#march of the noldor

[melestasflight]

Now rumour came to the camp in Hithlum of the march of Fingolfin and those that followed him, who had crossed the Grinding Ice; and all the world lay then in wonder at the coming of the Moon. But as the host of Fingolfin marched into Mithrim the Sun rose flaming in the West; and Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners, and blew his horns, and flowers sprang beneath his marching feet, and the ages of the stars were ended. ~ "Of the Return of the Noldor", The Silmarillion

a little art throwback for the first day of @march-of-the-noldor

Two beautiful writings were created for this art: Flowers sprang beneath his marching feet by @that-angry-noldo Longed-for a poem by @searchingforserendipity25

#fingolfin #helcaraxe #arrival to beleriand #silm art #silm fic #march of the noldor #silmarillion #tolkien #nolofinweans

[march-of-the-noldor]

March of the Noldor

What is it?

A month-long event to commiserate the grueling walk the Noldor took, across the Helcaraxe, from Aman to Beleriand.

When is it?

March 1 - March 31

How do I participate?

Post something regarding the march and mention @march-of-the-noldor. Everything made will be reblogged here.

Go forth and create something New!

But this is also a great time to reblog older works relating to the march too!

What is allowed?

EVERYTHING!

Art, fic, meta, moodboards, poems! It's all welcome!

Want to do a character study? Awesome!

Make a collage of the kind of wild life the Noldor might encounter? Amazing!

Talk about the different types of ice the Noldor walked across? Fantastic!

Record a list of new traditions that developed during the walk? Bring it on!

We shall depart on this voyage together!

If you have any questions please ask them! <3

header by Adam Excell - unsplash

#the silmarillion #march of the noldor #tolkien #middle earth #helcaraxe #ocs and aus are all allowed too. we need all we can get to make it across the ice! #the silm #the silm fandom #fandom event #info post

[hhimring]

March of the Noldor

We walked the Ice—

as if we had walked into the end of the World,

but we walked out again—and on

until the Fire caught up with us;

we burned as the World ended,

but went on to drown

as Water swallowed Beleriand

and the World ended again.

Here we are,

walking, singing,

until the World ends again,

until the World stops ending.

@march-of-the-noldor

Inspired by Robert Frost's poem Fire and Ice.

#march of the noldor #noldor #poem

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Black Horse

Reviving an old drabble for @march-of-the-noldor. You can also read it on Ao3 together with two other drabbles, united by a common theme.

Warnings: cannibalism (the common theme)

They said it had started with the groups in the back where the weak and wounded straggled. Then it had spread forward until near half of the host knew how elven flesh tasted. Disgusted, troubled and hungry, Fingon reported the news to his father.

Fingolfin looked at the gaunt, fleshless face of his firstborn child and imagined Fëanor's sons feasting on the rich game of Middle-earth.

“I will investigate,” he said. “Look after your brother.”

He returned later, carrying sacks of meat.

“They have only found a new sort of seal,” he said. “Try it.”

Fingon did without questioning him.

#silmarillion #fingolfin #fingon #march of the noldor #silm fic #zwc fic #tw cannibalism #deleted the tag 'i'm sorry' from ao3 #because i'm actually not sorry #but left 'dead elves: do not eat' #because it's funny

[nerdanaro]

I took a nice aurora picture last week, so I made it into a little photo collage for @march-of-the-noldor !💖

Background images are mine, made using picsart and the figures (and some stars) are in-app assets 😊

#march of the noldor #my art #photo edit #photo collage #silmarillion #tolkien

[sallysavestheday]

Arakano (Jr.) Fans, Unite!

Argon is a secret fave of mine. Poor kid. Here he is on the Ice, reblogged for @march-of-the-noldor.

Argon wishes that he could use his paints. He wishes that they would not dry and crack from the ceaseless wind and the bitter, dessicating cold. He wishes that they would not blow away in a sharp gust if he did not hold them clenched between his knees or his teeth or his half-frozen fingers. He wishes that the wind would not force such tears from his eyes that he could not see to paint, anyway, if it were possible to stop, to take the ridiculous luxury of time to look, and think, and translate what he sees through the harmonic media of brush and canvas.

