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#legendariumladiesapril
arofili · 1 year
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Tolkien Fandom Event Calendar
Recently I’ve received some asks about events/weeks in the Tolkien fandom, so I thought I’d compile a list of those that I know about. This is not exhaustive, and dates are subject to change by the organizers of these events!
Other blogs you can check out are @tolkieneventsblog and @tolkienfandomevents, though I’m not sure how active those are. The @silmarillionwritersguild Discord also has a channel dedicated to signal boosts for all sorts of Tolkien-related & general fandom happenings, which is another excellent way to keep up with fandom goings-on.
Want to run your own event? Here’s some of my tips!
If your event is not on here and you’d like it to be, let me know and I can add it :) Note: I will only add events that have announced dates!
~
JANUARY Screw Yule My Slashy Valentine @myslashyvalentine — work time Lord of the Rings Secret Santa @lotr-sesa — reveals Thorin’s Spring Forge @thorinsspringforge — signups Second Age Week @secondageweek
FEBRUARY Hidden Paths My Slashy Valentine — reveals Thorin’s Spring Forge — claims Maedhros and Maglor Week @maedhrosmaglorweek
MARCH Back to Middle-earth Month @spring-into-arda Thorin’s Spring Forge — work time Fëanorian Week Fun with Fanon Fest Round 1 @funwithfanon
APRIL Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang @tolkienrsb — signups Silm Remix @tolkienremix — signups & assignments Thorin’s Spring Forge — reveals  Aralas Week @aralas-week Barduil Month @bi-widower-dads All of Arda is Autistic @all-of-arda-is-autistic F3: Focus on Friendship & Family, Phase I @spring-into-arda
MAY Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — claims Silm Remix — reveals Aspec Arda Week @aspecardaweek Angbang Week @angbangweek Gondolin Week @gondolinweek F3: Focus on Friendship & Family, Phase II
JUNE Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — work time Scribbles and Drabbles @fall-for-tolkien — signups Tolkien Ekphrasis Week @tolkienekphrasisweek F3: Focus on Friendship & Family, Phase III
JULY Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — work time Scribbles and Drabbles — claims Tolkien Gen Week @tolkiengenweek LotR Ladies Week @lotrladiessource Tolkien Appreciation Week @tolkienweek Tolkien Latin American & Caribbean Week @tolkienlatamandcaribbeanweek
AUGUST Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — deadlines Scribbles and Drabbles — art reveals Innumerable Stars Exchange @innumerable-stars — nominations & signups Tolkien of Colour Week @tolkienofcolourweek Silvergifting Week @silvergiftingweek Tolkien OC Week @tolkienocweek
SEPTEMBER Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — reveals Scribbles and Drabbles — work time Innumerable Stars Exchange — signups & assignments Sindar Week @sindarweek Dor Cúarthol Week @dorcuartholweek Finwëan Ladies Week @finweanladiesweek
OCTOBER Innumerable Stars Exchange — reveals Scribbles and Drabbles — work time Half-elven Week @halfelvenweek
NOVEMBER Tolkien Secret Santa @officialtolkiensecretsanta — signups & assignments Scribbles and Drabbles — fic reveals Nolofinwean Week @nolofinweanweek
DECEMBER Tolkien Secret Santa — advent calendar & reveals My Slashy Valentine @myslashyvalentine — signups & assignments Lord of the Rings Secret Santa — claims Khazad Week @khazadweek
MONTHLY EVENTS: These events have prompts/challenges occurring every month. Teitho Contest Tolkien Short Fanworks Silmarillion Writers’ Guild @silmarillionwritersguild
(this list was last updated 5/4/23)
LEGACY EVENTS: These events used to occur, but have not happened within the last year. Arda Needs More Pride @ardaneedsmorepride (bimonthly; last run 2020) Kiliel Week @kilielweek (timing variable; last run 2021) @oneringnet monthly events (last run 2021) Atani Week @ataniweek (January; last run 2021) Legendarium Ladies April @legendariumladiesapril (April; last run 2020) Gates of Summer Exchange @gatesofsummerexchange (May-June, last run 2022) Tolkien South Asian Week, run by @arwenindomiel (June; last run 2022) Arafinwëan Week @arafinweanweek (July; last run 2019) Fëanturi Week (August; last run 2019; no official blog and the creator has deactivated) Imladrim Week @imladrimweek (November; last run 2019) Doriath Week @doriathweek (November; last run 2020) Tolkien Family Week @tolkienfamilyweek (November; last run 2021)
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ao3feed-tolkien · 2 years
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Хелеворн: Летний роман
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/YipTkU7
by fandom_Tolkien_2022
Неканоническая версия канонической жены Карантира: в моем варианте она не эльф. (Нет, не Халет. И даже не гном, хотя мне нравится эта идея.)
