age and age differences.

Also I think it would be hilarious for caranthir to have beef with babies ngl. I think it’s hilarious he’d want to throw hands with golden haired toddlers when he’s the same age as their dad.

#the silmarillion #house of Feanor #caranthir #feanor #indis #finwe #maedhros #fingolfin #finarfin #the sons of finarfin #sons of finwe #sons of feanor #sons of fingolfin #aredhel #celegorm #curufin #Finrod #orodreth #sons of Feanor are older than their cousins au #I think it’s interesting and since there’s not a concrete date on when maedhros as born I choose to believe this is real

[transsexualhamlet]

✨ for Maedhros?

Ooogh, I do love Maedhros a whole lot. My partner has this long ongoing au where Maedhros has a sapling of Laurelin literally growing inside of him body horror style and I'm kind of literally always thinking about that but it's sort of beside the point.

I do have a sort of headcanon that Maedhros started to have nightmares of burning to death when the silmarils were first created. And like back then he did tell Fëanor who was like noooo nooo son dont worry about it its fine its Fineeeee . Everyone kind of agrees its sorta prophetic but everyone after Fëanor's death is like oh well that explains that. Little did they know that was not the end of it. He let people think that was it because who wants to worry about things getting even worse, y'know, he's like the eldest daughter he's gotta pretend they have their shit together. He doesn't even mention it again to Fingon (although i think he figures it out on his own). He only admits it to Maglor when they both have the silmarils.

Uhm anyway. More of an idea than a hot take but my hot take is that I don't think Fëanor was abusive to his kids at all, maybe absent, maybe preoccupied, egotistical and overzealous but never cruel. He was proud of his children, and never intended for them to suffer. He didn't raise them very *well*, but the many pressures and causes that would cause the fëanorians to swear the oath were more complex than fëanor just sucking ass. Maedhros sees himself as more at fault than he really is, but they were never coerced.

#rowan gets yelled at #ask game #:)

[elenaire-marione-montes]

Same Name, Different Ages.

Two Aredhels in different stories.

Aredhel Ar-Feiniel (Irissë)

"...she was fearless and hardy of heart, as were all the children of Finwë" ― Quenta Silmarillion, "Of Maeglin"

Aredhel, also called Ar-Feiniel or the White Lady of the Noldor, was the third child and only daughter of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, and Anairë who herself was also a Noldo. Her elder brothers were Fingon and Turgon, and her youngest brother was Argon. Much later in Beleriand, she became the mother of Maeglin, whose father was Eöl, "the Dark Elf".

Aredhel was tall and strong, fond of hunting and riding in the forests. Her skin was pale and her hair dark; she always wore silver and white. She was fond of the sons of Fëanor, especially Celegorm and Curufin.

Arelle Ar-Luinuen (Aredhel The Noble Blue Maiden; Aiarmaiue)

"...And Arelle Ar-Luinuen, a hushed awe fell over the gathered family members. Dressed in a beautiful robe with the hues of the morning sky. Dark brown with the silver highlights were her wavy braided hair, and her eyes sparkled like the seawater reflected under the sun." —The Elemmírion, Sinyatuilë (Draft)

Arelle Ar-Luinuen, named after the renowned Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, emerges as one of the characterd appeared in "The Elemmírion". Born on either 27 March 1991, her heritage weaves together the noble lineage of Elves and the mortal roots of humanity—25/32 Elf (Falmarin) and 7/32 Human.

She was proficient as a young markswoman by wielding a rifle, also her calling extends beyond the Seventh Age as she embraces the role of a healer. Her compassionate nature and innate understanding of both Elven and human anatomy make her a formidable force in mending wounds and ailments.

Brief Background: Arelle is the eldest daughter of Aiardil Alatarāto Oiolótë, a prominent Lord of the Valinorean Teleri and the current scion of the Great House of Olwë via the Off-branch House of Oiolótë, and Alcaro Tomislav Brković, son of a Peredhel Elanor II Artanárë who was sorted into Slytherin.

Etymology: The name "Arelle Ar-Luinuen" is a Telerin cognate of the Sindarin name meaning "Aredhel, the Noble Blue Maiden."

#books #tolkien legendarium #artwork #non canon #wattpad #my ocs #elemmírë #original character #the silmarillion #silm headcanons #silmarillion #silm trash #pardon me because my watercolour art is not good enough but i tried my best #aredhel #aredhel ar feiniel #arelle ar luinuen #aredhel means “noble elf” I guess #nomenclature #namesake #the namesake of aredhel ar feiniel idk #illustration #watercolour art #silmarillion × harry potter = the elemmírion (this non canonical ig) #not officialy yet

[heathcliffgirl1847]

Maedhros!