Because the sky is beautiful. When the clouds lift and the wind stops it is so deep, like a well falling upward, blue into black, all stars and stars and stars, unfamiliar in their dancing arrangements, but still the source of his people’s music, still their guiding lights.

Read the rest on AO3, in The Music of Sight.

#march of the noldor #fic rec #my fics #argon #arakano

[eomerofrohan]

The Grinding Ice

(an excerpt from an as-yet-unpublished WIP I've been working on featuring some of my Noldor OC's. for @march-of-the-noldor)

~

After what felt like an eternity trekking across the frozen wasteland, Fingolfin called for the group to halt and make camp. They could not continue on their march as worn out as they were, and although trying to sleep in such an environment would be dangerous, he preferred it to trying to press onward and having his people collapse of exhaustion. They’d had too many close calls already.

“I’ll stay awake for now,” Vanessë whispered to her sister Rainiel as they pitched their tent. “To keep watch for cracking in the ice or anything else. You should get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” Rainiel asked. “You need sleep too.”

“I’ll be fine.” Vanessë handed Rainiel the extra blanket. “Take this.”

“Absolutely not, you keep that if you’re going to try to stay awake in this cold!”

“You need to stay warm while you sleep,” she retorted.

Finally, Rainiel agreed to take the blanket, and she wrapped it around herself with one of the cloaks as extra padding. Then she spread a bedroll out on the ground inside the tent and lay down, curled up in between these layers and still shivering.

Vanessë waited until Rainiel’s breathing was steady. Then, slowly and quietly, she laid the fur-lined cloak Turgon had just given her across her sister’s shoulders and slipped out of the tent without another word, letting the flap close behind her. She went and sat down a few feet away and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to ignore the icicles that were slowly forming on the ends of her hair.

“You care about her a lot, I can tell,” Saeldur said, sitting down next to her.

“She didn’t want to come and I feel responsible for her,” Vanessë answered. “Besides, I’m the only one she has now. Our parents stayed in Tirion.”

Saeldur paused. “And… what are your feelings about our expedition?”

Vanessë shivered. “It’s hard to think of anything right now except ice and water. I don’t think I ever want to see ice again for as long as I live. I hope Middle Earth is warm.”

Without saying anything, Saeldur slipped part of his cloak off of his shoulders and wrapped it around hers, so that it covered the both of them. Vanessë glanced at it, surprised, and then looked at him with gratitude.

“I think there may be a limited supply,” he explained. “We didn’t expect to have to come this way, after all.”

“Well, I appreciate your generosity,” Vanessë said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he replied.

They sat there in silence for a few moments. Vanessë was the one who broke it.

“I want to kill Morgoth,” she said.

“What?”

“I want to destroy him completely and utterly. He destroyed what stability we had, destroyed the light of the Trees, destroyed my trust in the Valar… I want to pay him back for all of that. A thousand times.”

Saeldur stared at her. “So, you’re still dedicated, even after hearing the Doom that Mandos set down on us,” he whispered. “Even after… after being betrayed by Fëanor?”

“We don’t need Fëanor,” Vanessë scoffed. “We can do this ourselves. Look around: we are a larger force than his, and better equipped. This ice shelf is full of passionate, dedicated Elves who just spent today helping each other out of a number of bad situations. Fëanor could never.”

Saeldur had to laugh then. “You’re right! He is singularly focused on his own personal ambition. We were taken care of in his fortress, but… not by him.”

“So, what’s this about for you, then?” she asked him. “What made you want to take up your sword and march across a thrice-damned frozen deathtrap?”

He thought about it for a moment, shifting a little under the blanket as he did so, subconsciously shifting a little closer to her, drawn in by her body heat.