Words: 526, Chapters: 1/1, Language: Русский
Series: Part 5 of О ксено-айнур
Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: Gen
Characters: Caranthir's Wife, Caranthir | Morifinwë, Helevorn
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë/Caranthir's Wife
Additional Tags: POV Female Character, Lake Helevorn, Cross-cultural, Summer Romance, Tumblr: legendariumladiesapril, Back to Middle-Earth Month, Textual Ghost, Single work, Don't copy to another site, Fandom Kombat 2022, Drama
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/YipTkU7
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thegirlwhohid · 3 years
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Morwen, daughter of Baragund, was the wife of Húrin, Lord of Dor-lómin; and their son was Túrin, who was born in the year that Beren Erchamion came upon Lúthien in the Forest of Neldoreth.
Morwen Eledhwen moodboard
Legendarium Ladies April: (24/30)
The Silmarillion characters: (129/?)
Characters’ moodboards: (436/?)
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anghraine · 4 years
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Board for Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, Dúnadan of Gondor and Queen of Rohan
(I had to do a Third Age character!)
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child-of-hurin · 4 years
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Fandom: The Silmarillion Ship: Anairë/Eärwen 1.5 words
A revision of one of the first fics I have ever written, with an added epilogue. Written for @legendariumladiesapril!
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bisexualturin · 5 years
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f i n d u i l a s, princess of nargothrond for @legendariumladiesapril
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jane-ways · 6 years
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@legendariumladiesapril event → fanon interpretation // haleth & caranthir
when i’m no longer young and beautiful
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ncfan-1 · 3 years
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I was tagged by @anghraine to do this meme, the Top AO3 Tags Meme!
The rules are: Go to your AO3 Works page > Filters sidebar > Additional Tags. Share your top tags!
1. POV Female Character: 175 2. Angst: 68 3. Bechdel Test Pass: 58 4. Spoilers: 57 5. Family: 51 6. Triggers: 51 7. Introspection: 49 8. Canon Related: 34 9. Tumblr: legendariumladiesapril: 34 10. Alternate Universe: 33
I do tend to be rather utilitarian with my main tags, so this doesn’t really surprise me. Tagging: @chidorinnnnn, @qserasera, @sunlitroom, and anyone else who wants to do it.
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Are you ready for the seventh installment of Legendarium Ladies April? 
LLA is a month-long fest dedicated to celebrating the female characters of Tolkien’s Legendarium with prompts posted on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays, although you’re welcome to jump in with your own independent contributions as well! 
Join us at @legendariumladiesapril and #legendarium ladies april and share your fanworks! ♥ 
About | Schedule | FAQ | Reblogs | Tag | AO3
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Melian and a Nightingale for @legendariumladiesapril!
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Again a pencil drawing colourised on the Computer. This time I documened the process, you can find it here.
Second Edit:
I didn't want to make this post too long so all additional steps I did will be on the post with the documented process! I changed the face a little and completely redid the hand.
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ambarto · 4 years
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An entry for @legendariumladiesapril​. I saw the April 15 prompt Absences and Distances and this scene sprang of its own will in my mind. It’s the first time I’ve ever put Findis in my writing, let alone her POV, it was interesting to try.