First impression: i didnt even think about him to be honest until he died and then i was like NOW WAIT A MINUTE..... Impression now: poor little princess. hes the eldest daughter and he has committed atrocities. i think he has such interesting interpretation potential and i love seeing what the fandom comes up with Favourite moment: this is evil but again his death is just so..... idk. it just completes the narrative so well. Idea for a story: i have not many ideas i am not creative. but i've always wanted to draw something about post thangorodrim recovery where he is having trouble differentiating between his memory and reality. but hes not really aware of it and is just in a dreamy state while maglor is caring for him. but everytime i tried it made me sad so i gave up and also i think it would work better as a fic. i thought of this while asleep and left this note for myself lol

Unpopular opinion: hes a nuanced character who did bad things and good things. ppl are always arguing over this. its ok to have complicated characters guys Favourite relationship: i think his sibling relationships are most interesting sorry fingon. like they already have such a...weird.... home life and then we bring in war and court dynamics. like they have sibling politics + royal court politics + national politics all going on. and maedhros has to manage them. elf succession hbo who said that Favourite headcanon: narsil was given by him to elros and passed down from there<3

#ask game

[thevalleyisjolly]

The Nolofinweans are great because you have Fingon who is the ideal of a firstborn son so hard that he disappears into the mythos of the rash heroic charismatic flame in the wind and then you have Turgon who is a second son eldest daughter and you have Aredhel who is an only daughter firstborn son because someone has to be the tragic reality behind the golden image and then there's Argon the baby who's really the middle child who wasn't not important but who will always get overshadowed by everyone and everything else. And they're all bisexual.

#the valley is posting #is this anything

[last-capy-hupping]

Snippet SnWednesday

So, I just got tagged by @pearlescentpearl, and I decided to share a snippet from what I have from my post-Thangorodrim rescue fic, Running Up That Hill, featuring a return of the POV of my Fingon’s wife OC Laitanis.

“She felt the shift within her hröa mere moments after she awoke. She had not even arisen to check on Elenñalto, who slept in his own little bed in the room that she had shared with the husband who was not there. Her son had not yet opened his eyes nor climbed up the side of her bed—no one else had shared it in three months, so she reasoned that that fact made it hers and hers alone—and asked her if his father still lived. Her good-father had not yet sent Aranwë to ask her if she had felt his eldest son die during the night. Neither her good-brother nor her good-sister had come to ask if she felt anything except the faint but inescapable pull of her fëa towards Findekáno’s one, which still lingered in Endórë. Lanwion had not yet come to offer her—reassurance, or perhaps comfort, that it was good that her spouse lingered while his had passed on—before emotions that were not her own seized hold of her.

Her chest tightened, and her breathing turned fast and shallow, and her fingers burned as though she had spent far too long clinging for dear life to an unfamiliar mount’s mane. Her heart raced, and panic that was not her own gripped her, not for herself nor for her husband, who had never feared his death when others’ lives were in danger. She felt alive for the first time since Findekáno’s mind had slipped beyond her reach, and she realized that he would be delayed in returning. They had thought that the Enemy’s forces had somehow captured him just as they had captured Nelyafinwë Ñoldóran.

It felt so strange to think again of the impossibly tall, blindingly beautiful, implacably distant nér who had towered over her youth and regarded her with suspicion from the moment that she had done what was needed to save her friend’s and his brother’s reputations. It was stranger still to think of him as her high king, as her husband’s and good-father’s overlord, especially when his captivity cast such a long shadow over both camps around the Mithrim’s lake. The Ñoldóran was absent but alive, and none could be crowned in his place. Surely that was why Moringotto had really kept him alive for so long. And if the fallen Vala had taken Findekáno too, then he had thrown the entire Ñolofinwëan succession into doubt as well. For if Finwë Ñolofinwë fell, who would succeed him? His grandson who barely came up to his knees? His second son, bent by grief and turned foolish by rage? His half-grown granddaughter whom Laitanis had maimed to save her from an even worse fate? His daughter who ran wild and was only half-controlled by her age-mate cousin? Would the living descendants of Ñolofinwë be forced to bow to the children of Arafinwë? Or would they too linger in limbo with their new low-king held captive alongside their high king?

At least, that was what Laitanis and her kin-by-marriage had feared. Her good-kin still likely feared the same things, but her fears evaporated into the mists seeping into the air. The numbness that had held her captive for months—for years, perhaps since her father had fallen, since she had been forced into the role of a common butcher, since the last nér who saw her as a living, vital, incarnate being worthy of selfless care and adoration had been slain beneath the light the moon—had faded. She felt alive again because Findekáno felt alive and afraid and ferociously determined in a way that he had not been since the battle over the swanships. For the first time in two months, she was moved by something more than duty, necessity, and maternal love, and it made her head swim. She would have hated Findekáno for forcing all of this upon her without warning if she had given herself a moment to think rather than act. Instead, she grabbed her veil from the bedside table, and wound it about her face so that she could breathe sweet air.”

