#lothengriols

[eol]

celebrimbor as a gift for the wonderful @lothengriols

#plus snek #celebrimbor #tyelpe

[imakemywings]

Lo Turgon shall not fade till the lily of the valley fadeth.

-- Tolkien's notes, "The Flight of the Noldoli," The Book of Lost Tales (Vol. I)

One of the seven names given to Gondolin was Lothengriol, translated to "flower of the vale or lily of the valley." (The Book of Lost Tales)

#turgon #the silmarillion #the book of lost tales #history of middle-earth #quotes #tolkien tag #I just thought this was neat

[sakasakiii]

Hello!! I just wanted to say I absolutely adore your art (your Annatar lives rent-free in my head omg) and I hope you are having a nice day! 💖

HELLO HELLOOO right back at you eee!!! i get serotonin boosts whenever i see ur reblogs (not to sound creepy or anything 🙈) and u are just SO sweet i think i need to see my dentist now qwq thank you so so much!! youve absolutely made my day!

im also tickled pink you like my annatar!! ngl, ive been sleeping on him since i did the only post i made of him in May, so in line with the ask I hope u don't mind today's art dump being centered around him ✨

u know what comes next hehe 💁‍♀️ the inclusion of tyelpe was inevitable

i digress! but thank you again you lovely person!! i hope YOU have a wonderful rest of your day and week as well! 💖

#rin replies #lothengriols #im still working on replying to ur other ask but know that i reread it religiously for motivation every day 🥺 #these two are the Disaster Duo #its too fun to draw them sharing one braincell #....and then i remember how it all ended and have to go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #a girl gotta dream! #annatar #sauron #celebrimbor #silmarillion #sketches #my art

[yellow-faerie]

Oh congrats on 100 followers!! Only if you feel like it, how about 30 for Celegorm & Curufin?

Oh I absolutely feel up for it!

From this prompt list.

30 - “Can you tell me why we’re committing a major crime? Not that I’ll go back on my word or anything, I just want to know.”

“So...” Curufin watches as Celegorm hovers in the doorway to Curufin’s room, continuing to adjust the straps of his arm guards and to check out the supplies he has laid on the bed.

“Can you tell me why we’re committing a major crime?” Curufin doesn’t answer. “Not that I’ll go back on my word or anything, I just want to know.”

Curufin pushes his braid over his shoulder and begins stuffing his bag with his things.

“OK then, I guess I’m going to have to play guessing games. What’s Finrod got on you?”

Curufin freezes a moment before he forces his muscles to unclench and continues packing with maybe a bit more fervour than before.

“It must be bad if you’re like this.”

“It’s not...” Curufin trails off. He knows what his brother is insinuating but it’s not that. “He isn’t blackmailing me.”

“So it’s the oath then?”

“Do you feel the need to follow them?” Celegorm doesn’t answer. “Just...leave it Tyelko. I know what I am doing.”

“Do you?” Celegorm takes a step into the room. “Not that I don’t trust you but you have made some questionable decisions recently.”

“Everyone makes questionable decisions sometimes.”

“But this is treason Curvo. If you aren’t a hundred and three percent sure this will work, Orodreth will-”

“Orodreth,” Curufin hisses, spinning around with a glare. “Is not king.”

Celegorm purses his lips. “Curufin, Finrod gave him the kingship.”

“But he’s still alive. I came here to follow Finrod not his nephew.” Curufin turns away again, scraping his hair into a ponytail. He picks the bag up and swings it over his shoulder. “Now are you coming?”

Celegorm sighs. “I don’t have much choice do I?”

#I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here #I think Curufin and Celegorm are helping Lúthien #Celegorm #Curufin #Tolkien #Silmarillion #Fanfiction #Fae's Stuff #Ask #I’m still taking prompts if you have one! #Prompt #100 Follower Prompts #Prompt List 1 #lothengriols

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

The City of Seven Names

Gondobar am I called and Gondothlimbar, City of Stone and City of the Dwellers in Stone; Gondolin the Stone of Song and Gwarestrin am I named, the Tower of the Guard, Gar Thurion or the Secret Place, for I am hidden from the eyes of Melko; but they who love me most greatly call me Loth, for like a flower am I, even Lothengriol the flower that blooms on the plain. — The Book of Lost Tales

Paintings by Alan Lee, Ted Nasmith, Luca Michelucci, Sarka Skorpikova, and J.R.R. Tolkien

#lotredit #tolkienedit #LOTR #Tolkien #Silmarillion #Gondolin #my post #my edits #oh my god this took me such a long time #it's finally done!