Night had fallen, the sky having faded from blue to black, Arien leaving her place to Tilion. Findis still couldn’t say she had gotten used to the new lights. Arien was much, much brighter than the Trees had ever been, so bright Findis had seen people’s skin redden and burn if they stayed too long in her light. Tilion was gentler, dimmer, and Findis found she preferred his light. Some of those who had seen Cuivienen, ages past, said night now resembled the starlit darkness they had lived in.
Findis was always left with a bitter taste in her mouth at the mention of Cuivienen, these days.
Her mother had retired to her bedroom to rest. She was often weary, as of late, preferring solitude and silence most of the time, and only enjoyed the company of her family. The little she had left of it. Findis feared for her. Indis was strong, but she had lost so much and in such a cruel way. There were moments when Findis almost thought Indis would lie down and part from this world, the way the first wife of Findis’s father had done.
Miriel had come back to life, or so Findis had been told. Neither her nor Indis had gone to see her. Findis had never met Miriel, but she found part of her resented that woman. She wondered if Miriel knew what her son had done, if she felt sorry for the strife Feanaro had brought to their family in the name of a mother he had never met.
In the darkness, Findis knelt by a chest, taking out its contents slowly. Finwe had had his own house near Taniquetil, having it built after Nolofinwe and Arafinwe had married, so that their whole family could visit Indis’s people without having to crowd some relative’s home. Findis remembered old days, in which all her siblings and their children would come here for a family reunion. She remembered the liveliness, the sounds of kids playing and arguing, Nolofinwe and Arafinwe shouting at their children to stop making a mess. There had been so many people in there, they had started to run out of rooms to put them.
Now there was silence, and only Findis and Indis were there. Arafinwe had to stay in Tirion, to manage the Noldor, and there was no one else left.
Findis dug through a chest in her room, taking every dusty memory out of it, hoping to make the house seem more hospitable, despite the fact no amount of sweeping and cleaning seemed to do the job.
There were some dresses she had not put in years, things she had almost forgotten. A silk, blue skirt, a gift from Nolofinwe for one of her begetting days. A coat she had gotten during a particularly cold winter, back before Arafinwe had married. The dress she had worn at the feast thrown to celebrate Irisse reaching adult age. She took everything out, and laid it on the bed or on the rugs. She would have to hang many of these things out to the air, tomorrow.
She wondered why she hadn’t looked at so many of these clothes in such a long time. Maybe it was because her family had rarely taken trips to her mother’s people, in the years before Finwe’s murder, because the situation in Tirion was too delicate for them to all leave. Maybe they just hadn’t had much to celebrate.
Her fingers dragged on the wooden bottom of the chest, and closed over something cold and hard. An hair clasp, cast out of silver, with a silver motif on it, and a green stone decorating it. Beautifully made. Findis turned it between her fingers, trying to remember when she had gotten it. She preferred to keep her hair plainly braided, and rarely wore anything so elaborate in them. Flashy jewelry had always been to Lalwende’s tastes.
Lalwende! Now Findis remembered. Lalwende had been trying to convince Findis to do something more elaborate with her hairstyle, and Findis had finally capitulated in occasion of Turukano’s wedding. An aunt had to look her best for one of her favorite nephews, although Findis never let it show that she had any preferences. Lalwende had been ecstatic to be allowed to do her sister’s hair.
“Here are some clasps I think would suit you,” Lalwende had said, making Findis sit down and going behind her sister to start working on her braids. “Pick the one you like best.”
“This one.”
Lalwende had laughed when Findis had shown her her choice. “Oh, refined tastes. This one was a gift Feanaro made for me, on my five hundredth begetting day.”
“Feanaro did? How thoughtful of him,” Findis had said. Feanaro rarely did anything for his younger siblings, but when circumstances demanded he gifted them something, he always went out of his way to craft something of superb quality. Yet another excuse for him to show off his skills.