(A certain Lord of the Eagles will be appearing soon.)

Tagging @disorganisedautodidact @thatfeanorian and @melestasflight

#snippet snwednesday #silmarillion #maedhros #fingon #russingon #implied #fingon’s wife #gil galad’s mom #baby gil-galad #mad season #running up that hill #the consequences of leaving your wife to save your husband

[grey-gazania-fic]

Chess

Fingolfin enjoys what will be his last moment of peace with his family. Part of my Woman King AU. Rated G.

It was a cold, quiet night at Barad Eithel, a few days into the new year, and I was enjoying a peaceful evening with my family in the warmth and comfort of my parlor. Fingon, Ianneth, and Ereiniel had come to visit for the midwinter festival, as they often did. It was a joy to have them here. I missed Argon and Aredhel, both lost so long ago, and Turgon and Idril, hidden away in their secret city. Fingon was the only one of my children who remained in my life, and I treasured him and his wife and daughter all the more for it.

He sat across from me, frowning as he concentrated on the chessboard that lay between us. While he was brilliant on the battlefield, the finer points of chess still eluded him, though he had played countless games in his life -- not only against me, but also against his cousins and his brothers. Among his generation in our family, it was Argon and Caranthir who had truly mastered the game, not my eldest child.

Ereiniel was cross-legged on the thick carpet near our feet, amusing herself with her doll and a trio of painted wooden horses. Lalwen was keeping half an eye on her as she relaxed by the fire, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. Ianneth sat beside my sister, letting out the hem of one of Ereiniel’s skirts, for my granddaughter had grown another few inches. It seemed she was destined to be tall. That was unsurprising; physically, she took after Fingon in everything but her nose, and while he was the shortest of my three sons, he was still of an imposing height.

I moved my castle across the board. “Check and mate,” I said.

Fingon leaned back and groaned good-naturedly. “Best out of three?” he suggested.

“In a moment.” I looked down at Ereiniel. “I have something for you, starshine,” I said. When she laid her doll down and turned to look at me, I added, “I know it’s still two weeks till your begetting day, but you and your parents will be home by then, so I’d like to give it to you now.”

Over by the fire, Lalwen hid a smile behind her hand. She knew what the gift was; in fact, she had helped me think of the idea. But Fingon and Ianneth did not, and my sister and I were looking forward to seeing Fingon’s reaction almost as much as Ereiniel’s. I drew the present out from behind my chair and placed it in my granddaughter’s hands.

“Is it a book?” she asked, examining the rectangular package.

“Open it and see, love,” Ianneth said, setting her work aside.

Slowly, Ereiniel pulled the wrappings away with her small fingers. It was indeed a book, one I had had made just for her, a slim volume with a cover of blue leather and the title embossed in gold letters.

“Prince Fingon and the Fire-Drake,” she read aloud. Then she looked up at her father with wide, shining eyes. “Ada, it’s about you! It’s about the time you fought the dragon.”

My son glanced at me with raised eyebrows before seating himself on the carpet beside his daughter. “So it is,” he said, not quite managing to conceal his own surprise. But Ereiniel didn’t notice; she had opened the book, and now she gasped with delight.

“Look!” she said. “It’s you and Pilin.”

The artist I had commissioned had done a superb job. There on the title page was a picture of Fingon, rendered in vivid colors, mounted and holding his bow. Pilin, his horse, was drawn in full detail, from the blaze on his face down to the pasterns on his back legs. Ereiniel stared at the illustration a moment longer and then, very carefully, closed the book and set it aside. Then she clambered to her feet and rushed towards me, throwing her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you, Haru,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

I returned her embrace and then lifted her up to sit upon my knee. “You’re welcome. Your father tells me it’s your favorite bedtime story,” I said. “Now you can read it for yourself whenever you like.”

Beaming, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. She was a delight, this child, and her presence eased the ache I felt in my heart when I thought of my lost children and grandchildren.

“Pass it here, Fingon,” I said, reaching out for the book. “Ereiniel and I can read it together.”

He complied, seeming half embarrassed and half amused -- unlike Ianneth, whose amusement was clearly not leavened by any other emotions. When I glanced her way, she grinned, her green eyes sparkling with humor.

Pushing the chessmen aside, I set the book down on the table, opened it to the first page, and began to read. Though Ereiniel knew the story well, she still glowed with delight as I read, and she gasped in wonder at each sumptuous illustration.

“It’s my favorite story, Haru,” she said when I had finished, leaning back to rest her head against my chest. “Thank you.”

I kissed the top of her head and said, “Anything for my granddaughter. I love you very much, starshine.”

“I love you, too,” she said, looking up at me with adoring eyes. “Ada is very brave, isn’t he?”

“He is,” I agreed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fingon’s cheeks turn pink. “The bravest of all the Noldor, I’d say.”