“Well, I… I swore an oath to Fëanor. Not that one. An oath of fealty, several years ago. I wanted to be a part of something, and he seemed so promising then. But… I’m not a part of that anymore. I turned away from him. I… I defected. But even having done that, I can’t make myself turn aside from the quest. Maybe it’s that I consider my fealty to have transferred to Fingolfin, so the same oath applies… but I don’t think it’s just that. People don’t swear oaths for the sake of swearing oaths. There’s feeling behind them. Some sort of desire or emotion. It doesn’t just go away.”

She was watching him intently. He took a deep breath and continued.

“I was in Formenos when High King Finwë was killed,” he said softly. “I didn’t see it, of course. No one saw it, it was pitch black. But to think that a being such as Morgoth could just… do that… just come into our home and murder our leader, and none of us could stop him… that chills me to the bone. I can’t sit idle and let him get away with that.”

Vanessë nodded as he spoke. She understood that implicitly.

“I think that’s a very respectable thing to want,” she whispered.

The two of them sat there and talked for many hours, and the longer they talked, the more Vanessë felt like she and Saeldur were on the same wavelength when it came to ambitions and things they would or would not accept. Internally, she breathed a sigh of relief that someone else here felt the same as her.

Saeldur gently nudged her. “Look up,” he whispered.

She glanced upward, then stared. In the sky, thousands of tiny dots of light pierced through the darkness. They stretched all the way from the land she had just left behind to the opposite shore, and they reminded her of Varda’s silver orbs. In that moment, a story came back to her mind.

“Varda created the stars so that the first Elves would not awaken in darkness,” she whispered. “This is… this is the light our people were born under.”

“Maybe our road is not so hopeless after all,” Saeldur said. “Morgoth can destroy the Trees, but he cannot destroy the stars, and we are banished from Valinor, but we keep the first gift we were given. No one can take the stars from us.”

Vanessë smiled as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I like the way you think, Saeldur Elennion.”

After a while, they drifted off to sleep there in the middle of the Helcaraxë, both wrapped in a single cloak, with Rainiel sleeping a few feet away and a handful of the most noble Elves they’d ever met patrolling quietly around them. A cold wind blew, but they snuggled together for warmth, and in that moment, it seemed like their exile might not be such a bad thing after all.

#silmarillion #fanfic #march of the noldor #helcaraxe #my posts

[nighttimepatrons]

The March of the Noldor

do something concerning the Noldor walking their asses all the way to Belariend sometime during March.

Has this been done before?

#noldor #the silmarillion #middle earth #march of the Noldor #elves #tolkien

[kanellebullar]

#art #kanellebullar #lotr #lord of the rings #silmarillion #maedhros the tall #maedhros #nelyafinwe #maitimo #Russandol #Noldor #seven feanorians #Feanorian #Lord of Himring #March of Maedhros

[melestasflight]

A snippet from Against His Wisdom for @march-of-the-noldor

It is not the cold that eats as much upon Nolofinwë. There are things one can learn to produce warmth sufficient to keep walking. He learns, they all do.

But the quietness is an entirely different matter. There is no birdsong on the Ice. No buzzing of insects to fill the air nor the rustling of foliage to draw the ear overhead. 

The Helcaraxë is a silent desolation interrupted only by the frightening pitch of frozen sheets beneath their feet and the repetitive rhythm of marching — step, step, swish, step, step, swish — for time immeasurable. The monotony drives him to madness so Nolofinwë concentrates on learning the strides of each of his people to keep his mind occupied. He does not need to look even to know who walks beside him. 

In that agonizing silence, every small murmur travels like a breeze down the marching lines and rumor reaches Nolofinwë's ears, whether he seeks it or not. 

Nolofinwë leads us against his wisdom, some say, for his son so urges him. 

His son, the kinslayer, another mutters, is as mad as Fëanáro, may he be damned— 

Nelyafinwë poisoned his mind—

Betrayed the kin of his friends, as brothers they were— 

Fëanáro—

Findekáno—

Fëanáro—

Findekáno—

Kinslayers!

Nolofinwë cannot bring himself to command silence because his people are already stretched too thin and he sees them fragmenting, Findaráto’s followers on one end, Turukáno’s on the other. And because, in the hours when the wind howls with a peculiar intensity, even he sees some truth in the resemblance. 