[markedasinfernal]

Merry Christmas @lothengriols I’m your Secret Santa for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta 2021! Out of your prompts I’ve gone for a darker take on Maedhros than perhaps is standard - if you know any of my other writing then you’ll know he’s a fave, and I really enjoyed writing this different side of him. Really hope you like it too! :) Minor tw for death and gore. 

x

A bitter wind blew in from the west, sharp with sea-salt and winter’s cold; it ruffled the fur trim of Maedhros’ greatcoat as for a brief moment amid his long labours he stood still. Pale dawn brushed the skies above him in delicate pink, gossamer yellow; the light drenched all it touched in its subtle morning glow. It was beautiful, he thought, he sighed; the first rays of warmth kissed the scars upon his cheeks as he closed his eyes, and raised his face to the dawn. This place, once before, it could all have been so beautiful.

For though those open skies filled with light above him, the dawn unveiled only cruelty below. The city smouldered, burnt-out and hollow; the once-great Havens by the sea so full of laughter and delight now lay mute, its throat torn out, a crippled and terrible thing. From the Fëanorian entrenchments to the east now easily he walked, over fields churned and barren with the shadow of war, past broken banners and bodies cold amid the mud. The city’s gates lay shattered before him, their metal twisted and rent, crumpled back on their hinges to gape open in the wind.  

By dark thaumaturgy they had been breached, by spells woven of elven tongue and those more ancient still; over long years he had learned it, perfected it, from Angband’s unclean womb he had been metamorphosed, been birthed anew, and with it he was changed. The Noldorin loremasters would not speak of it, they shunned him, they were afraid of him; guttural magic melded with Fëanorian power, the leviathan puissance of the Valar danced untamed with elven sorcery; they bit, and fought, and struggled together, and they brought to him power entirely new.

It had not been easy, the city had not yielded to him kindly; for countless nights he laboured over his spell, a thing of undoing, unravelling, destruction, a thing of terror. He stoked it, nursed it, with flesh and blood he let it sup from him, and in turn it devoured him. It stripped from him all that might have been gentle, purged from him all that might have shown mercy; the Oath glittered drunkenly in his veins, Morgoth’s brand laid so long ago upon his chest pulsed out its glee at his doing, now, now, they urged him, compelled him, and slaved to their lusts he followed.

Gaunt and hollow at last he was readied; and at the sight of him then some quailed, some turned back, trusted friends loyal through all millennia now threw down their swords, and for them he felt nothing but disgust. With a curl of puissance he cursed them, it was but the patter of raindrops that heralds the flood, for now he gathered himself, he was poised, he was steady, standing before the defiant city he spoke a Word of Power, scorching and bloody he named his spell into being, it caught alight in his throat, it poured red over his lips, it howled into life in the air before him, and from it burst cataclysm.

The city had not yielded, no, nothing so civilised; and now he walked its crippled streets as an enemy. Into its inner byways now he went, to the agreed-upon place, over glass-strewn cobbles, past buildings singed, collapsed in great gashes of rubble and timber. It was quiet now, he thought, it had not been before; he had watched as the city descended into madness, full of fire, and screams, and sickness.

Alone he walked, war-bringer, kinslayer; with every beat of his heart Morgoth’s brand pulsed out its pleasure, like a sick little heartbeat it glutted upon him, it gnawed and grew fat upon his labours. Kinslayer, kinslayer; the leather upon the hilt of his knife was sodden with blood, and he could not deny it now, no; welts formed from florid bruises on his knuckles, and his armour was flecked in red. Sinner they marked him; no pleas of innocence could tumble from tortured lips, not anymore, the brand weighed heavy upon his chest as with every step its evil blossomed, it burrowed into him like a cancer, the sweet-rot stench of death filled his lungs and he could not escape it now.

And why should you, a thought inside him whispered, and he heard its voice with dismay. He knew it and its poisoned tongue; why should you hide, why should you recoil, how he hated it, those tempting words that itched inside of him, that made him pause, that made him weak. How those thoughts turned in him of late, in the depths of night, in the black mires of his dreams, they enticed, they teased, they spoke to him with reason, and to them now he found himself listening. For why should he hide what he was, the thought crooned, the others cannot understand his need, his family's Oath; they reject us, un-name us, we are as wraiths to them; killing things, soul-predators.

Perhaps they are right, he thought; through crumbling archways and stagnant fountains choked with ash and debris he walked. Perhaps they are right. I do not recoil at the smell of blood anymore, nor the sight of it, nor the infliction of pain. Does that make me a murderer?

A clock-tower stood in the square before him; once tall and elegant now crudely lopped, its timepiece shattered, its hands left quivering in gasping space. Silently he considered it, as a graven statue of old there he stood, impassive, aloof; the hands spluttered out their failing seconds, the brand ached upon his chest, and beneath that paralysing beat there was nothing left in him but numbness.

I care not.

Coldly then he stalked away, the wind lashed icy across his cheeks as on his lonely way he wandered, grim conqueror of this groaning city.