Though amusement still gleamed in her eyes, Ianneth took pity on my son. “I think it’s time for bed, love,” she said, standing and crossing the room. “Say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Haru,” Ereiniel said. “Goodnight, Aunt Lalwen. Goodnight, Ada.”

Fingon scooped her up from my lap and kissed the tip of her nose, making her giggle. “Sweet dreams, mírë,” he said, before passing her into Ianneth’s arms.

“I think I’ll turn in as well,” Lalwen said, setting down her empty teacup with a gentle clink and lifting her hand to cover a yawn.

I raised my eyebrows at Fingon in a silent query, but he shook his head. “Best two out of three,” he said with a grin, claiming his seat at the table once more.

I returned his smile. “Very well,” I said. Once we both had bade Ianneth and Lalwen goodnight, I began setting up my chessmen once more. But Fingon did not join me immediately.

“‘Fingon and the Fire-Drake’? Really, Atto?” he said, mingled amusement and embarrassment once more taking up residence on his face.

“Ah, but did you see her expression?” I said, smiling at the memory. “She truly is a treasure.”

“She is,” he agreed. He lifted his queen and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. Though he was staring at the board, his mind seemed to be elsewhere, and I waited in silence for him to continue.

“You know, this wasn’t something I thought my life would hold, back in Valinor,” he finally said. “Marriage. Fatherhood. But… I am happy. Ereiniel is everything to me. I can’t imagine life without her and Ianneth.”

“I’m glad,” I said, watching him begin to set up his game pieces. I knew that marriage would not have been his choice, had we been at true peace. It was for my sake and the sake of our alliance with the Sindar that he had agreed to meet the eligible women of Hithlum. But Ianneth had stolen his heart. She was an admirable woman, wise and kind. I was glad that she was at my son’s side, and that they were happy together.

Fingon set his last piece in its place and looked up at me. “Did you feel this way about us when we were small?” he asked. “As though there would never be anything in the world more perfect than your child?”

“I still feel that way,” I said, giving him a gentle smile.

He smiled back, his cheeks turning pink once more beneath his dusting of freckles, and moved his pawn across the board, beginning the game. He played better than he had during our last match, but all the same, two hours later I had won once more, so we wished each other goodnight and sought out the warmth of our respective beds.

I was roused by a frantic pounding on my door, which crashed open before I had even finished climbing to my feet. I saw Henthael, my scribe, standing in the doorway, his face ashen in the light from the corridor.

“Sire,” he gasped, “Ard-galen is burning.”

“What?” In an instant, I was on my feet and halfway into my trousers.

“It’s burning,” Henthael repeated. “The whole plain is aflame, and there are fires and fumes pouring from Thangorodrim.”

As he spoke, I realized that I could already detect a whiff of smoke in the air. “Wake Fingon,” I said. I didn’t bother to change my nightshirt for a tunic, but simply pulled on my cloak.

“I’m awake,” I heard, and a moment later Fingon stumbled into view behind Henthael.

“Wake Lalwen, then,” I ordered. “Tell her to muster the archers.”

Henthael nodded and rushed away, and Fingon and I hurried together to the fortress walls. We found the air outside already thick with acrid fumes, and I could hear the guards coughing. The horizon was lit by an ominous glow. It was difficult to tell through the smoke, but the fires seemed to be coming closer at an unnaturally rapid pace.

Morgoth had made his next move on the chessboard of Beleriand, and it was dire, as I had long feared it would be. Our long peace was broken.

#fingolfin #fingon #gil galad #fingon's wife #dagor bragollach #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fic #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silmarillion #woman king au

[youareunbearable]

Thinking about an Age Swap!Grandchildren of Finwe, and I want to share with you a snippet :)) I just think that a lot would change about the dynamics of Finwe's house if the ages were reversed:

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No matter how hard we try, history can never perfectly repeat itself a second time. History is built on relationships and experiences and reactions and feelings and so many many different perspectives. But most importantly, history is built on chance. A roll of a dice. Coincidence.

Within the story we know, it was a coincidence that Maedhros, the natural born leader and tragic villain of the feared Sons of Feanor, was the eldest of Finwe’s grandsons. His birth and upbringing and personality and his relationship set the stage for the story that unfolds. 

But what if he wasn’t? What if that dice role landed differently? What if instead of the eldest, he’s the youngest of Finwe’s grandchildren? Instead of Maedhros, Fingon, and Finrod being the eldest of their siblings, it’s Ambarussa, Argon, and Galadriel? 

Feanor and Nerdanel’s first birth being Ambarussa would change everything.