In profile, somewhat obscured beneath the thick layers of pelts, Nolofinwë recognizes Fëanáro in Findekáno’s high cheekbones and determined gaze. When his son walks before him, there is something about the strength in his marching steps that is almost unnatural. A power cracked open by drawing of blood from another body. When Findekáno looks behind him, as he often does to make sure his father still stands on firm ground, Nolofinwë catches himself expecting his brother’s stern face.

It grows as they walk further, this darkness. The same darkness Finwë had carried with him from Middle-earth and even in the calm of Valinórë passed some of it onto his eldest son. It now flickers behind the light in Findekáno’s eyes, calling for his bloodlust.

But unlike many of his people, Nolofinwë does not fear this power. Findekáno’s fire is not wholly of destruction. Its warmth when tamed nurtures life, even as Fëanáro’s had before grief consumed him.

It is now Findekáno who sings after those who stray away in the darkness even if they cursed his name. Findekáno who offers to step first when the ice turns more treacherous. Findekáno who hews Itarillë’s blackened toes and becomes her legs, carrying her on his shoulders beyond exhaustion.

His son looks after their people, so Nolofinwë takes the task of looking after him. He eats less so Findekáno can have more. Stands so Findekáno can sit. Keeps his dreams at bay in the precious moments of rest.

‘Walk with me, Findekáno,’ he says when his son marches alone at the head of the host for too long.

Kinslayer or no, Nolofinwë will walk by his son.

Read Against His Wisdom on AO3

#fingolfin #fingon #maedhros #feanor #helcaraxe #march of the noldor #silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #nolofinweans #mind the tags

[march-of-the-noldor]

Departing Soon!

March of the Noldor is a month-long event focusing on the trek of the Noldor walking from Aman to Beleriand.

The time frame is the entire month of March.

Art, fic, meta, mood boards, all is welcome.

More information to come soon!

~a long walk is about to begin~

#march of the noldor #the silmarillion #helcaraxe #noldor #tolkien #tolkien events #fandom events #middle earth

[hhimring]

The Bitterest North

Reblog for @march-of-the-noldor

During the Crossing of the Ice, canonically many other elves died beside Elenwe, wife of Turgon. In the backstory of a previous fic, I had given three of them names and fates and someone to mourn for them. This double drabble looks more closely at some of these earlier events. Featuring my OFC Erien, friend of Fingon, and her family.

‘The cold never bothered me that much,’ Elvea says.

She means the cold of Araman without the light of the Trees; she has no concept of anything colder than that. Erien, who once accompanied Fingon far enough up Taniquetil to walk among glaciers, says nothing.

But when Ninde dies—heart stopped after she slipped into deep-sinking ice—Elvea is still courageous. Erien leans on that courage, even as she struggles to adapt what that long-ago trip taught her to help them survive.

Elvea carries Rusco under her cloak, humming to him, while together they climb the cruel hills of ice.

-

‘Erien, you’re trying to carry them all with you; I can see it dragging on you,’ says Fingon quietly. ‘Let it go, at least a little. Elvea wanted you to survive. Your dead—you cannot lose them now; they will still be there when we get to the other side.’

Erien blinks at him, frozen. Since she left Rusco, last of all, in his little bed in the snow, she had forgotten there was even supposed to be another side. But Fingon speaks the words with conviction. If he can still believe in the other side…

She nods, walks forward.

On AO3 here.

Originally written in 2018.

(You may be able to guess what the prompt was.)

#march of the noldor #noldor #fingon #helcaraxe #cw death #cw mourning

[tanoraqui]

I was thinking jokingly about how if Idril is alive in post-War of Wrath Valinor and Finrod is alive in post-War of Wrath Valinor and Turgon is not, Turgon is taking at least a millennia to heal before coming out of Mandos, then Finrod is 100% like, "Free daughter!”

...and then I realized that Finrod very likely promised Turgon just that at some point between Elenwë’s death and the retreat to Gondolin. And now I’m sad.