Findis didn’t remember if Feanaro had seen her wearing that clasp, or if he had commented on it. Clearly, she must have also forgotten to give it back to her sister, if it had ended up at the bottom of this chest.
She clenched her hand around the shiny jewel, until it hurt her palm. Nothing Feanaro had made would get bent or ruined just by the strength of her hand, but Findis would have wanted to feel the clasp crumble in her fingers. Any memory of her half-brother had her blood boil with rage, ever since he had decided to leave Valinor on his foolish quest for vengeance. She wouldn’t have cared if only he and his sons had gone, because any love she had once had for him had long since been burned away by Feanaro’s insults and disdain, and if he chose to go die in a reckless battle then that was his choice to make. But he had to drag the rest of their family in too, had taken away Nolofinwe and all his children, and all of Arafinwe’s children too. And Lalwende. It was his fault if Indis suffered this way, and Findis alone could not erase her mother’s grief. It was his fault if Arafinwe and Earwen rarely smiled anymore, lines of worry always on their faces, and if Anaire had gone to live with her brother-in-law, unable to bear the loneliness of her empty house.
Findis’s grip softened. Even if she could not break this clasp, it would be wrong of her to try. It was Lalwende’s, after all, regardless of who the smith had been. She would be angry if Findis ruined it.
Lalwende, Lalwende. She had possibly been the child of Indis who had been closest to Feanaro, if only because she always knew how to match his rude remarks word for word and with a grin on her face. Findis had never truly understood her younger sister. She didn’t share Lalwende’s free spirit, nor her reckless confidence that sometimes bordered on arrogance. Findis loved to read, and practice embroidery, and have amiable chats, while Lalwende was always traveling, or hunting, or practicing her bow skills. Findis sat in discussions with Arafinwe and helped little Turukano learn to write, Lalwende took her nephews and nieces and sometimes even Feanaro’s own son with her and went riding off for weeks. Where Findis delighted in the contemplation of Varda’s stars, Lalwende hunted with Orome. So different they had been, from the color of their hair to every last interest.
But how Findis missed her now. Lalwende had always took up space, her laughter strong and contagious. Had she been here, she would have known how to cheer their mother up and how to fill this silent house with noise. Findis did her best, but she was painfully aware that her quiet demeanor couldn’t chase away Indis’s grief, no matter how many smiles and kind words she had. And how could she hope to bring her mother joy, when Findis herself felt the world had dimmed in a way Arien’s light could not brighten.
She rose to her feet, dusting off her skirts with her hand. Lalwende’s room was right next to hers. The desk was still covered in all the weird trinkets Lalwende had brought back from her travels. The smell of a place closed for too long lingered in the air, and Findis resolved to come and open the windows in there the next morning. She should have done so more often, but she rarely went in her sibling’s rooms.
She gently placed the clasp on Lalwende’s bedside table. Maybe the Valar would one day be merciful enough for her sister to find it again.
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elesianne · 4 years
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A Silmarillion fanfic for @legendariumladiesapril
Story summary: Findis talks with Lalwen before her departure from Tirion; and an age later, Findis talks to Lalwen's broken memorial.
Wordcount: ~2,100 words; Rating: Teenage audiences
Some keywords: sister-sister relationship, some angst, flight of the Noldor, war of wrath
A/N: What is 'canonical': Findis, Finwë and Indis' oldest child, stayed in Valinor after the Darkening, going to live with the Vanyar with Indis. Her younger sister Lalwen (Quenya names Írimë Lalwendë) was close to Fingolfin and went to Beleriand with him. The rest is made up by me. Laurefindil is Glorfindel’s Quenya name.
Warning for major character death (’offscreen’), mentions of blood and discussion of death
AO3 LINK
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Sister of mine
Tirion, after Fëanáro's oath but before the Noldor's departure
Findis sits on Írimë's bed and watches as her sister packs. Findis herself packed for her departure to Valinor days ago, but Írimë did always tend to leave things almost too late.
Írimë pulls an astounding number of blades of different lengths from a chest. She stows some of them in her pack and one long sword and two daggers in the sword-belt which lies on a table, waiting.
'That one for my ankle', Írimë mutters as she adds another short blade on the table and surveys the weapons.
Findis has sat in silence for a long time, staring at her sister and memorising the way she moves, swift and decisive, and the tone of her voice as she speaks to herself, low but melodious. Írimë inherited their mother's gift for song as much as Indis did, though unlike Findis she never cared much to use it.
Findis hopes she will never forget the exact colour of her sister's voice, no matter how long they are apart.
That voice shakes her from her thoughts. 'You can still change your mind, you know', Írimë says. 'And come with us.'
She must have misinterpreted Findis' bereft expression.
'My decision is as steadfast as yours', Findis replies. 'I am staying. Antaro and I will take mother to Valinor, and with luck and time and the help of the Valar we shall all heal from our losses.'
Írimë's expression tightens, and Findis knows that she is restraining herself. 'That is one way to react to father's death and the slaying of the Trees', she says.
'We believe it the wisest', says Findis with equal restraint.
Írimë sighs and sits on the bed beside Findis, her riding breeches dark against Findis' cream-coloured dress. 'I am going, Nolofinwë is going, and so is Arafinwë, and all of their children, not to mention our half-brother.'
Findis looks away from Írimë. 'Best indeed not mention him', she says.
Along with all the other things Findis mourns for, she still mourns the loss of the playful big brother that she once had, long ago for a short while when it was only the two of them born of Finwë's children. It is silly to mourn for something that existed only for a scant few years, and might not have had she been a boy, she knows; but it had sent chills down Findis's spine to watch and listen from afar Fëanáro agitating the Noldor, lighting a fire in their hearts that would lead them to folly. Or so Findis believes.
There had been no trace left then in Fëanáro of the long-limbed boy that he once was, holding his sister's sticky hand and dragging her behind him all around the palace, speaking to her of everything that he was interested in which was almost everything.
Írimë never knew that boy, but she is following Fëanáro anyway, though she goes out of love and loyalty for another brother.
They are all following Fëanáro, everyone in the family but Indis and Findis and her Vanyarin husband and two of their children.
'Your son is going', reminds Írimë, and oh, that may be the greatest grief of all for Findis, almost greater than her father's death at the hands of the fallen Vala.
'Laurefindil is a man grown', Findis says with a heavy heart. 'He makes his own decisions, as did all my children. He has sworn himself to Turukáno's service, and it did not surprise me. He always admired Turukáno most of all of his older cousins.'
Írimë lays a hand on Findis' knee. She is fire-hearted, not heartless, Findis knows, though her speech can be harsh.
'I spoke to your daughter', Írimë confesses. 'Tried to convince her to come, but she laughed at me and said that she is her mother's daughter at heart though I may not be mine.'
'That was not very kindly said of her, nor kindly done of you', Findis says. She is relieved that Malwafindë had not changed her mind. It is enough – too much – that one of her three children is leaving.
Írimë laughs, though her laughter holds little joy these days. 'I have always appreciated her sharp tongue, Findis, sister of mine. She says things as they are. I tried talking to her because she made, after all, a sword for herself as well as me and many others. I thought that she might have been wanting to go but too loyal to you by first instinct.'
'She is a smith. I think forging swords was as much professional curiosity as wanting to arm herself and her family and friends.' Findis tries not to care about Írimë's half-hurtful words, and her trying to make Findis's daughter leave. There has been enough discord in their family already. Findis does not want her possibly last private conversation with her sister to turn to an argument.
'Did you try talking to Tárion too?' Findis must ask. Her younger son, her late-born joy.
Írimë shakes her head. 'He is not quite of age yet: your child still, more than the others. I would not rip him from you even if he wanted to come –'
'He does not', says Findis.