They are worried at first about having twins, but don’t worry too much and continue their travelling, knowing that when the time is close they will have a home back in Tirion either with Finwe, in Formenos with Miriel’s kin, or in the small hamlet nestled between the two cities with Mathan and Nerdanel’s kin. It isn’t until Nerdanel is in her third trimester and Feanor is kicking open Finwe’s palace doors in Tirion, stressed and about to break down in tears over how Not Well his pregnant wife is. Finwe is matching his energy and settles his daughter in law into the nicest guest suites, and even calls in some Maiar healers from Lorien to attend her.

This all may seem overboard, but this pregnancy is Not Going Well for Nerdanel. She is weak, can hardly keep down food, has terrible pains, and is plagued by nightmares of flames and sea winds for her final weeks of pregnancy. Feanor is one hairbreath away from pulling his hair out himself and sobbing at her bedside. The Maiar share some looks with each other, but tell the new parents that this can be normal, as twin pregnancies are typically hard, especially for your first time. This doesn’t calm Feanor down, if anything it makes him fret even more.

The birth goes as expected. She does end up having to have a C-section but it's quick and the Maiar perform admirably enough and there are no worries about infection or any further complications. Nerdanel is still sleeping off the poppy seeds they gave her, so Feanor gets to name their twin sons first.

The eldest, the twin with the lighter ginger puff of hair, he names Nelyafinwë. Feanor isn’t above the petty glee the snub of the name gives him. As his wife rests and he holds his sons close to his chest, he takes a moment to delight in the affront the name will bring to his half-siblings. He gives his son a quick kiss on the forehead, ignoring the lingering afterbirth that covers him, and whispers his new father-name into his perfect little ear.

The younger twin, with slightly darker hair and all his fathers love, is a little harder for Feanor to name. His birth was harder for Nerdanel, for it was after he was removed she had a slight haemorrhage, but was easily healed by the Maiar performing the C-section. Feanor loved children, he and Nerdanel joked about wanting half a dozen, enough to fill both of their workrooms with apprentices. But this pregnancy was hard, and it scared them both. Feanor would clutch both of his sons to his chest and stare at his sleeping wife, who looked so pale and worn. It was then he took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to his youngest’s forehead and named him Telufinwë. For as much as he longed for children, he didn’t have the heart to put more strain on his wife.

It is a while yet before Nerdanel wakes, so Feanor just holds his children and paces with them around the room, keeping one eye on his boys and another on his wife. Once she begins to stir, he is at her side, relief slamming into her mind via ósanwe.

They both share time just finding peace with each other. Pride, relief, excitement building between them the more Nerdanel wakes all until she is demanding to meet her sons. Her eldest, Nelyafinwë, is placed into her waiting arms and she kisses his brow and tears up. Her Mother Vision fills her sight and all she can see is her twins, all grown up and laughing and running through the woods, Laurelin’s light making their long braids look like pure copper wire swinging behind them. Ambarussa, she will name him when the vision finishes, breathless and delighted at seeing her sons grown and healthy. 

Feanor, charmed at the name, bends down to pass her younger son to her. Once the child settles into her arms, however, she goes rigid from the scene of her Mother Vision. It holds her trapped, held hostage as she feels the ghostly heat of flames all around her. She almost doesn’t see her son at first, with his copper hair and Feanorian red robes, but there he is, foot entangled amongst some sailing rope at the ship he is on burns all around him. He screams as the flames crawl up his limbs and she screams with him.

Feanor calls for the Maiar and for his father before she even takes the breath to scream. He can feel her terror through their bond, the anguish that claws at them both. When Finwë and the Maiar come bursting into the room, they are just in time to hear Nerdanel scream, “My son, oh not my son! The flames! The flames!” Before the Maiar put her into a forced sleep. 

Everyone is shaken. Finwë has a steadying grip on his eldest son, while Feanor clutches the twins to his chest, staring horrified at his wife. Nolofinwë and the rest of Finwë’s children crowd the doorway, heavy silence covers them all. No one will say anything, but all are thinking about Miriel. 

It’s then, that Feanor whispers, that young Telufinwë was not given a mother name. 

Nerdanel takes a long time to heal, especially since Feanor refuses to let her go to Lorien, afraid that if she goes, she will never come back. So she stays home, with her apprentices and her parents and many sisters and their families all visiting and helping out as they can. Feanor is so thankful that he has his wife’s family to help him with the twins. For his mother-in-law and sisters-in-law to help take over some mother roles when Nerdanel is overcome, just so their boys won’t know the pain of only having one grieving father taking care of them as he did.

As Nerdanel recovers, the twins are almost exclusively called Ambarussa. While it is a little confusing if one is trying to differentiate the two, they are hardly separated enough for that problem to really arise. 

But Nerdanel does heal. Once she is well enough Feanor breaches the topic of a mother name for their youngest. She holds little Telufinwë close to her chest, this infant that is already more than a month old, and gives him the name Umbarto. It feels like a Doom settled over his young head, but she refuses any alternative names Feanor offers. No one blames the twins for insisting to both be called Ambarussa as they grow up, nor does anyone, not even Nerdanel’s kin, call the youngest Ambarussa by his mother name.