At last he reached the meeting place; long days before he and his generals had designated this market square to be their rendezvous, a rallying point for the final effort. The walls of the great keep glowered over the square, its thick gate barred fast against them, and within the last shivering remnants of the Havens' citizenry sheltered; fickle lords, treacherous ladies, and whatever bleating peasantry had found their way inside before the doors slammed shut behind them. At the sight of those walls his mood turned, a hateful pall cast over his heart and acridly he looked upon them.

For somewhere within there lay his prize, on the breast of a thieving viper shining bright; no matter, he thought, no matter, for as he strode into the square he could see a great cluster of barrels piled high, soldiers clad in bright mail stacked them before the gate, packed tight against the woodwork. There were but a few barrels left to place, of that he was glad, and he set to purpose.

Through the tangle of star-clad tents erected about the square he wove; past messengers running and smithies ringing, past rows of whickering horses tethered and fed, through a clutch of squires bent with thread and needle over rent leatherwork, or whittling arrows and re-stringing bows, or tending simmering cauldrons over steaming coal-fires. Eagerly the soldiery smiled as he walked through them, many nodded or rose to their feet in respect, and graciously he nodded in return, and if the smile fixed upon his face did not quite temper the hardness in his eyes then none saw fit to comment upon it.

At last he found he whom he sought, towards a secluded alcove set half-hidden off the square the sentries pointed him, under a withered trellis of brown, crumbling ivy he stooped, and emerging into the small garden there he paused. An ancient oak stood proud in the centre of the square, its branches half-bare with winter's frost twisted up towards the sky, and beneath them Maglor stood, his back turned. A rain of leaves drifted sadly down around him, they gathered thickly upon a pile of twisted roots a few paces before him.

Quietly then Maedhros approached, and for a short while they stood silently together; there was no sound in that sacred place but for the soft slough of the leaves, their flutter in the chilling air.

A breath of wind stirred the leaves before them, for a moment they parted, and suddenly Maglor's shoulders slumped, his head bowed, and he reached up with one mailed war-glove to hide his face. For a moment Maedhros blinked, the leaves before them rustled, and it was only then that he saw; beneath them a bolt of cloth stood stark, black and white and red, and stiff white fingers clasped about a child's doll. Not roots then, no, nothing so pure; a clot of emotion skewered in his throat for now he perceived, the soft blanket of leaves betrayed the curve of bodies, sightless eyes still fixed in terror upon the sky, blood crusted upon silenced lips.

Once more Maglor's shoulders trembled, and he slumped away, turning to lean heavily against the oak's trunk. The brand upon Maedhros' chest seared, the force of it was as a sledgehammer into his ribs, it knocked the breath from his lungs, it drove reason from his mind, it speared that emotion in his throat into action, into ire; sudden spite prickled up in his heart and sharply he turned upon his brother.

"You weep for them?"

The question was hard, piercing, and Maglor raised his face slowly in dismay, his eyes shining bright, and brow furrowed.

"They were innocent..." he replied faintly, and at the pale tears that ran freely down his face something clenched in Maedhros' innards.

A rush of anger clawed up from his stomach, it punched through his chest, it hammered with its urgency, its indignation; his lip twisted hard and venomously he spat, "There are no innocents. Not anymore."

The shock on Maglor's face seethed like infection in his veins, a fey mood seized him, shook him, the words of his father danced in his blood as he hissed, "There are friends - those loyal to me, and those beloved. And there are enemies."

At that Maglor scoffed, his eyebrow quirked in as he shook his head, he wiped the tears from his cheeks and straightened up, and made to move away. But suddenly, violently Maedhros moved; his hand clamped down upon Maglor's shoulder and shoved him backwards into the tree, and with uncomfortable force pinned him there.

"Which are you, Makalaurë?"

The threat in Maedhros' voice was ugly, leering; righteous fury gripped him and throttled him and bound him fast, he could not breathe for it, he could not think for the howl of it in his ears; rage crushed down upon him and compelled him to bloody purpose. For roughly, quickly he released his grip, he found himself reaching instead for the hilt of his knife, and as his fingers brushed the damp leather of its hilt how good it felt, how powerful, how just; he saw the first glimmer of fear in his brother’s eyes and how it felt like victory.

For over Maglor shrinking then how tall he stood; a lord honourable in his wrath, as his father of old he stood as a king crowned in the glory of his conquest, and down into his brother's face he sneered, "You will not defy me now. Your hands are steeped in blood no less than mine, your fingers are no less sodden with it. You will not be judged less harshly for this pathetic pretence of remorse."  

"It is no pretence," Maglor cried, and how weak it was, how pathetic, naught more than the squall of a mewling babe.

An incredulous look came over Maedhros' face then, his lip curled in a ghastly smile as pain throbbed through his chest, it stamped the breath from his lungs as he croaked, "Hush, gentle brother. Speak now no more. The crows will laugh at you for a liar."

"Enough!" Maglor snapped; with a great wrench he tore himself free of the press of their bodies, he staggered a few paces aside to pause by the trellis wall, and breathing hard there he paused.

For a while then Maedhros simply watched him; alone he stood, his cheeks flushed, his armour dull, he looked so exhausted, and where before anger had stoked in Maedhros' heart how soon it was snuffed out, it fell away to only sickness, grief and purpose intertwined.

"Come, Káno," at last he sighed, his tone dark and low. "Let us do what we must. The jewel is within our grasp; it will be over soon. There is nowhere left for them to run."

Tersely Maglor nodded, he seemed to steady himself, and Maedhros continued, "The preparations are ready. Give the order, let us be done with this."

Once more Maglor nodded, and though he did not meet Maedhros' eyes still he straightened, and wordlessly made way beneath the trellis and out into the square beyond.

It was enough, Maedhros thought, it was enough for now, their designs were laid; into each barrel carefully pressed into the barred gates was enough explosive powder to level a building, there was nothing left in this city that could withstand them now.

His brother, his people, they wavered; he saw it, he knew, but he would hold them together, for a little while, just a little while longer. They were his to command, his to use; under a weeping tree in a dying city he stood as one sanctified; scarred and bloody yes, but not unholy, not yet, not yet.

For though his blade was stained it was far from blunted, though his body was wearied his will was as sharp as steel; he would reclaim his legacy, he would answer to his Oath, and if the path carved before him lay in slaughter and ruin, so unleash them, if terror and war he must wield, so let them be done. For his need was righteous, his purpose was unbreakable, at the end of all days he would stand before his judgement and he would smile, for he would know that his crimes were necessary, that his sins were justified; though all of history may condemn him, at the end of all accursed things he would know that his purpose was sacrosanct.

#my writing #maedhros #maglor #tolkien secret santa 2021 #silmarillion

[tilions]

Silvergifting || Celebrimbor x Annatar

600 Follower Celebration - send me a request and I make a moodboard

For @lothengriols who requested a Silvergifting moodboard! I hope you like how this one turned out <3

#silvergifting #celebrimbor #annatar #sauron #mairon #tyelperinquar #tolkien #silmarillion #silm #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkienedit #silmedit #lotredit #oneringnet #feanorians #maiar #ainur #noldor #600 follower celebration #lothengriols #my edit #not my pictures

[aipilosse]

Fic Rec Friday

No,I did not give up on this concept after just two weeks - I've just actually done things these past few Fridays. Very strange doing things other than staring at a computer screen (although I still do too much of that), not sure if I recommend it yet.

I thought I would choose something easy this week, and do silvergifting recs, but actually this was a really hard rec list to put together, since I'm generally trying to rec things from the past year. I managed it though!

I previously recced some silvergifting fics here, and still stand by those choices.

and whatsoever ye do, do it heartily by Jack_R

Rating: Not Rated (although I'd put it at Teen at the most)

Other tags: screenplay, humor, <5,000

The dry humor of this piece is right up my alley; it reminds of a lot of What We Do In the Shadows, TV show or movie, take your pick. Sauron here is the *perfect* satirized megalomaniac CEO ("The most important thing I do is to provide for my subjects. Indeed, I like to think of them as my family"), complete with an MLM scheme ("Angband Jewellery was a completely legitimate multi-level marketing venture. We helped small business owners grow") and forced fun ("On Tuesdays, we do a pub quiz"). The reimagining of Celebrimbor and Sauron's work together as an open access movement also sends me. Just, read it, and laugh.

Divine Marriages (And Divorces) by HerenorThereNearnorFar

Rating: Teen

Other tags: outstanding OCs, world building, AU, 10,000 - 20,000

The focus of this fic is a teenaged girl from one of the Mannish civilizations Sauron has subsumed into his Glorious Empire. Through her carefully policed thoughts you get an excellent picture of the oppression of empire, her own besieged culture, and of course my favorite disaster couple, here living the 'Bad Ending' AU life. (side note, love a pairing where the bad ending is one where one of them *doesn't* die).

ouroboros by @lothengriols

Rating: Teen

Other tags: AU, <5,000

I had just been reflecting "why are there no AUs of this kind?" and then BAM I encountered this fic (although I did not realize it until over halfway through because my tag reading is sparse at best. Highly recommend the practice if you enjoy going 'wait what?' and scrolling up to the top with every other fic you read). With just a few subtle changes, a totally different (but ultimately very similar) Eregion story emerges. The side characters of Elrond and Galadriel are also excellent, and together it all adds up into an AU that I totally bought.