They talk for long hours until the candles in the room burn low and Írimë has to light new ones. She does it hastily, before they are left without light. Though the darkness that these days fills all rooms and streets without candles, lamps or torches is not as suffocating as the darkness that filled their land after the Trees died, Findis and Írimë are both uneasy with lack of light now.
They speak, and they embrace, and they reminisce about some things that are not too hurtful, that do not rip open any fresh wounds. There are not many such things. They cry a little.
But after many hours comes a time when Findis has to leave lest her husband and son begin worrying about her.
In the doorway of Írimë's room, the light of the single candle in Findis' hands between them, she says, 'There will be no public goodbye between us, Írimë. I will leave Tirion before you do.'
'You, leaving me behind?' Írimë's eyes are bright. 'I would not have thought it.'
'Mother has decided she prefers to leave first.' Findis swallows. 'Wherever your road takes you, sister, may the stars light your way and the winds blow behind you.'
Írimë gives a little laugh, but it is a wavering laugh, halfway to weeping. 'Thank you', she says, and embraces Findis, not very careful with the candle. 'For you, I know that they will', she says.
*
During the War of Wrath      
At the end of the next Age, Findis finds her sister's grave after a battle in Hithlum.
The grave was once handsomely marked, she can see. But the great statue that once stood there on a plinth must have been broken years ago, for moss grows on the pieces of it that lie scattered on the ground and a layer of ash covers them. And though Findis tries, she cannot find her sister's visage in the weather-worn stone face with the nose broken off.
She kneels before the plinth and wipes dirt off the worn words that are carved into the stone. But her dirty glove only adds another layer of soot and half-dried black blood, and she cannot make out the words apart from a few that she recognises as Sindarin. That much she can tell – that Írimë Lalwendë, daughter of Finwë king of the Noldor when they were still one united people, was honoured in death in the language of the grey-elves of the land where she fought her last battle.
'They told me that you fought bravely until your end', Findis says. Speaking is difficult, and not only because of the ash swirling in the air. 'In many battles by our brother's side. As valiant as any of the house of Fingolfin, as they called him here. I heard that he and his children were the most feared by Morgoth. I have so much reason to be proud of them, and you.'
Findis bows her head. 'Námo is going to give my son back to us soon', she tells her sister's grave. 'I hope and pray that the rest of you will be forgiven, too. You too gave your lives in the battle against the enemy, and you defended these lands, and you and your swords – your too many swords and daggers, I once thought, Írimë, but you must have needed them all over the centuries.'
She breathes deep the foul-smelling air. There were two Balrogs in the battle today. The air is always especially foul after Balrogs have been vanquished.
'I was saying – you and your blades protected many here. Firstborn and Secondborn both, and even Naugrim; and they fought alongside you, people who our half-brother railed against.'
Findis will not cry, she will not. Her gloves and hands are too dirty to wipe away tears.
'This is the first time that you have ever been quiet when I talked to you', Findis says. 'No interruptions, no comments. How I miss your voice.'
She takes a dagger from her belt. 'You left this at home so I brought it to you. I thought for a long time that you must have left it by accident because it was your favourite, your favourite to throw and to unnerve our father by playing with at the dinner table. Flipping it in your hands.' Findis smiles at the memory. The smile pulls at the wound on her cheek, and turns to a pained grimace.
'It didn't take many battles of my own for me to realise that you left it because it was too small and light. A plaything rather than a weapon. But I brought it to you anyway because I thought it a better thing to leave at your grave than flowers.' Another painful smile. 'You never cared much for flowers, you weren't that kind of princess. And I never thought that I was this kind of princess, one that wears armour and bloodstains and the taste of her own blood in her mouth. But I found my courage and followed in your footsteps in the end, little sister.'
Findis stabs the dagger into the muddy ground before Írimë's broken memorial. She wishes her gloves weren't so dirty because the pearl-handled little dagger made in the days of treelight and bliss would be prettier without dark smudges. Even with them, it is beautiful, a whole thing in a broken landscape.