#amber rambles #silmarillion #silm #silm fic #feanor #nerdanel #ambarussa #age swap au

[thelordofgifs]

⭐️ any tfs section you wanna talk about?

(director's cut ask game)

Always! Currently thinking about some of the Maedhros angst (so, like, half the fic). Of course Maedhros spent all of part 19 having an extended breakdown, but it's actually the start of part 20 that I'm particularly pleased with. By this stage he's calmed down a bit and is just really really Sad.

Left alone, he paces a contemplative circle around his study and tries to think.

Maglor's hand cold against his cheek—

Not that.

Girl discovers a minor gesture of affection can be used as a recurring angsty motif and proceeds to beat it to death, more at 10.

Maedhros is not a very good son. He thinks he was, once, at least while his father lived; but then he knelt before Fëanor's hated half-brother and offered him the crown that was Maedhros' birthright, knowing as he did so that his father could never forgive this. Sometimes he almost revels in it. With every sibilant sá-sí that passes his lips he thinks, I am not like you. I will not be like you.

Although he cannot say it aloud, he is not a very good lover. Fingon is a miracle and a blessing and Maedhros loves him with everything he is, but he knows that is not enough. He is not now the fair and charming prince Fingon fell in love with in Tirion across the Sea; and for all Fingon has changed since then too, he deserves better than the war-hardened and distant shell that is all Maedhros can offer.

But he always thought – he always thought he was, if nothing else, beyond reproach as an elder brother.

hmm so obviously Maedhros has the worst case of Eldest Daughter Syndrome ever seen in fiction (he should have won that POLL I'm still not over that) and one of the ways this manifests is... a pretty weird self-image. For a long time I've seen him as very much defining himself by who he is to others, by his relationship with Fingon and his relationship with Maglor (and with his other brothers - but Maglor is his favourite and kind of stands in as a proxy sometimes. To quote from the Gold Rush AU, which is so pivotal in my understanding of Maedhros: "We all must lay a first stone. Maglor is my first brother." just spent twenty minutes looking for that line and devastated myself in the process anyway).

Tangent over! this way of defining himself by what he is to others, and to the two people he loves most specifically, is part of why Maedhros falls apart so dramatically when Curufin tells him they are dead. But thinking about it some more, I realised that wasn't an entirely complete picture. Maedhros is also, very importantly, Feanor's eldest son. I don't touch much on his relationship with his father in tfs, because Feanor has been dead for centuries, but that bullet point about how Maedhros views him and his legacy was important here. Maedhros knows he has betrayed a lot of what his father stood for; and for the most part, he doesn't care, but at the same time it's hard to conceptualise himself as a dutiful eldest son now.

It was only ever a delusion. Amrod and Celegorm both died because Maedhros failed to protect them, after all.

But this is different. He has killed Maglor himself – no need for metaphor. He held his little brother with one arm and drove a blade into his side with the other.

Who is he, if not that? What is left of him if Maglor is gone – if he cannot be Maglor’s protector anymore, because Maglor is dead – because Maedhros killed him?

I spent a lot of time agonising over that last sentence. It means more than simply "I'm not a brother any more if my brother is dead" - it's something far more destructive than that. Maedhros' self-image is now completely in shatters because of what he's done. Being a good older brother was his one thing and now, in his mind, he has completely failed at that and hence doesn't have a thing any more and hence doesn't know who he is any more. Because if he can't define himself as Feanor's son or as Fingon's lover or as Maglor's brother then what is left of him?

A slave, suggests the voice of Sauron that ever lurks at the back of his mind, a pretty toy to adorn the halls of Morgoth, nothing of any importance.

...well. There's a fourth axis to Maedhros' self-image. And he does, I think, struggle a lot with the objectification and dehumanisation of Angband; and this is something that really disturbs him now, since he's tried to logic Fingon into agreeing with him that Maedhros is technically a thrall. This is a thread I didn't really pick back up on in part 20, but I might end up doing so more later.

Maedhros shakes himself. It was listening to Sauron’s lies that got him into this mess, after all—

But that is not true. Sauron is not here, and it was Maedhros’ own unstable mind that betrayed him.

That is not quite right either. There was no division within him, no evil spirit that took control of his faculties: it was him. He killed Maglor himself.

How can he ever begin to come to terms with that?

some good old-fashioned self-loathing to wrap up this angst session. Maedhros distances himself immediately from any attempt to justify the stabbing. Is he being unfair to himself? Yes, of course. He wasn't in his right mind when he stabbed Maglor. But as far as he's concerned that isn't the point. The point is that he's dangerous, and he has incontrovertible proof now that he can't trust himself or his own judgement.