#fic rec friday #silvergifting #celebrimbor #sauron #outstanding ocs #teen #screenplay #humor #world building #au #>5000 #10000 - 20000 #given that it took me over five minutes to find previous posts from just a few weeks ago #ON MY OWN BLOG #having thoughts of purposelessness #tumblr why are you so bad at tags

[arofili]

elves of arda ✹ gondolindrim ✹ headcanon disclaimer ✹ @gondolinweek

          Turukáno Núrondil was the second son of Ñolofinwë Arakáno, and the King of Ondolindë. On the treacherous journey across the Helcaraxë, Turukáno lost his wife Elenwë to the icy depths, a traumatic experience that altered his fate forever. He was always a serious and fastidious nér, and in Beleriand his character grew even grimmer. He kept his daughter Itarillë close by, quarrelled with his elder brother Findekáno over whether to forgive the Sons of Fëanáro, and soon realized that what he wanted was to never have left the gleaming city of Tirion-upon-Túna.           But there was no turning back time, and Turukáno had no recourse to return to Valinórë either. Instead he set his mind to the creation of a new city, safe and hidden, where he would have total control over his life and his loved ones would never be in any danger.           First Turukáno settled in the land of Nevrast on the western coast, where he built the city of Vinyamar and spent much time looking out over the Sea, missing the life he used to have. Yet he was not idle: with him in Vinyamar were his cousin Laurefindil, a charismatic lord with a faithful retinue of warriors, and the harpist Nandáro who led a small group of farmers and musicians. In Nevrast, the Noldor mingled with those who dwelt there already, and Turukáno allied with Galdor, a lord of the native Sindar.           At the Mereth Aderthad, Turukáno broke bread with many lords of the Noldor and the Sindar, forming alliances and making many great speeches. He kept his plans for his hidden city vague, but promised safety and sustenance to those who would ally themselves with him. Not long after the Feast of Reuniting, Turukáno recruited the archivist and architect Penlod, a friend of his sister, to aid him in preliminary designs of a city resembling Tirion of old.          His daughter Itarillë grew ever more restless under his stern watch, eventually culminating in her secret departure to visit her uncle Fingon in Dor-lómin without her father’s leave. Turukáno dramatically lost his temper when he discovered what had happened, and his close friend and cousin Finrod decided he needed some time away from home to come to terms with his losses and fears.           Thus Finrod invited Turukáno to adventure with him across Beleriand. They spent a year together, wandering alone through hills and valleys, and Turukáno finally let his repressed emotions spill out. Finrod comforted and supported him, hiding his secret affections for his cousin all the while—at least until his own resolve broke as they spent a night together on the banks of the river Sirion.           The passions Turukáno and Findaráto exchanged beneath the summer stars were not to blossom into anything lasting, for that very night both were visited by Ulmo in their dreams. The Lord of Waters imparted visions of hidden kingdoms to them both, urging them to pursue their goals, but each thought they were the only one to receive the calling. Their minds were muddled when they woke, the night before hazy and indistinct, and clinging to their secrets neither Finrod nor Turukáno spoke to one another of either their dreams or their half-remembered confessions of passion.           Turukáno spent much time alone searching for the place Ulmo had shown him in his dreams, at last discovering the hidden valley of Tumladen. There, he knew, his people could be safe, and he immediately began to call upon the friends and allies he had made through fifty years of politicking to aid him in constructing a new kingdom.           In the one hundred and seventeenth year of the Sun, the city of Ondolindë was at last completed. Around him Turukáno gathered the greatest lords in his service, establishing ten noble Houses, with himself and his household as the eleventh. Thousands of Eldar, Noldor and Sindar both, quietly made their way to the gates of Ondolindë, but only one hundred were counted as part of the House of the King.           Among the folk of the King were the Unbegotten brothers Bruithwir and Finrun, serving as Turukáno’s personal bodyguard. They were grim folk, alike to their King in mood; they knew well the dangers of Middle-earth, for both had perished on the perils of the Great Journey and had been reborn in Aman. They served as guides to the exiled Noldor who had never before seen the far shores, and attached themselves to Turukáno, the prince they believed best knew how to endure the horrors of Morgoth.           A hundred years after Ondolindë was completed and its gates shut to the outside world, Turukáno completed his greatest creative project: artistic recreations of the Two Trees of Valinor, wrought in silver and in gold. He called them Lingancal and Valisil, known to his Sindarin-speaking subjects as Glingal and Belthil, and looked upon them with great pride.           Yet the day of their unveiling in the King’s Square, Turukáno’s counselor the prophet Amnon was gripped with a dreadful foresight. She prophesied that though they dwelt in a mighty and beautiful city, “great is the Fall of Gondolin, for when the lily of the valley withers then shall Turgon fade.” Already, Ondolindë had gained a number of praising names, including Lothengriol or Endillos, the Flower of the Vale, and the golden blossoms of Lingancal resembled the bloom of a lily. Though Amnon’s words unsettled him, Turukáno dismissed her warning and took heart in the artificial nature of his creation—for how could a lily of gold wilt?           Another hundred years passed in peace before trouble stirred in the valley of Tumladen. King Turukáno’s sister Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, Lady of the Tower of Snow, had come with him to Ondolindë for the sake of her friends and kin, but now she grew restless within the confines of the Echoriath and its surroundings. Though Turukáno was reluctant to let her leave, she refused to be kept caged any longer; Turukáno, knowing she would depart whether or not he permitted it, sent with her an escort of his three most valiant Lords and begged her to head straightaway the home of Fingon their brother.           But Aredhel went not to Dor-lómin as she had been instructed, instead turning toward Himlad where her friends Celegorm and Curufin dwelt. Along the way she was lost in the treacherous forest of Nan Dungortheb, and try though they might, her escort could not find her. They returned to Gondolin in sorrow, and Turukáno retreated into grief once more. Eventually he granted permanent leadership of his sister’s House to her friend Penlod, who had taken stewardship of her folk upon her departure, and all of Gondolin mourned her as dead.           Thus great was their surprise and joy when Aredhel returned unlooked-for—and with a son! For a day there was feasting and merriment, welcoming the indomitable Lady of the Tower of Snow back home, but soon the celebrations were cut short upon the arrival of Aredhel’s wicked husband Eöl, who when faced with the King’s decree that he may not leave Gondolin, slew his wife and was slain in turn.           Upon this great tragedy, Aredhel’s son Maeglin was left orphaned, and Turukáno took him under his wing. Maeglin was odd and reclusive, and Turukáno had never been the most emotionally intelligent nér, so while they performed an awkward familial act they were never as close as Turukáno wished. Upon Maeglin’s coming of age, Turukáno named him the Lord of the new House of the Mole in an attempt to show his love for his nephew.           When the Siege of Angband was finally broken, Turukáno did not send forth any aid to his kin outside Ondolindë’s walls. He did, however, send a select few mariners out to sea so they might beg the aid of the Valar, but none ever returned. Then came the fall of High King Fingolfin in single combat with Morgoth himself; his body was recovered by the mighty Eagle Thorondor and delivered to Ondolindë, where Turukáno grieved and built him a cairn. At this time Turukáno added to the emblem of his House a scarlet heart, representing the loss of his beloved father, before the symbols of the Sun and Moon.           Two years later, Thorondor delivered Turukáno another gift, this one more pleasant: he rescued the Mannish children Húrin and Huor and brought them to Gondolin, where never before had Men been seen. Turukáno grew fond of the boys, and at Húrin’s insistence he finally sent word to his brother that Aredhel had died, breaking his utter isolation for the first time. He was sorrowful to see the lads go when they returned to their homelands in Dor-lómin, his brother’s domain, and remembered them when word came to Gondolin a decade later of the formation of the Union of Maedhros.            Unlooked for, Turukáno led an army ten thousand strong to reinforce High King Fingon at the Fifth Battle. Gondolin’s sudden appearance turned the tide of the dreadful battle for a time, but in the end the Union was overrun and Fingon slain only days after he and Turukáno had reunited for the first time in over 300 years. The House of Hador, led by the now full-grown Húrin and Huor, defended the retreat of the Gondolindrim; in their final meeting, Huor urged Turukáno to escape and prophesied that from him and the King “a new star shall arise.”           Turukáno returned to Ondolindë amid great sorrow, having lost many soldiers including his faithful bodyguard Bruithwir, and assumed the title of High King of the Noldor in the wake of his brother’s death. The free-peoples of Beleriand were defeated in all but the three hidden strongholds of the elves—Doriath, Nargothrond, and Gondolin itself—and he saw himself as the last great leader of his people. Despite this, other Noldor yet lived outside his jurisdiction, and Turukáno’s new title did not extend his duties any further than the walls of his city, now more isolated than ever.           More mariners were sent begging aid from the Valar—and though none made it to the Blessed Land, this time one, Voronwë, survived, returning to Gondolin with a Man sent to the King with a prophecy from Ulmo. Turukáno was counseled to open the gates of his city and prepare for battle or else face the destruction of his people and city, yet Turukáno could not see any path to victory in open war and trusted rather in his own counsel and that of his nephew Maeglin.           Ulmo’s messenger was none other than Tuor son of Huor, and in memory of his friend Turukáno gave him leave to stay in Ondolindë. His daughter Idril was charmed by the Man, and in the course of a few years they asked for permission to wed. Turukáno hesitated at first, but recalled the last words of Huor and was moved to agree. Tuor and Idril were wed amid great joy, and he joined his wife as the leader of her House of the Wing; in only a year’s time, their son Eärendil was born.           But Ulmo’s warning soon proved true, for when Eärendil was only seven years old the golden lilies of Glingal were found tarnished and dented. Amnon urged her King to take heed of the obvious sign from the Valar and the fulfillment of her prophecy, but once more Turukáno refused to listen. This would prove disastrous, as on the morn of Tarnin Austa the armies of Morgoth attacked Gondolin and its great Fall began. Most of Turukáno’s Lords urged him to abandon the city, but Maeglin, who had for a year been acting fell and strange, convinced him to remain in an attempt to hold the city.           For much of the awful battle, Turukáno kept his House in reserve, but when Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs was slain he came down from his tower in all his splendour to cleanse the Square of the King. They drove back the enemy monsters for a time, but many of his folk were slain. The remaining folk gathered beneath Glingal and Bansil, slowly melting from the heat of dragonfire, and Turukáno at last saw that he had brought ruin upon his city. Now at last he recognized the truth in Amnon’s words, lamenting in an echo of her prophecy, “Great is the fall of Gondolin!” But Amnon did not live to see her King’s remorse, for she had perished in the battle.           Too late, Turukáno ordered the remainder of his people to flee through Idril’s secret way, though many had already begun the march. He threw down his crown and proclaimed that though all were free to leave, he would stay and fall with it. Galdor of the Tree attempted to return to him his crown, and Tuor and Idril thrice begged him to escape with them, but Turukáno refused and instead ascended to the height of the Tower of the King and cried out a challenge to the Enemy. He was assailed by dragons and Balrogs, fighting them off with his mighty blade Glamdring, until all his guard perished, Finrun defending him to the last, and the tower was felled by the might of many dragons, its weight and their flame killing Turukáno at last.           In time all those who were slain in Gondolin’s fall would be reborn in Aman, even twice-slain Bruithwir and Finrun and war-wearied Amnon. Turukáno’s return would come in time for him to visit Númenórë, the kingdom of his Elros his great-grandson, and he would be reunited with Elenwë his wife and Itarillë his daughter and even Tuor the Blessed, granted clemency by the Valar—and also his dear friend Findaráto, with whom he could now at last find new love amid the restoration of the old.

#gondolinweek2021 #gondolinweek #tolkienedit #oneringnet #silmarillion #tfog #the fall of gondolin #house of the king #turgoldo #turgon #turukano #amnon #bruithwir #finrun #my edit #my writing #headcanons #tefain nin #elves of arda #gondolindrim #long post #like super fucking long this took me a good few hours to write skjdfhskdjfh #i simply have too many turno headcanons

[nerdanelsimp]

RULES: Tag 9 people you want to know better/catch up with!

Tagged by: @mirkwood thank you!!✨💖

Favorite color: black and blue

Last song/album: Fly To Stay Alive by MaNga

Last movie: I watch movies rarely... Joker-2019 I think...

Currently reading: The Children of Hurin!

Currently watching: Loki and Jujutsu Kaisen!!!

Currently craving: Ice Cream would be great or Ice🥵

Coffee or tea: Coffe! I really don’t like tea...

Tagging: @lothengriols  , @ratsbys , @transmasc-pippin-took , @first-son-of-finwe , @aidhwvqhkcnsnz , @lord-namo ,  @llynwen , @egaliteliberte anyone else who wants to do this !!

#thanks for tagging <3 #text

[quixoticanarchy]

game: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. tag as many people as you have WIPs

tagged by @outofangband :))

I mean right now the main file is just ‘NaNo 2021 - suffering’ but these are the others - mostly stolen country song lyrics, who could have guessed

‘i chose the dark, you chased the light’

‘don’t you dare call this disloyalty’

‘yes I work in emergency mgmt why do u ask’

‘guilt is the answer’

‘if i could only sail’

‘nimloth my beloved’ and ‘rían my beloved’ (not in any meaningful way ‘in progress’ but they do exist)

don’t know who all’s been tagged but @skyeventide @zealouswerewolfcollector @galadhremmin @lothengriols @fingons-rad-harp and anyone who’d like to

#many more things live in 'story ideas perhaps' but theyre being incubated for now #realizing some of these have not progressed since the last time i did this game but #oh well #writing #tag game

[maedhrus]

i was tagged by @arofili and @luthien so thank you both!

tagging @russingon @samarqqand @lothengriols and @moonwifes!

#tagged in #the ease with which i picked angst vs the hard time i had between childhood and enemies to loves FIGHT #i always say this but a lot of this are very fic/pairing dependent! #but hurt/comfort is always god tier

[thetrunkofmymind]

My lotr stan era begins now...

(@lothengriols and I just finished an extended editions marathon and my brain will be located in Middle-earth until further notice)

#no thoughts head legolas/merry and pippin/haldir/frodo/arwen/eomer/aragorn/literally every character #i have problems and they’re all relating to how many hot lotr characters there are #(sam is my poor meow meow and gets his own special category of course) #i made a post friends #lord of the rings #lotr #text

[hopefullystillliving]

Thanks for the tag @niphredilien!

Rules: answer 10 questions and tag 10 people you want to know better

Relationship status: Single (and very happy about it!)