'In any case.' Findis takes another deep breath. 'This land will be destroyed by the time we are victorious. Or on the way to destruction, at the very least. The sea will come and cover all of this, all the graves of all the Noldor who fought till they lost the impossible battle. Did you know it was hopeless, Írimë?'
Findis looks around. There are other memorials, gravestones and statues here. All are broken and dirtied, all have lost the glory they no doubt possessed when they were erected. They speak only of defeat and desecration now.
'It is better, I think, for all of this to be washed clean', Findis says with her heart in her throat. 'Your grave, and Findekáno's, and everyone else's whose bones lie here and elsewhere in Beleriand. The land is lost, though the war will be won by the might of the Valar.'
There is only one thing left to say.
'I do not regret my choice, Írimë, though I came here to help end the war you started.' With a last gentle touch to the plinth that once bore her sister's statue, Findis says, 'I hope that you did not regret your choice either. It pains me to think that you might have, and died for it anyway.'
She rises, her knees stiff from kneeling in armour and from the long day of battle. She whistles for her horse and the grey mare comes, as lovely and valiant as she was when Findis brought her over from Valinor three decades ago though her coat is made greyer by the ever-present ash that makes the battles against Morgoth's forces even grimmer.
Ignoring her stiff knees Findis mounts her steed and spurs her to a steady canter, returning to where she left her troops. They will have to find a safe place to camp for the night, and tomorrow they will ride back to Sirion and rejoin the battle there. The last of the orcs and Balrogs that had sneaked into Hithlum have been defeated.
Findis looks forward to reuniting with Arafinwë at Sirion. When the ever-raging battle allows, she will tell him of their sister's grave.
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thegirlwhohid · 3 years
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Rían, daughter of Belegund, was the wife of Huor, son of Galdor; and she was wedded to him two months before he went with Húrin his brother to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. When no tidings came of her lord she fled into the wild; but she was aided by the Grey-elves of Mithrim, and when her son Tuor was born they fostered him. Then Rían departed from Hithlum, and going to the Haudh-en-Ndengin she laid herself down upon it and died.
Rían moodboard
Legendarium Ladies April: (26/30)
The Silmarillion characters: (131/?)
Characters’ moodboards: (438/?)
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anghraine · 4 years
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Aesthetic post for a textual ghost: the unknown wife of Elros and mother to Vardamir Nólimon, Tindómiel, Atanalcar, and Manwendil
I imagined her as a Hadorian archivist in the early days of Númenor:
As far as public life went, she was remembered (when at all) as Istíriel, Tar-Minyatur’s beloved queen, decades his junior and dead of old age before half his life had passed. But among Númenórean academics, she loomed very large, even as they became increasingly male-dominated in later centuries. She was listed as founder or inspiration for nearly all their most beloved institutions. And it was rare to find a library or university without some commemoration of the loremaster Ithíriel, whose husband was a king.
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May the rain kiss you...
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Elros’ great-granddaughter Yavien and her lover, a fisherwoman from Nindamos (with, alas, no Elven blood). For @hhimring​‘s lovely (if sad) fanfic Will you remember who kissed you, featuring these two (and other OCs). Hope I did them justice. Wrinkles are hard :/
Also for @legendariumladiesapril​ and the Absences and Distances prompt, in a roundabout way. It’s still amnesty week, right?
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hrymfaxe · 5 years
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Haleth holding her twin brother Haldar:
“But at last Haldad was slain in a sortie against the Orcs; and Haldar, who rushed out to save his father’s body from their butchery, was hewn down beside him.” The Silmarillion
This is an entry for both @legendariumladiesapril and for this month’s challenge on @silmarillionwritersguild: Sirens and Songstresses, where I got the prompt: “Skyfall” by Adele. This piece is inspired by the first verse:
“This is the end Hold your breath and count to ten Feel the earth move and then Hear my heart burst again“
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