This is not stuff that really gets resolved in part 20, which was mostly deliberate. Maedhros has a lot to reckon with! And the blows he has taken from this whole incident are going to affect him for a long, long time.

#asks #and-the-times-we-had #maedhros #the fairest stars #this is a rambly answer but I have a Lot of maedhros thoughts

[welcomingdisaster]

Firstborn women is fascinating. How exactly does it change the dynamics or the canon events? And more importantly, lesbian Russingon?

lesbian russingon yess!! here is. a tiny little fraction of the dynamics in that verse, namely the finwe-feanor-fingolfin-turgon-fingon mess

okay so. for the sake of this au, we are swapping every single firstborn son to a firstborn daughter. for those who wed (which is just fëanor), their spouses also swap to fit most easily into the au

also for the take of this post i'm not swapping anyone's name around. but i DO know they are gendered and would swap them if i actually wrote this

so, finwe's beloved baby from his first marriage is a daughter. his first child from his second marriage a son. this creates a very natural dynamic of intense jealousy between them, where feanor expects that fingolfin is going to get everything as the first-born son and she will get nothing

she is also the clear favorite, an extremely controversial figure in court, and a genius. usual feanor stuff, but take it up to eleven with the tendency to break social norms + inheritance angst

eventually finwe announces that he is changing the law to make a one-time exception to allow his eldest daughter to be crown prince rather than his son. no this will not apply to any other woman in valinor. this is the special princess law for his specialest princess

you can imagine fingolfin's feelings re: this. he says nothing but deep down is extremely frustrated at the blatant favoritism, and feels his father would never do something like that for him

[time passes i am skipping over a lot of stuff to get to the point]

cut to: fingolfin's own family. in this case, eldest daughter fingon, middle child and only boy turgon, little aredhel.

fingon is very much fingolfin's favorite kid, as i believe is true for usual canonverse also

but he's raged!! a million times over!! about how unfair it is to show special favor to the eldest. he will not be his father in this. he will stick to his own ideas of fairness & the law. he is very much raising turgon to be the heir (even as he secretly wants to give fingon everything) and he's weirdly resentful of turgon re: this.

fingon is also kinda resentful of turgon re: this. if they had all been daughters, there would be no problem and she'd just be the heir presumptive, but he has to go and be a boy. fucking ugh

you can imagine why turgon fucks off to gondolin

#lena speaks #look i like messes #doomed to repeat the mistakes of ur father etc

[dialux]

Írissë Fenyellë - Desired daughter, reed-bells

Women of the Elves, 8/?

...

Born Írissë Fenyellë, Aredhel was the only daughter of King Fingolfin and his wife, Anairë. Her father-name, Írissë (desired daughter) referred to the circumstances of her birth, for Anairë and Fingolfin had slowly grown estranged as Anairë disliked Fingolfin’s refusal to answer his half-brother Fëanor’s provocations in kind, and it was only Aredhel’s conception and birth that pushed them to rekindle their marriage. Aredhel’s mother-name was Fenyellë (reed-bells) after the sound of her cries when she was born, akin to the sound of the old bells crafted in Cuiviénen from dried reeds.

Aredhel was a renowned hunter and tracker, having apprenticed to the Vala Oromë at a young age; she also learned spear-dancing from her aunt Lalwen and woodworking from her older cousin, Angrod, both skills she made much use of in Beleriand. Always close to her half-cousin Celegorm, also a follower of Oromë, Aredhel distinguished herself in the hunt by fletching her own arrows in feathers of pure white and breeding birds of prey that were, in her own words, “like a white death.” For her mastery, Aredhel hunted a bear blessed with strength by Tulkas himself, and wore its pale hide with pride for the rest of her life. In Tirion, ever after, she became known as the White Lady.

But as Fingolfin’s relationship with Fëanor deteriorated further, Aredhel cared little for building bridges or reconciling with them. Indeed, Aredhel cared little for politics at all, and family politics even less. She never spoke to Celegorm about his support of Fëanor despite their close relationship. Even after Celegorm followed his father to Formenos following Fëanor’s banishment, Aredhel never commented on his absence to any of her family.

During the Darkening, once it became clear that Fingolfin would follow Fëanor to Beleriand to avenge the death of the father and king, Finwë, Aredhel was imprisoned in her own rooms by her mother to ensure she would not follow her father or brothers into the unknown. Aredhel escaped by setting fire to the rooms and scaling the enormous oak tree outside her window, and arrived only after the pronouncement of Námo’s doom to the Noldor. Thus she was innocent of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë.

When Aredhel first heard of the Kinslaying, she was appalled, but kept her own counsel as they crossed the Helcaraxë. She focused instead on helping to raise her brother Turgon’s daughter, Idril, after Turgon’s wife Elenwë died on the Ice. In Beleriand, after her younger brother Argon died at the hands of orcs and her eldest brother Fingon disappeared—though he would eventually return, bearing the tortured body of their half-cousin Maedhros—Aredhel finally met Celegorm when they were both out hunting. They never spoke of the words they said to each other that day, but Celegorm later confided in his brother Caranthir that Aredhel’s fury seemed enough to burn down the entire forest.