Favourite colour: Bright, warm blue

Three favourite foods: Cucumber sushi, apples, and pizza

Song stuck in my head: Uhh I have like three atm so Song of Beren and Luthien by Clamavi de Profundis

Last thing I listened to: Lord of the Rings Music & Ambience | Feast of Starlight - Tauriel's Theme. From Ambient Worlds on YouTube, 10/10 would recommend them.

Last thing I googled: "its me anastasia meme" I HAVE A REASON!

Time: 10:40 AM

Dream trip: Probably a big road trip around the continental US, I really want to see all 50 states, and since I'm in Alaska rn... Barring that I'd like to go to Antarctica to cross another continent off my list, even though I'd probably hate it.

Anything I really want: Mmm nothing much? I am just a littol creture who wants good food and warm blankets and- Ok probably for my WIPs to cooperate.

Currently reading: Beren and Luthien in bits and pieces

Last song: Amarante's cover of Meet Me in the Woods by Lord Huron

Last movie: Mary and the Witch's Flower

Last series: Well I don't know if this counts but the Our Planet documentary series with David Attenborough.

Sweet, savoury or spicy: Usually savoury with a little sweet for Flavor, otherwise sweet but especially fruity-sweet.

Craving: I don't actually know right now. Maybe apples? (Update, have gotten an apple, mission success.)

Tea or Coffee: Fruity herbal teas. I loathe coffee.

Currently working on: Lets see. Finishing up my pieces for Tolkien OC week (got both drawings done, so now I just have to write about them), the story that was meant to be a part of Tolkien Gen week but it got. Big. And also what will probably a massive powerpoint attempting to explain the story of the Silmarillion to the uninitiated. I've finished the whole creation myth bit, the origins of dwarves, and 2/11 parts of the Children of Hurin. Pray for me.

Tagging (with no pressure!): @sponge-eating-goblin @outofangband @silmarillionno @lothengriols @topaz147 @winterinhimring @tigerliliesandcherryblossoms @houndsofvalinor-art @telpea-kalka @incorrect-lotr-trash

#tag game

[yellow-faerie]

Thank you for the tag @lothengriols!

Rules: write the latest line from your WIP, but with a twist — choose a line from a pet project you WANT to be your WIP. Then tag as many people as there are words in the line.  Make a new post, don’t reblog.

Dad?” Celebrimbor drapes himself over Curufin’s lap and Curufin has to stop editing his report for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t we all just float off into space?”

Curufin stands up, deciding a cup of coffee is in order. “Because of gravity.”

“Yes but why does gravity work?”

Between finishing this report due to the deadline being moved forward by three weeks and Celebrimbor being ill, he got exactly no sleep last night.

In other words, he is far too tired to answer his son’s incessant questions. “It’s really rather complicated ‘Brimbor,” He says as he tries to find a clean mug and has to wash up one that has been festering on the sideboard for…oh, he has no idea how long now, he really should get round to clearing up before there is nothing clean to eat out of. “Everything that exists has some sort of mass and…” He tries to think of a way to explain it simply as he scrubs at what looks like it might be mould. “The earth has so much mass it has enough gravity to keep us here.”

“Yeah, I get that but why does it exist?”

Curufin is saved from answering by the doorbell ringing.

“Ooh!” Celebrimbor’s eyes light up excitedly and he runs for the front door. “I’ll get it!”

Curufin puts the mug down as the door clicks open.

“Hello Celebrimbor,” A familiar voice says. “Is your father around?”

Curufin steps into the hall, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning back against the doorframe. “Good afternoon Finrod.”

Finrod smiles, relief spreading across his face like the sun rises over the horizon. “Curvo. You don’t mind if we stay the night do you?”

Little Finduilas pokes her head out from behind her father and gives Curufin a gap-toothed smile.

This isn’t a line but it’s everything I have ever written for a Curufinrod fake dating modern AU that lives rent free in my head but refuses to become an actual story.

Tagging @tol-himling @wren-of-the-woods @galadhremmin and anyone else who hasn’t had a go at this but would like to!

#Tag Game #Curufinrod #Tolkien

[mirkwood]

RULES: Tag 9 people you want to know better/catch up with!

Tagged by: @grumpierbilbo thank you so much 🥰🥰

Favorite color: red, grey and dark purple!!

Last song/album: supercut by Lorde 

Last movie: I literally can’t remember it’s been so long since I watched a movie sjdkdksj but,, I think it was hellboy 2??

Currently reading: The Two Towers!! But veryyy slowly cause I’m also studying for exams 

Currently watching: god i just finished binge watching castlevania (while simultaneously studying for exams kdjhfksdh)

Currently craving: cold weather. please. 

Coffee or tea: coffee 24/7 !!! I love coffee way to much

Tagging: @modernmythic , @ofelves , @nerdanelsimp @lothengriols and anyone else who wants to do this !!

#just tagged some of my new mutuals but you don't have to do it if u don't want to!! #about me #not tolkien #text #thank you again for tagging me 😌💕