#the silmarillion #finrod #idril #turgon #fall of gondolin #aman ever after #idril is grown now - she has a husband and son; she has led a people in desperate but organized retreat #she was something like co-queen regent of hte noldor for a few decades with lalwen on balar while gil-galad wasn't quite grown #she missed so much of what in retrospect she wishes she'd seen but she was there toward the end after finrod wasn't #and then they both missed the last war itself; idril asleep and finrod restricted to aman #during hte march across the ice finrod used to use spare energy to Sing starlight into gems for her to hold until they faded #they end up crying on each other in a pleasant little house in tol eressea until tuor gently asks if they'd like to have dinner

[ardafanonarch]

Is there any basis in canon for Fëanor and his followers wearing red? I know he and his sons have "tall helms with plumes of red", but that's the only mention of the colour in any sort of symbolic connection to them that I can think of.

Fëanorian Red

Jumping the Inbox queue for you because this is a fairly easy one to answer.*

You're right! The idea of Fëanor and his followers wearing red is fanon. I would speculate it comes from two sources:

1. The passage you identified

And Fëanor made a secret forge, of which not even Melkor was aware; and there he tempered fell swords for himself and for his sons, and made tall helms with plumes of red. The Silmarillion, "Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor"

2. The fact that we do know Fingolfin's colours were blue and silver

But as the host of Fingolfin marched into Mithrim the Sun rose flaming in the West; and Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners... The Silmarillion, "Of the Return of the Noldor"

The "blue and silver" banners are again referred to when Fingon is killed in the Nirnaeth, and in Fingolfin's duel with Morgoth his shield is described as blue.

So it makes sense to me that the fandom would set Fëanor's House up in contrast to Fingolfin's by making his colours red -- supported, perhaps, by the mention of their red-plumed helms.

Red is also, of course, a colour historically and culturally associated with passion, violence, and war -- all things that rather suit the House of Fëanor. (Red, it bears mentioning, is a very common colour for helmet plumes -- either contributing to or because of red's association with war.)

Tolkien's design for Fëanor's heraldic device does contain some red, but its most striking element is perhaps the rainbow centre in a blue circle, and the most dominant colour is yellow.

*Opening the floor, as always, to any other evidence of the Fëanorian colour being red that might be buried deep in the lore where I have not found it.

Thanks to this Reddit post for doing a lot of the research for me.

#feanor #fingolfin #feanorians #heraldic devices #tolkien's art #nerdy-catfish

[katekatharos]

You know what’s messed up? So many of the noldor in Beleriand must have known Morgoth socially. Like had a perfectly pleasant conversation with him, attended the same soiree one afternoon - he moved among the Noldor as a friend. 

Maedhros in Angband, being slowly flayed by this monstrous being he has made polite (if strained) conversation with at multiple parties hosted on behalf of his grandfather.

random Noldor soldier, as the Earth belches forth fire and armies of twisted orcs March upon them and the air turns noxious, remarking to sindar comrade, you know, I sold the great Enemy some cupcakes once. They were lemon flavoured

#The Silmarillion #tolkien #morgoth

[sallysavestheday]

Argon Angst, Again!

If you enjoyed The Music of Sight, here's a little snippet from my latest Argon tearjerker, written for the SWG Meet and Greet challenge and reposted for @march-of-the-noldor:

It is hard to hold onto his battle-fever when he keeps noticing things – his painter’s senses are flung open and wide. Here the starlight on someone’s armor catches his eye; there the arc of an arrow’s descent into the surging horde. He notes a tattered surcoat, flickering at the edge of his vision, and the necklace on some charging Orc, metal and bead and bone almost elegant against its blackened hide. On the Ice, he had planned his first works in this new land to be explosions of color: blossoms and auroras and great sheets of fire. But perhaps capturing the silvery fog of this battle is more urgent. He is not certain, now, that he will be able to paint flowers. He must first clear his mind of blades.

Read the rest of Golden Lads and Girls All Must (G: 950 words, major character death) on AO3. Bring tissues.

#argon #arakano #my fics #march of the noldor #nolofinweans