Still furious, Aredhel chose to follow her brother Turgon, who also hated the Fëanorians, first to Vinyamar and then to the mountain-city of Gondolin. There she lived for some time in joy and peace, helping to establish the House of the Wing, one of the twelve Houses of the Gondothlim. When she left Gondolin, Aredhel asked Idril to take up the duties of leading that house while she was gone; Idril would eventually pass that responsibility on to her human husband, Tuor, when he arrived in Gondolin.

Centuries later, Aredhel’s anger cooled enough for her to speak once more to Celegorm and his kin, and so she left Gondolin to meet them with a small escort of lords for protection. But she was lost on that journey in Nan Elmoth, a dark forest on the border of Doriath that housed Eöl, a renowned Sindar smith and kin to King Elu Thingol. Captured by Aredhel’s beauty and light, Eöl forbade her from ever seeing any of her kin for fear of her leaving and never returning. Though uneasy, Aredhel enjoyed Eöl’s attentions and the many gifts he showered upon her; they courted for a short time before wedding and conceiving a son that Aredhel named Lómion and Eöl named Maeglin.

But Eöl grew colder and crueler as the days passed, and Aredhel found fewer redeeming features in him as time went on, particularly in his harsh treatment of their son. She and Maeglin fell into a habit of taking long walks through Nan Elmoth in Eöl’s absence, where Aredhel told Maeglin many stories of her childhood adventures and family troubles, extolling the beauty of both Aman and her kinfolk’s achievements. When Maeglin asked to see Gondolin despite Eöl’s hatred of the Noldor, Aredhel responded with pride and joy, and they left Nan Elmoth swiftly.

Eöl, however, followed them. He was captured by Gondolin’s guards when he arrived there and offered mercy by Turgon if he remained in Gondolin, but Eöl would not accept this judgment. Instead, he chose death both for himself and for Maeglin, and threw a poisoned javelin at his son. Aredhel shielded Maeglin and was wounded in the shoulder, and later begged Idril to ensure Turgon showed mercy to Eöl, but passed soon thereafter due to the poison. Her funeral pyre, it is said, left such great smoke that all of Gondolin was enveloped in it for weeks on end.

#silmarillion #tolkien ladies #my edits #my writing #aredhel #i just think the fenyelle - faniel etymology pipeline is. good. #women of the elves

[middleearthtolkienfantasyart]

Andreth was the elder daughter and second child of Boromir and a sister to Bregor and Beril.

In her youth, she dwelt in the house of her uncle, Belemir, where she had learned the lore of the House of Marach from his wife, the Wise-woman Adanel.

Andreth was deeply in love with the Noldorin Elf-lord Aegnor, the son of Finarfin and Eärwen and the brother of Finrod, Angrod, and Galadriel. During the Siege of Angband, the Elf-lord saw young Andreth in the reflection of Aeluin and they fell in love with each other. However, he could not reciprocate her love, since, according to the law of the Eldar, no marriages could happen during times of war. It is said that for her sake, he would not take any Elven bride. Both remained unwed and childless.

She grew in knowledge and understanding of lore, and as she grew older, she was respected as a wisewoman after Adanel.

She had a close friendship with Aegnor's eldest brother, King Finrod of Nargothrond, who often visited her during the Siege to converse with her wisdom on the matters of Elves and Men. One such conversation was written down and later known as Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.

"He is a warrior, Andreth, and a spirit of wrath. In every stroke that he deals he sees the Enemy who long ago did thee this hurt."

― Finrod about Aegnor in Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

Aegnor was a son of Finarfin and a lord of the Noldor. He was terrible to endure in battle and a fire burned in his eyes. His golden hair was stiff and straight. Aegnor's spirit burned relentless, even at a young age, but he was also thought of as generous and noble among the Firstborn

Aegnor was the elder brother of Galadriel and the younger brother of Finrod Felagund and Angrod.He had a strong friendship with Fingon and grace to him, and he followed the Exiles under the host of Fingolfin with his brother Angrod.

He settled with his brother on the northern slopes of Dorthonion.There, in the reflection of Aeluin, he saw the young Andreth and they fell in love with each other. However, he could not return her love during the Siege of Angband, since according to the customs of the Eldar, no marriages were usually desired during a time of war. It is said that because of her sake, he would not take any Elven bride.

Together with Angrod he held the highlands of Dorthonion against Morgoth. Aegnor and Angrod were both slain in the Dagor Bragollach by the flames from Thangorodrim.

It was Aegnor's love for Andreth that brought about the memorable conversation between Andreth and Finrod titled Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth