#so did caranthirs i guess

[curufiin]

*brandishes a notebook and mechanical pencil* tell me everything

OKAY. SO. (oh my god this is so long)

VERY basic lore there was this guy called Fëanor who was apparently just the SEXIEST fucking elf ever. Like canonically one of the hottest guy to have ever existed.

For Fëanor was made the mightiest in all parts of body and mind: in valour, in endurance, in beauty, in understanding, in skill, in strength and subtlety alike: of all the Children of Ilúvatar, and a bright flame was in him.

He had seven kids (and a LOT of war crimes), topic for another discussion because we’re mainly focused on the two that everyone is freaking out about. For reference their names (in birth order) are Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. We’re gonna look at Celegorm and Curufin specifically.

So, one of the most notable things about Celegorm and Curufin is that (aside from literally maybe three occasions), they’re basically always mentioned together.

“Celegorm was almost always in the company of his brother Curufin / Curufin was almost always in the company of his brother Celegorm” — Tolkien Gateway

In fact, in an early draft of Silm, Curufin was actually the fourth son of Fëanor, and not the fifth. Not sure why he changed it but yeah, they’re basically best friends on top of being bros. They ruled a kingdom together and committed many war crimes together and it was good!

Celegorm, specifically, is extra special. He and his brothers belong to a group of elves called the Noldor, which is kinda like a nationality/ethnicity. They’re noteworthy for having dark hair, and they looove making things like jewelry and other forge objects. In fact, Fëanor was so good at it that if he wasn’t, this book wouldn’t even exist but anyway. Celegorm is special because he literally just straight up fails to be a typical Noldo because why the hell not I guess?!?!?

In the book he is given the epithet “the Fair”, and in canon it’s up for debate whether fair is used in the sense that he’s super hot or fair as in light colored in reference to his hair. However, multiple early drafts state that he has “golden” or “gleaming” hair, or some other wording, but either way his hair was noted to Not Be Black even though Parent 1 had black hair and Parent 2 had reddish hair.

But up there starts / amid the throng, and loudly cries / for hearing, one with flaming eyes, / proud Celegorm with gleaming hair / and shining sword — The Lay of Leithian

“Then Celegorm arose amid the throng (p. 169). In QS this is followed by ‘golden was his long hair’. In the Lay at this point (line 1844) Celegorm has ‘gleaming hair’; his Old English name was Cynegrim Fægerfeax (‘Fair-hair’), IV. 213. The phrase was removed in The Silmarillion text on account of the dark hair of the Noldorin princes other than in ‘the golden house of Finarfin’ (see I. 44); but he remains ‘Celegorm the fair’ in The Silmarillion p. 60.” — Christopher Tolkien’s nonsensical ramblings I pasted from Tolkien Gateway because I don’t have some of these books. Basically every mention of Celegorm with something about his hair color

In published Silm, Christopher removes the mention of Celegorm’s hair color and I will kill him for it, but as he said he is still referred to as Celegorm the Fair in the narrative, so Tolkien probably did intend on “fair” being used to talk about his hair color. Popular fanon often draws him with either very light blonde or straight up white hair as well. This is a whole nother thing but all you need to know is that this guy’s blonde and it’s SUPER weird.

The Noldor also love making things. There are many, many mentions in the book of their love for making things and shiny gems, and I will put a few of them here

“The Noldor also it was who first achieved the making of gems…”

And it came to pass that the masons of the house of Finwë, quarrying in the hills after stone (for they delighted in the building of high towers), first discovered the earth-gems, and brought them forth in countless myriads; and they devised tools for the cutting and shaping of gems, and carved them in many forms.

Many jewels the Noldor gave them, opals and diamonds and pale crystals…

So on and so forth. The Sons of Fëanor are even said to visit the house of Aulë (god/patron of rocks and gems and making shit) often. However, Celegorm was the noteworthy exception, because he likes hunting, and instead followed the teachings of Oromë, patron/god of animals and hunting shit and what have you.

but Celegorm went rather to the house of Oromë, and there he got great knowledge of birds and beasts, and all their tongues he knew.

He even got a dog from Oromë! Why is this important, you ask? Well okay it’s not but popular fanon tends to portray him as tall and strong and muscular, presumably because of the hunting, and i’m sure riding horses all day in Beleriand’s shaped up his thighs quite nicely. Anyway so that’s why Celegorm is literally Elton Prince. ONTO CURUFIN WHICH SHOULD BE SHORTER.

Curufin is named “Curufin the Crafty” in the book, and he “inherited most his father’s skill of hand”. He’s also his dad’s favorite son because they bave such similar interests (and temperament?), to the point that Fëanor gave Curufin the same father name he had, which is Curufinwë. Not a set up for daddy issues later in life, I’m sure.

Since Fëanor was such a renowned Thing Maker and toiled often in the forge, and since Curufin was said to inherit dad’s skill, you could probably assume that he also spent many long hours in the forge hammering away at whatever. And all that hammering (not the sexy kind sadly), on top of Hot Dad genetics, would probably mean that Curufin is also pretty hot and muscular. Personally I like to draw Curufin as being short and a little pathetic just for comedic effect but I’m sure he’s got some well formed muscles from all that hammer swinging and horse riding.

Celegorm and Curufin in fanon (and arguably even in canon even though their canon selves are a lot more grim and depressing) tend to have this almost cartoony villain bro vibes? They also tried to usurp their cousin’s kingdom city together, which was what I quoted in that other post of yours. This comic illustrates the more lighthearted version of their dynamic extremely well because in book canon… let’s just leave it at they’re criminals LOL.

Other cunty depictions of Celegorm and Curufin which will describe their dynamic way better than my words can.

This from the Lay of Leithian Rock Opera

Another one for good measure

Guys come on now

I’m sorry i’m looking at their VK page

Here Curufin reached for the crown and Celegorm moved it out of his way COME ON

They’re so fucking extra

Basically they’re like Jesse and James but a thousand times more evil but they have that vibe. Think funny, bantery, sometimes a little comically stupid (assuming you’re not putting them in book situations then they get real nasty real fast). Which means they’re the WWE bros. I hope this makes sense

#ask #the silmarillion #celegorm #curufin #<3333 thank you so much for indulging me they’re my favorite guys ever

[cilil]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬 | 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Caranthir & Fëanor, hints at potential Caranthir x Turgon 𓄌 Synopsis: Fëanor offers to craft accessories for his sons to wear at the next Feast of Horns. Caranthir has what he believes to be an unusual request. 𓄌 Warnings: / 𓄌 Oneshot (~1.2k words) | AO3

Carnistir had both dreaded and looked forward to this moment, though the former outweighed the latter. 

His father had announced that he would be crafting accessories for all of his sons for the next Feast of Horns, celebrating that the entire family would be in attendance for the first time, and promised that each of them could pick whatever they wanted and he would make it. 

For most, if not all of his brothers, it was an easy choice and they knew exactly what they wanted, or so Carnistir believed at least, but for him, it was more difficult. Not the choice itself, if he was honest with himself — he had an idea what he wanted — but he grappled with it regardless and disliked the idea of having to explain himself to his father. 

It wasn't Carnistir's first time participating in the Hunt. His brothers had dragged him along once before, with Tyelkormo in particular claiming that he couldn't miss it, and as was tradition for debutants, he had been among the Hunted. The greater battle had been with himself rather than the Hunters, finding himself strangely enchanted by the idea of being desired and pursued, while unable to admit it to anyone else and acting aloof to hide his inner turmoil. 

In the end Carnistir had successfully hidden in the woods of Oromë — no small feat as he liked to think, especially with Ainur participating in the Hunt as well — and rejoined his brothers at the end of the night. Nobody had bothered to inquire about his whereabouts after his declaration that everything had gone well, and he preferred it that way. Even so, the aftermath had left him with a sour taste in his mouth, his mind ever wandering to all the possibilities he had denied himself out of pride, shame and, as much as he hated to admit it, cowardice. 

But this Feast of Horns would be different. Carnistir had promised himself that it would. 

And then he had also learned that Turukáno would be a Hunter. 

I could hunt as well. Maybe alongside him, if he agrees to it.

Though perhaps I should be hunted instead to rectify my mistake. Any other choice would only be further cowardice.

Turukáno could hunt me. I think I would like it if he did. 

But why would he? Especially if Findaráto joins in as well. And he most likely will.

Such was the back and forth between the two warring forces in Carnistir's mind, unfulfilled desire raging against what he believed was his better judgement, yet his perceived lack of courage and bravery was what eventually tipped the scales in favour of the former. He was a son of Fëanáro after all, he couldn't hide in a corner while his brothers participated in the Hunt. 

Even so, choosing the Hunted meant that he would have to ask his father for a necklace or even a collar instead of horns or antlers, and Carnistir dreaded having such a conversation. 

Thus he made his way to Fëanáro's forge reluctantly when Nerdanel told him that it was his turn. He announced himself with a short, sharp knock and entered in tandem with his father's invitation to come in. 

Fëanáro was sitting at his workbench and bent over an elaborate sketch he was working on. A quick look confirmed that it was most likely Tyelkormo's gift, and Carnistir tried not to let his mien sour too much. Of course he's still busy with someone else. 

"Ah, Moryo," his father greeted him and looked up with a smile. "Do you already know what you would like or do you want to take a few more minutes to think?"

"I am ready," Carnistir replied curtly. It hadn't escaped his notice that Fëanáro appeared to be in good spirits, and he was about to ruin it all; but it was too late for second guessing himself. A plan of action had been made, and he would stick to it, come what may. 

"Very well. What are your ideas?" Fëanáro asked and finally reached for an empty sheet of paper to place on top of the sketch, ready to take notes. 

"I want a collar and I don't want gold."

Silence fell between them for a brief moment. 

"So you wish to join the Hunted?" 

"Yes." Carnistir pressed his lips together, ready to defend his choice, but his father took notes without further inquiry.

"Do you know which materials you want instead if gold is not to your liking?" he then asked conversationally. 

Carnistir gave a light shrug. He had thought of everything, every complaint or counterargument that might be brought against him for making what could be considered a strange choice for a Noldorin prince, but not the gift itself. 

"Something practical," he said eventually. 

Fëanáro smiled. "I hope you will allow me to craft a silver one then. I think it would look lovely on you." 

"Fine by me." 

More notes were added. 

"And what kind of details and ornaments do you want? Maybe some jewels or gemstones?"

Another shrug. "Plain." 

"You know you can choose freely, Moryo?" 

"Yes." Picking up on the hint, Carnistir thought about it again. "Lots of people have little charms attached to their collars, like antlers or spear-tips or arrowheads. I think I would like that too."

"Anything in particular?"

"A dagger." Inspiration came spontaneously, but for once Carnistir allowed himself not to overthink it. 

"And what about the gems?" 

"No gems. They sparkle too much." 

Fëanáro grinned at him. "Ah, I see. You don't want to make it too easy for the Hunters to spot you."

"Of course not."

"And you are right. A favour from one of the princes of the Noldor should not be won too easily after all." He wrote down more notes. "Anything else?" 

"No." Carnistir paused for a moment, then added, "I leave the rest to you, Father." 

"I shan't disappoint. If you like, you can have a look at my sketch in a few days — I will take some time to think about it." 

He nodded. "Thank you." 

They fell silent again, but no further words were needed. An unspoken understanding that the conversation had concluded hung between them, and Carnistir turned to leave. 

On his way out, he spotted another sketch at the very edge of the workbench, slightly crumpled as if it had been hastily swept aside in favour of Fëanáro's tools and the other notes and sketches he had made. To his surprise, this one depicted a collar as well, not too dissimilar from what he had asked for and imagined for himself. 

Unable to resist, he stopped and pointed at the sketch. "Someone else is joining the Hunted as well?" 

Fëanáro looked up to meet his inquisitive gaze, and his eyes sparkled with the same sort of mischief Carnistir would normally see in Tyelkormo and the Ambarussar. 

"That one is for me," he said, lips twitching as if he had to suppress a bout of laughter when he saw his son's shocked expression. 

Carnistir left the forge without another word, his cheeks flushing bright red. He needed a moment to process what he had just learned, only to decide that he neither needed nor wanted to know the implications of Fëanáro's words regarding his parents' relationship.

Well, he thought to himself, if I was wrong about Father, maybe I was wrong about Turukáno as well and he may hunt me after all. 

taglist: @blauerregen @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

#feastofhorns #caranthir #carnistir #feanor #fëanor #silmarillion #oneshot #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #cílil writes #my writing #again sorry i'm late

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Caranthir the financial advisor from hell

The guards of Nargothrond glanced from side to side as if to ask each other ‘Is this allowed?’ They’d had three Feanorians staying with them for a while now but they were still unclear on the protocol for dealing with one of them just turning up at the gates. Nonetheless, they parted to let him through with little protest once their commanding officers gave them the go ahead.

He did not respond to their hesitance, to their great relief, none wished to be on the receiving end of that glare of his. He strode forward with a simple nod of acknowledgment to their general, his boots clicking evenly on the marble floor and somehow managing to echo through the corridor despite the background noise of a bustling city. Did all their nobility have some kind of powers when it came to being excessively dramatic? They’d thought their king was overly theatrical but the Feanorians all seemed to be as well, albeit in different ways.

He made his way straight through the corridors to the ongoing council meeting. This was concerning for numerous reasons, not the least of which being that everyone was fairly sure he had never been to Nargothrond before, so how could he possibly know their floor plan, let alone their schedule? Nevertheless, he flung open the doors and stood in the doorway, his glare at his cousin perhaps not as intense as his father’s but enough to terrify most into submission.

‘Moryo!’ Celegorm began to grin, the sight not even remotely reassuring to anyone. The two other sons of Feanor seemed way too at ease, but then who could ever claim to understand what was going on with that lot? Caranthir shot a far harsher yet somehow fond glare towards his brothers, ‘Tyelkormo. Atarinkë,’ he replied with little enthusiasm. ‘It’s been years, would it kill you to write, brother!’ Celegorm teased jovially. ‘I wasn’t aware you could read. Brother.’

A little snort broke the tense silence and the only grandson of Feanor beamed at his uncle through his amusement, ‘It’s good to see you uncle.’ Caranthir shot his nephew a quick smile and softened his tone, ‘A pleasure as always Tyelpe darling.’ He now brought his focus back to Finrod who was apprehensive as if he knew what was coming, the same as the Feanorians who were all giving each other conspiratorial glances. ‘Ingoldo. Findarato. My dear cousin.’

‘I have recently received your yen’s expenses report.’ ‘Holy shit,’ murmured Celegorm under his breath though still very much audibly, the grin on his face growing to troubling levels. ‘You have truly outdone yourself. Really.’ Finrod was turning gradually paler. ‘Why do you have access to documents from Nargothrond’s treasury?’

‘Because all our relatives have been delegating financial matters to me since I was forty. You didn’t think Fingon could actually draft a budget for his army himself did you? And Nelyo can’t barely do long division. They may say that something is for the king’s eyes only but what they really mean is it’s for Fingon to send my brother in between some graphic sketches and love letters and then for Nelyo to send to me once he’s exhausted his energy for calculations.’

‘And I have to wonder if you have a single person in your council capable of basic budgeting skills or if you simply regularly ignore expenditure plans to support your jewellery problem. I’m guessing the latter. So I have taken the liberty of drafting a comprehensive plan for all your financial dealings for the next yen and I expect you to follow it.’ He slammed a heavy tome onto the table, ‘I’m trusting Curufin to make sure you don’t deviate too far.’

‘Caranthir, it’s hardly like you’re living in some austere shack yourself!’ Caranthir shot a cold glare back, ‘Unlike you I manage my money. I am giving you the chance to do the same and I advise you take it.’ He stalked over to his family and accepted a kiss on the forehead from Celegorm before placing one on Curufin and Celebrimbor’s. ‘Three Cs for life!’ Celegorm called after him, still way too pleased to see his cousin get scolded. ‘That’s never going to catch on!’ Came the synchronised yells of Curufin and Caranthir.

#silmarillion #tolkien #caranthir #celegorm #curufin #celebrimbor #finrod #nargothrond #three cs

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Six

Previous part.

Chapter 14: Of Beleriand and its Realms In which we get a geography lesson.

Had enough political geography yet? I’m not going to summarize this whole chapter, because it’s exactly what it says on the tin: it describes the realms of Beleriand. It is impossible to make sense of this chapter without looking at the map. And most of it is information that we already know. For the sake of being complete, and of helping myself keep track of all this information, here’s what’s important:

The northern land where the Noldor live is called Hísilomé (in Quenya) or Hithlum (in Sindarin), both of which mean “Land of Mist.” It’s called that because of all the smoke that comes from Angband blows over it. It’s co-ruled by Fingolfin and his son Fingon.

In the westernmost part of Beleriand, on the coast, is a land called Nevrast. Turgon, Fingolfin’s other son, rules there. It’s completely surrounded by mountains in a kind of triangular shape, which is not how mountains work. Its population consists of an even mix of Noldor and Sindar.

Remember how I said there were two Minas Tiriths? The one we know is the second one, in Gondor, many thousands of years later. The first one is a watchtower built in a small mountain pass on the River Sirion, here in Beleriand. Finrod built it, but he leaves it in the care of his brother Orodreth. (“Minas Tirith” just means “guard tower” in Sindarin, so that’s why there’s two fortresses with that name.)

The River Sirion flows south. West of it is the realm of Nargothrond, ruled by Finrod, and east of it is Doriath, the forest ruled by King Thingol of the Sindar.

The eagles live on a chain of mountains called the Crissaegrim. (Yes, the name of the best sword in Castlevania: Symphony of the Night is a reference to this! )

In the eastern part of Beleriand is the River Gelion, running parallel to the Sirion. It has six rivers that flow into it. That land is called Ossiriand, and the Green Elves live there. Directly north is Thargelion, where Caranthir (another one of Fëanor’s sons) has his castle.

In the northeast is Lothlann, which is the plain that’s most exposed to Morgoth. Maedhros has his castle there.

I feel like this chapter should have come before the last one. It describes a bunch of places which have already been referenced in relation to each other. So, why are they being described now, after they’ve already become relevant to the story? Like, for example, the Thangorodrim. In this chapter, we’re told that the Thangorodrim are mountains made out of the refuse from Morgoth’s excavations while he was building his fortress. That would have been nice to know before Mædhros was nailed to the face of them. Back in the last chapter, the text just sort of assumed that we already know what the Thangorodrim are. I gathered from the context that they’re mountains and that they’re connected to Morgoth. I guess that’s all one really needs to know, right? No story actually needs this detailed a description of the geography… but this book is 300 pages of straight infodumping. So, we get all the geography, and out-of-order.

Okay, now that that’s over, let’s move on to something interesting!

Chapter 15: Of the Noldor in Beleriand In which a legendary city is built, and Thingol hears all the dirt on the Noldor.

Remember Turgon? He’s Fingolfin’s son and Fingon’s brother, and he received a prophetic dream from Ulmo, the Vala of Water. The dream led him to finding a hidden valley in the north of Beleriand. Feeling homesick for Valinor, Turgon decided to build a city on the hill in the center of the valley, which would be like a New Tirion — the original city of the Noldor, replicated in Middle Earth!

Turgon brought many of the most skilled Noldor to the valley to build the city, and then ditched them to live comfortably in Nevrast while they did the work for him. After fifty-two years, the city was complete. Turgon named it Ondolindë, which means “The Rock of the Music of Water” in Quenya. But it’s better known by its Sindarin name, Gondolin.

The Hidden City of Gondolin by Aesthetica

Gondonlin is the Elven City (which is why it’s kind of surprising to learn that it’s a copy of an even greater one). It’s gorgeous and bright white, with beautiful fountains and gardens. The giant tower in the middle is Turgon’s palace, and in it he creates images of the Two Trees of Valinor, wrought out of literal silver and gold; the gold one is called Glingal, and the silver one is called Belthil.

The most wondrous treasure of Gondolin is, of course, Turgon’s beautiful daughter Idril Celebrindal. Like Galadriel, she almost has the light of the Gold Tree, Laurelin, in her hair. So, that makes her one of the prettiest Elves alive.

Ulmo promises to protect Gondolin, and ensure that no one will ever be able to find it against his will. But he straight-up tells Turgon not to get too attached to Gondolin. (Actually, he says “the work of thy hands” — lol, Turgon did nothing to help build it.) Ulmo also tells Turgon that his little safe-haven isn’t going to protect him from the Curse, so, he can expect treachery within Gondolin’s walls at some point. The only hope is going to be someone who comes from the west.

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

A third of the Noldor and even more of the Sindar pass secretly into Gondolin, apparently disappearing overnight. (Nevrast is completely abandoned) Then the gates are shut.

Meanwhile, Galadriel is enjoying her life in the court of Thingol. Remember, she’s one of the only Noldor Elves who’s allowed to be there, past the magic wall. She has long talks with Queen Melian, the Maia, about Valinor. But Galadriel refuses to say anything about how and why the Two Trees died. Melian can tell that something’s wrong, and asks Galadriel what happened. Galadriel says that she wants to put the past behind her, and try to have some hope for the future.

Melian presses her — she knows better than to think, as everyone else does, that the Noldor were sent by the Valar to swoop in and save her people from being assaulted by Orcs. She notes that the Noldor don’t speak of the Valar at all; they just sort of pretend that the Valar don’t exist. From that, she concludes that the Noldor aren’t messengers, they’re exiles. Something went badly wrong.

Galadriel caves, and tells Melian about the Silmarils, about how Morgoth stole them, about the death of Finwë, and about how the Noldor left Valinor willingly despite the Valar not wanting them to leave. She neglects to mention any of the worse stuff, like the Oath that Fëanor’s sons took, or the kinslaying, or the Curse, or the burning of the ships. Melian senses that she’s still holding back information. She doesn’t press Galadriel any more, but she does tell her husband Thingol about the Silmarils.

Only Melian is really able to put two and two together, and realize just what a big-ass deal the Silmarils really are. They contain the last remaining Light of Valinor, and if Morgoth has them, then any attempt at recovering them is almost inherently pointless. It’s going to take far more power than Elves have to take the fight to him. Fëanor tried that, and now he’s dead, even though he was one of the greatest Elves. If anyone else tries to take on Morgoth, they could risk destroying the world in the process. For better or worse, the fate of Arda is tied up with that of the Silmarils.

Thingol is distraught to hear that Finwë is dead, and figures he was right not to trust the Noldor. The only silver lining is that at least the Noldor will make good allies against Morgoth, because peace with him doesn’t seem to be an option. Melian tells him to be wary of Fëanor’s sons. She could read between the lines and figure out what Galadriel wasn’t telling her. Fëanor’s sons are all guilty of crimes against the Valar, their own families, and even themselves. There’s a lot of unresolved tension between them that’s only dormant for the time being, and it can only get worse from here. Thingol dismisses her concerns. All he cares about is that Fëanor’s sons will give him his best shot at taking down Morgoth. Whatever drama is between them is their business.

By Wavesheep

Melian and Thingol decide not to speak of this again, but rumor spreads amongst the Sindar about what the Noldor did to get kicked out of Valinor. Many of these rumors are spread by Morgoth. Spreading rumors was how he set the Noldor on their dark path in the first place, and the Sindar were too naïve to know not to believe rumors. Círdan, however, catches wise. He perceives that the rumors are being spread maliciously, but doesn’t think to blame Morgoth. He assumes that the Noldorin princes are spreading rumors to slander each other. He sends messengers to Thingol to tell him about the rumors.

By pure bad luck, Finrod and his brothers happen to be there in Thingol’s court, visiting their sister Galadriel. So, Thingol hears all the rumors while they’re there. He explodes at Finrod for having lied by omission. Finrod protests that he’s never done anything to Thingol, nor have any of the other Noldor. Thingol cooly responds that all the Noldor have blood on their hands for kinslaying, but they don’t try to defend themselves or seek pardon. Finrod has nothing to say to that.

But Angrod, his brother, speaks up. Angrod blames Fëanor for the whole thing. The other Noldor are really the victims in this situation, he claims, because they were intoxicated by Fëanor’s words, and then Fëanor abandoned them to freeze to death. The reason why Thingol hasn’t heard any of this before is because it’s an act of treason against the Noldor to talk about it. Surely, Thingol can understand that?

Melian is less than impressed. She points out that, according to Angrod’s own account, Mandos doomed all the Noldor. That means that he and his siblings are just as damned as the rest of them. They're all affected by the Curse.

Thingol is silent for a moment. Then he tells Angrod and co. to get out of his house. He’s not going to shut them out forever, because they’re family. He’s also going to maintain his friendship with Fingolfin’s people, because he needs them to take down Morgoth. But, he refuses to hear their language be spoken in his presence, and he commands that none of the Sindar use it, either. Anyone who speaks Quenya will be branded a kinslayer.

So, now you know why Sindarin is the dominant Elven language in Middle-earth.

That sort of puts a damper on Quenya; it seems like such a magical and elevated language, but now it’s associated with the Noldor’s crimes. I suppose that makes sense, if the Noldor are the ones who primarily speak it. But it also seems a bit draconian for Thingol to consider someone guilty of a serious crime just for speaking Quenya.

Quenya therefore ceases to be a spoken language, and becomes mainly used for writing lore or singing old songs. It’s the Elvish version of Latin.

After that, things become a little awkward for Galadriel in Thingol’s court, so she leaves it and comes to live with her brother Finrod in Nargothrond. She asks him why he hasn’t taken a wife yet. Finrod gets a flash of premonition, and tells her that nothing of his realm will remain to be inherited by a son. But the real truth is that he left his true love, Amarië, in Valinor.

Finrod by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Chapter 16: Of Maeglin In which we meet an edgy bad-boy Elf.

Did you remember that Fingolfin had a daughter? It’s okay, I didn’t either. Her name is Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, and she’s known as the White Lady. She lives with Turgon, her brother, in Nevrast. She follows him to Gondolin, but she doesn’t really like it there. She prefers to wander freely in forests or ride horses in the fields, and she can’t do that if she’s effectively imprisoned by mountains and high walls on all sides.

Two hundred years pass (which I’m guessing is like twenty in elf years), and she finally asks Turgon if she can leave. Turgon doesn’t want her to leave. If anyone leaves Gondolin, then that risks revealing its existence to everyone else in the world, and that would be bad. Eventually he gives in, but tells her that she’s only allowed to meet with Fingon, their brother. Aredhel takes offense at this. She’s Turgon’s sister, not his lackey, and he has no right to tell her where to go or what to do. She leaves, and Turgon tells three of his lords to go with her to protect her, with the condition that they come straight back.

Aredhel immediately decides not to go see Fingon. She wants to find the sons of Fëanor (Maedhros, Caranthir, and co.), because they’re her friends. She tries to cut through the forest of Doriath, but the Sindar turn her away, because Thingol hates the Noldor now. She has to go around the long way. That way is dangerous, and polluted with poisonous water and evil creatures left behind by Morgoth and Ungoliant. Aredhel gets lost, and her escorts barely escape with their lives. They make it back to Gondolin, but have to give the terrible news to Turgon that they lost their charge along the way.

Turgon is grief-stricken and very, very frustrated. Aredhel survives, though, and ends up in Himlad, the land of Fëanor’s sons Celegorm and Curufin. They’re away, traveling further east with their brother Caranthir, but Aredhel is welcomed by Celegorm’s people.

Aredhel enjoys herself for a while, wandering in the forests like she used to, but a year passes and Celegorm still hasn’t come back. She starts wandering further and further, until she ends up in a small forest on the eastern edge of Doriath.

Aredhel lost in the dark forest by @gemennair

This forest is the darkest of all the forests in Beleriand, and it’s inhabited by an elf called Eöl, known as the Dark Elf. Eöl isn’t actually a Dark Elf (Moriquendi); he’s one of the Sindar, but he left Doriath when the magic wall went up. Now he’s basically nocturnal. He blames the Noldor for the return of Morgoth. He mostly doesn’t interact with other Elves, but he does like Dwarves, and gives them information about the Elves when they ask. The Dwarves taught him metalwork in exchange, and he designed a special kind of armor that’s thin and light and yet repels all weapons. It’s jet black, and he wears it all the time.

Skulking in the shadows, Eöl sees Aredhel enter his forest, and he lusts after her. He enchants the forest so that she can’t find her way out, and the forest always turns her towards the center. (Kind of like the Old Forest does to the Hobbits while they’re trying to pass through it in Fellowship.) When she finally arrives at Eöl’s house, tired from wandering, he welcomes her in. And that was the last her family heard of her for a long time.

Aredhel and Eöl by Elena Kukanova

It’s unknown exactly how Aredhel responded to Eöl’s intent to marry her. Maybe she fell in love with this edgy bad-boy elf in his spooky forest. But she landed in kind of the same situation that she was in back in Gondolin. Eöl lets her wander, at least, but only at night. He also forbids her from seeking out the other Noldor, and the sons of Fëanor in particular, which is what she wanted to do in the first place. Honestly, their relationship reminds me superficially of Hades and Persephone.

Eöl and Aredhel have a son. Secretly, Aredhel gives him a name in her forbidden native tongue of Quenya — Lómion, which means “Child of the Twilight.” Eöl doesn’t give him a name until he turns twelve, and that name is Maeglin, which means “sharp glance.” Maeglin grows up to resemble the Noldor, but he is more like his father in temperament.

Maeglin by @elfinfen

His father takes him to meet the Dwarves, who teach him mining, smithing, and metalwork. But Maeglin has a special relationship with his mother, and enjoys hearing her tales of Valinor and the House of Fingolfin. He especially likes hearing about Turgon and Gondolin.

In telling all these stories, Aredhel realizes just how much she misses Gondonlin. She wonders how she could have left in the first place. After such a long time in the dark shadows of the forest, the bright walls and fountains of Gondonlin seem lovely. But she refuses to tell Maeglin where Gondolin is, because that is such an important secret.

Eöl is also mad that Maeglin wants to meet his Noldor relatives. He’s an old enough Sinda to still identify himself as a member of the Teleri, and therefore, he thinks of his distant relatives in Valinor as his own people. He forbids Maeglin from seeking out the Noldor for the same reason that King Thingol banned Quenya — he takes the Noldor’s crime of kinslaying personally. (He probably should have thought of that before deciding to marry Aredhel, but whatever.) Maeglin, like any edgy teenager, does not take this well. He stops going to visit the Dwarves with his father, and Eöl starts to distrust his own son.

One summer, when Eöl is gone on one of his visits to the Dwarves, Maeglin suggests to his mother that they go to Gondolin. What’s the point of sticking around? She wants to see her people again, and Maeglin has learned all he can from Eöl. There’s no sense in remaining trapped in a dark forest with nothing else to do. So, they up and leave.

When Eöl gets back, he is furious to find them gone. Despite his hatred of the sun, he chases after them, but he’s waylaid by Curufin, one of Fëanor’s sons. Curufin asks what he’s doing there. Eöl lies, saying that his wife and son were on a casual visit to their relatives, and that it only makes sense that he should be with them. Curufin sees right through him, and tells him that they’re already gone. He gives Eöl permission to pass through, but tells him that the sooner he leaves, the better.

Eöl by @bohemianweasel

Eöl snipes that this isn’t the proper way to treat a kinsman. Curufin replies that it’s pretty rich for Eöl to ride upon his wife’s title when he’s been keeping her imprisoned in a forest for decades. If he wants the honor due to a kinsman, he should have acted like one. Curufin also gives Eöl a warning: He should return to his forest now. If he pursues his family, he’ll never come back.

If Eöl hated the Noldor before, now he really hates the Noldor.

As you probably guessed, he decides to chase after his family, and he eventually catches up with them just as they’re about to enter Gondolin. Gondolin, the secret city that no one is supposed to know the entrance to.

You can imagine how Turgon must have reacted when he sees his sister come back with a son in tow. She went out for a simple family visit, and returned with an adult child that she had with some creepy dude in a dark forest. But he’s happier to have her back and see her safe. Turgon also takes a liking to Maeglin, and thinks that he’s worthy to be one of the Princes of the Noldor. Maeglin swears fealty to Turgon.

Gondolin surpasses Maeglin’s wildest dreams. After having spent nearly his whole life in a dark forest, Gondolin is a whirl of light and color and interesting people. But more than anything else, he’s attracted to the king’s daughter, Idril… his first cousin.

Meanwhile, Eöl finds his way in. You know, the one thing Turgon didn’t want to have happen. Because he claims to be Aredhel’s husband, the guards restrain him (with difficulty) and bring him to Turgon. Aredhel is aghast that her abusive husband followed her all the way to her secret safe haven, but she tells the guards not to kill him. After all, he is telling the truth, and he’s still Maeglin’s father.

Eöl stands “proud and sullen” before Turgon, but despite his bad attitude, Turgon treats him honorably. Unlike Curufin, he accepts Eöl as a kinsman, and tells him that he’s welcome to stay in the city so long as he doesn’t leave it. Eöl goes on a rant about how this is the Tereri’s land, and (paraphrased) “you colonizing kinslayers don’t have any right to tell me where I can and can’t go, and how dare you keep my son from me!” He commands Maeglin to come with him, but Maeglin huffs and says nothing.

Turgon retorts that the only reason why Eöl’s woods are safe is because the Noldor protect the land from Orcs, so, he owes them. If it weren’t for the Noldor, he’d be Morgoth’s slave in Angband. And besides, you can’t argue with a king in his own castle. Either Eöl will live in Gondolin, or he’ll die there, and Maeglin will get the same choice.

Turgon by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Eöl just stands silently for several minutes. You could cut the tension with a knife. Then, in a sudden motion, he takes a javelin that he had concealed in his cloak and throws it straight at Maeglin. If he’s gonna die there, he’s taking Maeglin with him. Aredhel jumps in front of her son, and the javelin hits her in the shoulder.

Eöl is instantly beset by guards, who bind him and lead him away. Maeglin is just silent through all this, not knowing how to react. Aredhel and Idril both try to convince Turgon to be merciful during Eöl’s trial, but that night, Aredhel dies. The tip of the javelin was poisoned. Therefore, Turgon shows Eöl no mercy. He sentences him to die by being thrown from the top of the tower. As he falls, he curses Maeglin to have all his efforts fail and to suffer the same fate.

Caragdur - the same fate by SaMo-art

Most of the people of Gondolin believe justice has been served, but Idril is troubled. From that day onward, she distrusts Maeglin.

For the time being, Maeglin’s life is good. He rises through the ranks of Turgon’s court, and Turgon favors him. He finds many valuable metals in the mountains around Gondolin, and forges powerful steel weapons for the people of Gondolin. Maeglin is also wise, tough, and valiant in battle, making him a true asset to Gondolin. All is well… for now.

The only problem is that he’s still in love with Idril, who’s his first cousin. The Noldor don’t marry their cousins, and until now, none of them have wanted to. Idril also doesn’t love him; she can’t help but associate him with his insane father, and she thinks there’s a darkness in him. Somehow, he’s affected by the Curse. Slowly, Maeglin’s love for Idril festers into resentment. I’m sure that won’t cause any problems down the line.

Chapter 17: Of the Coming of Men into the West In which the Men finally arrive in Beleriand.

It’s been three hundred years since the Noldor first arrived in Beleriand. One day, Finrod Felagund is out exploring the countryside, and he sees cheery campfires and hears the sound of singing. That’s weird, he thinks, the Green Elves who live here don’t light campfires or sing at night. He worries that they might be Orcs, and sneaks closer, but he doesn’t recognize their language. They’re humans, the first Men to enter Beleriand. These Men are the people of Bëor the Old, and they’re singing because they believe that they’ve finally found a paradisal land without fear of Morgoth. Finrod finds them endearing.

When they go to sleep, Finrod sneaks further into their camp, picks up a crudely-carven harp, and begins to play. The Men wake up and are spellbound by the beauty of the faerie king’s music. Finrod sings about the creation of the world, and about Valinor. Although the Men don’t understand his language, images of what he’s singing appear in their minds, and so they learn about how the world was created.

By _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

By Elena Kukanova

By pan_brooke

By @pansen1802

(I couldn’t pick just one image for this scene. There are so many good ones!)

After all the Elf Drama that we’ve had to sit through, it’s easy to forget what the Elves really are. They’re the Fair Folk. This scene really speaks to their folkloric roots.

At first, the Men think that Finrod is a Vala, which they’ve heard of. Finrod decides to stay with the Men for some time, in order to teach them things. They call him Nómin, which in their language means “the Wise.” Finrod can understand the Men’s speech realtively easily, because he can read their minds, and because they learned how to speak from the Dark Elves (the Avari) in the east. (This is important because it means that all of the Children of Ilúvatar’s languages descend from the original language of the Elves. It’s the Proto-Indo-European of Middle-earth.)

Finrod asks Bëor why the Men are there. Bëor doesn’t really know, because Men have short lives, and it’s taken many generations for them to get this far. Whatever it was they were fleeing in the first place, it was bad, and they’ve heard enough about Valinor to know that there’s Light in the west. Morgoth did something to corrupt them, as he always does. In fact, as soon as Men arrived in Middle-earth, Morgoth considered this such a big deal that he abandoned the war in Beleriand, putting Sauron in charge of it. Morgoth immediately went to go mess with the Men. Therefore, there’s some human equivalent of the Noldor’s Original Sin of kinslaying. But what it is, no one knows. Bëor tells Finrod that there are more Men heading westwards.

Some of the Green Elves send messengers to Finrod to ask about the Men. They’re not happy that these refugees of an unknown race are moving onto their land. They consider Men their enemies, because the Men cut down trees and kill animals. They tell Finrod to tell the Men to either go back the way they came, or move forward.

Finrod advises the Men to keep moving. They head further West, so that they’re just east of Doriath and just south of Eöl’s dark forest. This is the land that Amrod and Amras, the twin sons of Fëanor, rule over. This land is now called Estolad, “Encampment.” By that point, a year has passed since Finrod first found the Men, and he decides to return home to his own palace, Nargothrond. Bëor begs to come with him and serve him, so he does, leaving his son in charge of the Men.

Soon after, more groups of Men make their way into Beleriand. They settle in whatever little niches they can find amongst the lands that the Elves had divided up amongst themselves. The Elves are extremely interested in the Men, whom they call Edain, “the Second People.” Both Noldor and Sindar alike go to see them. They send messengers to welcome the Men, and some of the Men go to serve in the courts of the Elven kings. Overtime, more and more of them go to serve the Elves.

Thingol, however, is unhappy about the coming of Men. He already was not pleased about the arrival of the Noldor in his lands, even before he found out that they were kinslayers and banned their language. Now, a whole separate group of refugees is invading his kingdom from the other direction, dividing it into even smaller portions. What’s worse, he keeps having troubling dreams about them. The only person he’s willing to talk to about this is Finrod. Thingol decrees that the Men are only allowed to live in the north of Beleriand, and that the Elf lords that they serve are responsible for them. None of the Men are allowed to come into Doriath.

Melian knows that the arrival of Men means that big changes are coming. She whispers to Galadriel that one of the Men will eventually break through her magic wall, because the power of that Man’s destiny will overcome her own. People will sing about that event until the distant future, when Middle-earth is unrecognizable.

Many of the Men are still interested in getting to Valinor, so they can live with the Gods. They’re frustrated and disappointed to know that Valinor is even further west, across the sea. The only God that’s there with them is Morgoth, the Lord of the Dark. (This echoes the Christian idea that God is removed from the world, while Satan is here on earth with us and troubles us while we’re alive.) The Men basically have two options: to try to get across the sea to Valinor, or to try to help the Elves defeat Morgoth.

One Man, Amlach, makes the bold suggestion that there is no Valinor, and that the Elves have been lying to them. The Men have no proof that the Gods exist, and they don’t even have any proof that Morgoth exists beyond the vague evil that their great-grandfathers fled. Maybe it’s the Elves and not Morgoth who want to take over the world! Sound familiar? These are basically all the same conspiracy theories that drove the Noldor out of Valinor.

It’s darkly telling that the source of evil in The Silmarillion is conspiracy theories, lies, misunderstandings, and miscommunications. Morgoth didn’t force the Noldor to kill their relatives — they did that on their own. Now, he’s trying the same tactic all over again with the Men. All he needs to do is sew distrust amongst the people, so that they’ll attack each other instead of him, and destroy everything in the process. This speaks to Tolkien’s general theme about the power of language, but it also seems particularly poignant right now.

Morgoth’s not done yet, though. Despite his best efforts to sew distrust, the friendship between Elves and Men still holds. He decides to try a more direct approach, and sends Orcs to attack a group of Men. The Men are a lot weaker against the Orcs than the Elves are, and they barely survive the siege. Caranthir arrives with the cavalry at the last minute to drive back the Orcs. Caranthir offers the Men protection in his lands in the north. Their leader, Haleth, refuses; she doesn’t want to live under someone else’s rule. She tells Caranthir that she’d rather go further west. She gathers what’s left of her people, and brings them to Estolad.

Haleth leads her people further and further west. They travel through the land north of Doriath, the same poisonous land where Aredhel originally got lost. Many of her people die, and the survivors regret making the journey, but it’s too late to go back now. She tries to restore their way of life best she can.

Haleth by @yidanyuan

Now, Haleth and her people are living in a forest called Brethil, northwest of Doriath. This is too close for Thingol’s comfort. Finrod vouches for Haleth and her people, and tells Thingol about the hell that they went through. Thingol reluctantly permits them to live in the forest, so long as they remain outside the magic wall and help defend the forest from Orcs. He worries that the Men and Orcs could become allies and try to attack Doriath. Haleth is disturbed that Thingol would let that thought cross his mind; why would she ally herself with Orcs, after Orcs laid siege to her village and killed her father and brother? If Thingol wants her to kill Orcs, he doesn’t need to tell her twice. She remains in Brethil until she dies, at which point her people build a great barrow for her.

Overtime, the Men learn Sindarin. They remain enthralled by the Elves, and want to learn as much of their lore as possible. But the Elves recognize that Men need to have kingdoms and leaders of their own. The different ethnic groups of Men are therefore given their own lands by the Elven Kings. In addition to Haleth and her people, there are two other important kings of Men:

One of the kings of Men is Hador Lórindol (“Goldenhead”), a member of Fingolfin’s court, whom Fingolfin is fond of. Hador’s people speak both Sindarin and their own language, which eventually evolves into the language of Númenor (which in turn evolves into Westron, the in-universe language that The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are written in, rendered as Modern English by our good Professor Tolkien). One of Hador’s sons is named Galdor. Galdor has two sons, Hurin and Huor. They each have a son — Húrin’s son is Túrin, and Huor’s son is Tuor. Tuor has a son, Earendil, whose name should ring a bell. Húrin, Huor, Túrin, and Tuor are all going to be important characters going forward in The Silmarillion. Earendil is the father of Elrond and his brother Elros, and much further down the line, Aragorn will be born from his lineage.

The other important king of Men is Boromir — no, not that one, this one is the son of Bëor the Old. One of his great-great-grandchildren is Morwen, the mother of Túrin, and another one of his great-great-grandchildren is Rían, the mother of Tuor. A third great-great-grandchild is Beren, who’s also a significant character going forward, and his daughter becomes the wife of Earendil, therefore the many-times-great-grandmother of Aragorn.

TL;DR: These two important kings’ grandchildren will marry each other, and their descendants will be the Kings of Numenor, whose line will eventually end with Aragorn. This is where it starts. Also, most of these great-grandchildren are about to become relevant here in the Silm.

Bëor is the first of the Men to die of old age, rather than being killed in battle. The Men are struck by their own mortality. They’re not just vulnerable to being killed — unlike the Elves, they actually have an expiration date. The scope of Men’s lives is barely a hundred years. In the First Age, the Men are practically mayflies. They also have no idea where they go when they die.

Still, the Men that settled in Beleriand are vastly superior to the Men that remained in the East, because they had the opportunity to learn skills, lore, and craftsmanship from the Elves. Also, the men are elevated somewhat just from having seen the Elves’ beautiful faces, because the Elves saw Valinor. Even secondhand, the light of Valinor is just that powerful.

#the silmarillion #the silm #the silm fandom #the silm art #silmarillion #summary #j r r tolkien #the lord of the rings #lotr #finrod #finrod felagund #eol #maeglin #haleth #curufin #celegorm #turgon #aredhel #tolkien #middle earth #elves #tolkien elves #silm elves #beleriand

[doodle-pops]

Sons of Feanor | Having A S/O Who Can Foresee

Headcanons: Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir and Celegorm

Request: The gates of heaven is open guys let's goooo! Can I ask for a headcanon with Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir and Celegorm with a s/o that can often guess random things that's gonna happen? Like they're going about their day and reader just goes like "I have a feeling that 'insert random thing' is gonna happen today" and later on that thing happens; I often can predict things to the extent some of my close friends called me a seer, bc I can guess random stuff that I couldn't possibly know but yeah (secretly I'm just Sauron in disguise, I see everything but they dont need to know) Thank you Mina ♡♡ -👻 anon

Warnings: characters death

A/N: Another chance for me to write more pain and suffering. It just felt necessary to be extra :) This started off so light and then grew dark smh.

Maedhros

⊰ It was always a natural habit that both you and Maedhros had developed as you were courting, all the way into marriage – telling each other “Be safe!”

⊰ But for some reason today was different, you just knew from the reoccurring dreams with him for more than a week, something wasn’t right.

⊰ Telling him to “Be careful on the road today and try not to take any shortcuts, please” would make your husband stop in his tracks. A questioning frown marring his face, because ‘where did the extra come from?”

⊰ It wouldn’t be until he met the accident on the road and decided to take a shortcut because he was impatient and didn’t feel like waiting for assistance. Riding through the forest, he would be ambushed by a bunch of orcs in hiding.

⊰ Escaping with just a few injuries and a large cut to his forearm, he wouldn’t hesitate to retreat and return home to you.

⊰ Seeing him injured, the first thing you asked was “You took the shortcut, didn’t you?” the look of foreign shock Maedhros would give caused you to reveal how you just knew.

⊰ “Growing up, at times whenever I was dreaming, I’d sometimes get these sightings of events from the future happening, but they’d always be in parables. I learned how to read them eventually – rarely they come straightforward, but only when it chose to.”

⊰ Maedhros would give you a big apology for not heeding your warnings earlier because you were literally trying to save his life without him being aware.

⊰ From then on, whenever you dreamt something and informed him, he’d always take your visions into account even if it wasn’t meant for him.

⊰ In the end, he’s amazed at your foresight since he wasn’t aware of mortals being gifted with what he considered an ‘elven gift’.

Maglor

⊰ For weeks your dream about Maglor’s been plaguing your mind and you were constantly on the edge believing that at any moment now, something would happen to him since the dream didn’t show when.

⊰ But tonight was his big performance for the newest pieces he’d been working on for months and your nerves were kicking brass the entire day. You knew it was today.

⊰ Watching as he dressed in his finest wear, you leaned against the doorframe and spoke shakily, “Will be careful tonight?” which got his attention because it didn’t sound normal.

⊰ He’d be out of his seat and towering above you with worry and concern written across his face. “Melda, what is it? What has you so fearful, please tell me?”

⊰ The thought of him being hurt would cause you to break down and reveal your dream. “I had a reoccurring dream about you being killed and it felt so real that I believe it might really happen…tonight. I don’t want to lose you Makalaure. Please tell me that you’d be extra safe?”

⊰ Maglor would be lost for words and seeing you in this state would push him into staying home with you last minute. He hated how distressed you appeared for his life.

⊰ During his attempt at calming you, he’d sneak in the question about what made you believe your dream, not in a demeaning way, but concerned.

⊰ Here he would learn about your gift, “Sometimes when I dream things, they tend to happen but not in the exact manner all the time. I have to read them and their meanings to know what it’s trying to tell me – not all my dreams mean something, some are just nonsense.”

⊰ The next day, Maglor would learn from his brothers that one of the performers was mistaken for him and was attacked, that would make you ability kick Maglor in the head and cause him to be grateful for your prophetic visions.

⊰ Maglor would very much understand your emotions and for this reason, he wouldn’t hesitate to believe anything you revealed a vision to him. Like his brother, he too would be baffled by your ability as a mortal to foresee as an elf does.

Celegorm

⊰ You were a mortal who escaped the prisons of Angband during Dagor Bragollach. As they raided your village, they were also capturing people to build their army of orcs. Successful you were with escaping and running into the arms of the Feanorian, Celegorm.

⊰ At first, he wasn’t too keen on helping you at all, but then he learned of where you came from and believed that through you, he could learn an entrance into Angband to strike.

⊰ Overtime, you didn’t reveal to him that one of your reasons for being kept was due to your gift – foresight. The dark lord used and forced you to predict the outcome of his future in the war.

⊰ One day while you were in your room, the moment Celegorm burst through the doors was the same moment you saw your first vision since your captivity. It was him and his brother and another one, purchasing tickets to board a boat. They had given the tickets to the ferryman and were already boarding the ship.

⊰ You knew what that vision meant, there was no other way to read the vision. He and his brothers had booked their one-way ticket to death – there was no coming back.

⊰ It pained you to see this because in the weeks that went by, he treated you kind and in some ways, you grew attached to him. He would bring his dog around to cheer you up and sometimes if in a good mood, would teach you the basics of the forest and hunting.

⊰ Celegorm seeing your state of shock and hearing the gasp would rush over inspecting the room for any intruders as he approached you. When he kneeled before you, he saw the tears and demanded to know the reason behind them.

⊰ I can see Celegorm scoffing since he believed himself to be invincible and death would never touch him as well as elves only being the ones gifted with foresight. It would pain you to know that he didn’t believe you and only to learn on his own time.

⊰ It wasn’t until he watched as his brothers died one by one during the Sacking of Doriath, he would remember your vision and how you warned him so he could avoid his death, but Celegorm wasn’t going to leave his brothers alone – he would welcome death with open arms.

Caranthir

⊰ All your years, you’ve been always giving Caranthir advice based on your foresight without him having the slightest clue but would propose your ideas from a very academic standpoint to get him to agree.

⊰ From simpler ones like, ‘Be careful out there’ or ‘I don’t think you should sign the contract with those elves’, he would listen to you, but he never knew the full extent of your gift.

⊰ It wouldn’t be until the Sacking of Doriath was rolling around and his brothers were riling Maedhros up in the request of retrieving the silmarils. You would have thought that the King would have returned it, but instead, he refused.

⊰ For weeks they were plotting and devising the best way in and around them, just a week before, you would be hit with the most straightforward dream. He was walking alongside his father and younger brother, Amrod, into a burial ground. You were attempting to call him, but he ignored your calls and continued walking.

⊰ Drenched in sweat, you would fly out of your bed and rush to inform him about not going along because he’d die. Caranthir would question you on if you had gone crazy, only for you to reveal that you had seen him dead should he embark on the attack.

⊰ But just like you dream, Caranthir would ignore your warnings because the oath was calling, he had no choice but to answer. You would beg and plead with him for days all the way until he was departing in hopes of not losing him.

⊰ When he suffered the first strike that brought him down and left to bleed out, all your warnings would emanate in his head. He wouldn’t help but curse at how stupid he was for not believing and listening to you.

⊰ You on his mind would be the last thing he dies with – how sorry he was for causing you pain. You, after all, had to witness his death twice.

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[imakemywings]

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Maedhros, Lalwen, Fingon, Nerdanel

Summary: Maedhros considers the role of sex and romance in his life and receives support from unexpected quarters.

AN: Something for @aspecardaweek! More notes on AO3.

WC: 5,281

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

_______________________________________________________

Maedhros did not yet have Grandfather’s skill for keeping his face neutral. He did have his own parents’ penchant for strong emotions and so the sense of annoyance which permeated his clipped pace down the palace hall was plainly apparent. Even the swish of his robes seemed to speak to an immediate, if mild, irritation.

The heat of Valinor’s soft summer was creeping up over Tirion, which meant most of the palace was out-of-doors, except for Caranthir who was likely tucked away somewhere with a book or a preserved insect, and Maglor, who was either “composing” or languishing artfully on a pile of pillows (these were not always distinct and separate acts), and so perhaps Maedhros was less careful than he might’ve been with the usual palace audience around to provide a bevy of useless commentary. He slid open one of the side doors and slipped out onto the rail-less porch, throwing himself down on the edge with an air of petty temper.

The fresh air almost immediately took the edge off. In the lush palace gardens he could hear the call of birds and the rustle of the fresh green leaves, still tender with new growth. The lychee trees were starting to sway with the weight of fruit and the smell of the flowering plants perfumed the air. Maedhros leaned back against one of the posts supporting the eaves. Curufin and the twins were out with Atar for the day, which meant there was no childish yelling this side of the palace, though if Maedhros listened carefully, he could hear some of his youngest cousins elsewhere on the property.

“You look rather troubled, little one.” The low, smoky voice took him by surprise, partly because he was not often in conversation with his aunt, who bled out of the bushes with a idly curious look. “Who’s put this look on your face?”

“My brother,” Maedhros groused after a pause.

“That still leaves quite a few options,” said Princess Lalwen with a slanting smile, perching on the edge of the porch with one leg tucked beneath her. Her nut-brown skin was already taking on the darker hue of summertime and judging by her dress and the dearth of gems in her hair, he guessed she’d been on an early morning hiking or hunting trip.

“’tis nothing,” Maedhros demurred. No need to go airing family laundry, even if it was the relatively harmless kind. Besides, Aunt Lalwen always looked like she was searching for a secret—to what end, Maedhros couldn’t say.

“If it were nothing, you would not be troubled,” Lalwen said. Maedhros, ever the pragmatist, visibly weighed the pros and cons of sharing—and how much—with Lalwen. Truthfully, he didn’t know her well enough to make much of an estimate. She was often in Tirion, unlike Aunt Findis, but also often in the company of Uncle Fingolfin, which meant not in the company of Atar and Ammë (or their children).

“Kanafinwë is…immature, I think, at times,” said Maedhros at last. “It causes a great deal of trouble for him and for many around him.”

“Little brothers will be that way,” Lalwen said sagely, nodding. Maedhros must have looked skeptical, for then she said: “You doubt it? Arafinwë was a terrible tattle when he was little. Nothing could you tell him if you did not wish to get back to Ammë within the hour. Thank Ilúvatar he grew out of that!” A faint smile crossed her face. “And if you were inclined to ask, it is possible that Arakáno and Findis might have their own stories of me to share.” Maedhros assumed Atar went without saying.

“Kanafinwë is old enough to know better,” said Maedhros with a frown. The antics of a child were one thing—Maglor was a grown adult, if a young one. Lalwen canted her head to the side and her eyes flitted off into the vegetation. She had Fingolfin’s eyes, the same brown that turned gold with just a bit of light, framed in lashes brown where Fingolfin’s were black.

“A little brother is always a little brother with his older sibling,” she said. “At least a little bit.”

“He makes a mess of his own life and then comes to me wailing about his misfortune!” said Maedhros, remembering his annoyance anew. “He never listens to me! Why tell me these things if he refuses to take my advice?”

“What has he done now?” Lalwen asked, and still on the tide of his temper, Maedhros said:

“He does the most foolish things wherever a comely Elf is concerned and he seems to seek the chance to make a mess of things! He can never settle on one thing to want, and as soon as his desire is within his gasp, he loses all interest in it!” A more tempered Maedhros would not have shared, but he was doubly irked because Maglor had recently borrowed several of his favorite hair pins without asking, and had left one of them behind with his tryst, whom he insisted he could not speak to again to get it back. “Already he has a courting companion, yet he has been seeking the company of another!” Now he felt he had to explain the rest.

“For ages did I listen to his laments about trying to win the heart of Culuina, and at last they were courting, and finally they had stopped fighting, and now he tells me he has been seeking the attentions of someone from the actor’s guild! He tells me how this Elf has no interest in him and looks right through him as if he were not even there, and he tells it with a shine in his eyes more than when he ever talks about Culuina anymore! I told him to be happy with Culuina after he spent so long in pursuit of her, but did he listen? Of course not! And rather than end their courtship as might have been honorable, now he chases down some other, like a greedy hunter!”

After this little tirade, Maedhros fell silent, flinty gray eyes narrowed, remembering all over again why he was so cross.

“How can he complain so when he’s done this all to himself? Culuina was happy with him at last, but now he’s ruined it! I don’t understand him at all.”

Lalwen shrugged.

“You know how Kanafinwë is with a pretty face. Arakáno says he’s been that way since he was young,” she said. “How old was he when he told his music teacher he would marry him?” Lalwen smiled indulgently, but Maedhros was not willing to fondly reminisce now (for the record, Maglor had been eight).

“There’s no sense in it!” Maedhros fumed insistently. “He had what he desired! And for what does he tell me these things if he never heeds my advice?”

“Perhaps he seeks only a listening ear,” Lalwen suggested.

“Nay, for he asks my opinion!” Maedhros objected. “But then he pays it no mind!”

“What advice gave you to him?” Lalwen asked.

“That he should be content with what he has!” Maedhros’ jaw clenched. “He sought so ardently after Culuina, how can he set her aside so easily? And for one who cares not for him in the slightest? So what if he has a pretty face? Culuina does as well!”

“You seem rather indignant on her behalf,” Lalwen said with seeming amusement.

“Hardly,” said Maedhros. “I have exchanged not entirely ten words with her. But Kanafinwë is a prince of the Noldor and should behave better.” Lalwen tipped her head from side to side.

“There’s not much sense in it, is there?” she said.

“None!” Maedhros said. “He loses his head entirely about romance; it’s as though he lapses into madness! How is it that so many Elves lack any kind of sense or restraint about these things?”

Lalwen was looking at him then in a way that made Maedhros remember he did not usually speak of family matters to others (even other family). There was something appraising in her look that made him decide he had said too much already and he regretted it at once. Maglor made enough of a fool of the house without him elaborating for others.

“Forgive me though, for taking so much of your time, Aunt,” he said, lowering his head and then rising to his feet, his voice at once level and impassive again. “I should not have troubled you with such trivial matters.”

“No trouble, Nelyafinwë,” she said. “I believed I came from a big family until I saw your parents’ penchant for children.” She chuckled a little. “I cannot imagine having had six brothers! Three was quite enough for me.”

“Most often they trouble me not.” Maedhros murmured out the lie. “I should have less of a temper with him.” Another lie—he believed he had every right to be just as irritated with Maglor as he was. But he should not have shared it outside the house; it did nothing to improve their image.

“What one struggles to understand may often prove an annoyance,” Lalwen posited after a moment. Maedhros gave her a critical look, then bowed his exit and went back inside. Conversations with Lalwen had a way of making him feel he had missed something, and it was not a feeling for which he cared in the slightest.

***

 “Maitimo.”

Maedhros refocused his eyes on Ammë, dredging himself up out of his thoughts.

“I did not move,” he said.

“You are making a face,” said Ammë. “Why this air of sullenness?” Falling out of his pose, Maedhros rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes.

“’tis nothing,” he said. “I’m only tired.”

“Well, if you keep making that face, the sculpture will wear it too,” said Ammë, tapping her pencil pointedly against her sketchpad. “Oh. Sometime has it been since I saw that look.”

“No ‘look’ do I wear,” Maedhros insisted, resentful of the whining note that crept into his voice. Only Ammë could bring it out.

“There is a look,” she said. “So what is it?”

“As I said before, nothing.” Ammë flipped closed her sketchpad.

“I think we shall be done with this for today,” she said. “If you still wish to help, perhaps you can help me cut wood for the kiln.” With a sigh, Maedhros rose in acquiescence and they went out into the yard, where Ammë handed him an axe.

He was still ruminating on his conversation with Lalwen, and the sense that she had seen something in it he had failed to notice, an idea which peeved him to no end. Furthermore, it was bringing to the forefront of his memory the handful of instances in which Maglor, no doubt in an effort at brotherly camaraderie, had attempted to return the favor that Maedhros granted him in listening to his woes by asking Maedhros about his love life, a line of questioning that invariably made Maedhros both queasy and ill-tempered. If he was feeling particularly adventurous, Maglor would probe into Maedhros’ various relationships, seeking some hitherto hidden romantic intention which Maedhros insisted did not exist. Most recently, he had seized on the notion of Maedhros’ friendship with Ingwion as something that might bear fruit, a suggestion which Maedhros had been too embarrassed to even mention to Ingwion, even to have a laugh at Maglor’s efforts.

Ammë set a log down and Maedhros raised the axe. In a sense, there was something calming about the repetition of it.

Whack, whack, whack.

Maedhros hated not to understand things—it was something Grandfather had once said he shared with Atar. And what he didn’t understand now was how he could be the only one with any sense about relationships—how could everyone else be so careless and obsessed? He had even seen Curufin making eyes at other Elflings his age. When Maedhros had been Curufin’s age, the thought of romance hadn’t even entered his head! It had been as alien to him as the notion of childbirth or property taxes. Back then, he had assumed it was something that would simply come with age. Eventually, he told himself he was a late bloomer, and perhaps just needed more time to come into it than others (another idea which unsettled him—he also misliked the thought of being late to anything).

Whack, whack, whack.

Then, when he determined he must be fully matured, he theorized he simply had not met the right person yet. This made perfect sense. Maedhros was discriminating in taste about nearly everything—why should he be less particular about his romantic partners? He needed to give himself time to meet someone who could pass his standards, and then would experience one of those head-over-heels crushes which people waxed poetic about. After all, Grandfather said that Atar had had next to no interest in courtship of any kind until he met Ammë, and then everything had happened rather quickly.

Whack, whack, whack..

He supposed this theory still wasn’t disproven, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut that he might be waiting for something which would never come. Technically, there was unlikely to be harm in this, but Maedhros did not like things unsettled. He wanted answers, cut and dry. He wanted to know where he stood. But how did one prove an absence of a thing? And what did such an absence mean?

Whack, whack, whack.

“Does this seem enough to you?” Just as Maedhros was pausing with the axe, Ammë spoke. He observed the pile of wood so far and flexed his hand against the shaft of the axe.

“Perhaps a few more,” he suggested. Ammë looked at him rather than the wood and nodded.

“Yes, I agree,” she said, and set down another log. When Maedhros had split the last of them, he felt that some of the tension in his shoulders had dissipated. He rolled them to loosen the muscles. In an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, Ammë placed a hand against the back of his head and pulled him down until she could press a fleeting kiss to his copper crown.

“This will do finely, Maitimo.” She slapped his shoulder as she drew back. “Now go on, I do not believe you shall be any more help to me today, and as I recall, you have your own work which needs doing.”

Maedhros groaned. He really had been overthinking all this if he’d forgotten, even for a moment, about that blasted essay.

***

“Yes, this is much better,” said Professor Lastarion while Maedhros intermittently held his breath as part of an effort not to fidget while sitting in front of the professor’s desk. “You have still some gaps in logic here, but this is much better.” His eyes flicked up to Maedhros’ face. “They are small, but closing them will make for the neatest possible paper. This is quite good on its own, but I will insist you see to these before the compendium’s publication.”

Having his work published would more than make up for all the effort that had gone into it, including the many late nights he had spent working by candlelight. It was something he had yearned for since his first works had gone into the student publication during his years as a pupil of the university. He had been pleased with those then, but now, to be published as an adult scholar—!

“Leading a reader through your argument is like…”

Leading a horse, Maedhros finished silently to himself.

“…leading a horse,” Lastarion finished aloud. “The slightest hole might result in a snapped ankle.” This was where the metaphor tended to fall apart for Maedhros. “You want to take your readers in an unbroken chain from point A to B to C to D…” He waved his hand in a flowing gesture. Maedhros nodded tensely, waiting for any more concrete feedback.

“It’s quite well-reasoned as a whole,” Lastarion went on. “In fact,” he said, meeting Maedhros’ eyes directly, “I believe it will be the centerpiece of the volume.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Maedhros breathlessly, feeling his heart stop for a moment.

“It has the possibility to be truly remarkable, which is why I have nitpicked so many things on it,” he said. “With a few fine-tuning touches, it will be the jewel in the crown, so to speak.” He passed the paper over to Maedhros. “Have a look at my notes. Connect these last few gaps and you will have a final product to be quite proud of, Nelyafinwë.”

“Thank you,” he said again, taking the paper, his heart jumping as if he had run up a flight of stairs. “I will see to it immediately.”

It wasn’t until he was out of the professor’s office that he let the grin spread across his face. Published! There would be something to talk about at the next party!

***

The summer sun was just edging towards too warm against Fingon’s exposed arms and legs as he lay back in the golden grass, tossing his ball up and down. He kept his eyes closed so as not to be dazzled by the brightness of the sky, but he was so familiar with the weight and fall of the ball he did not need to see it to catch it each time it came back down towards him. The thrust and fall of it was relaxing; the repetitive flexing and bunching of his well-trained muscles lulled him into calm. There was a faint breeze rustling the grass, which occasionally blew over him and swept away the worst of the heat, keeping him comfortable. Overhead, birds caroused, wheeling this way and that, occasionally dashing across the tendrils of wispy clouds that were all that marred Valinor’s skies that day. It was entirely peaceful and Fingon let out a deep breath of contentment.

Ah, but Maedhros was still talking.

“Well?” he was saying, and Fingon realized he had let slip by a crucial moment to interject with a sympathetic or disapproving noise (whichever was most appropriate) and now was being asked a question. “Am I wrong?”

He caught his pigskin ball and opened his eyes, turning to look at Maedhros’ pale, vexed face.

“Well of course you’re right,” he said. “If Makalaurë listened to you, he wouldn’t be in half as much trouble.” When he had missed a cue, it was always good to fall back on “you’re right.” That usually calmed Maedhros down.

“I told him this would happen,” he griped, and Fingon debated whether he could inquire into what “this” was without revealing that he didn’t already know.

“You know Makalaurë,” he said with a somewhat indulgent smile. “Foresight is not his gift.”

“Foresight! I would gladly settle for common sense!” He snorted. “The way this city gossips—and he thought Culuina wouldn’t find out about Eteminion?”

“Well…” Fingon began, then trailed off, not sure if Maedhros would appreciate his speculating on the less-than-admirable behavior of his brother.

“Well what?” But Maedhros would not let a thought go unsaid once it had been hinted at.

“Perhaps he wished for her to know.”

“Wished!” Maedhros exclaimed. “Why would he wish for her to know he had been unfaithful to her?” Fingon shrugged.

“Perhaps he wanted their courtship to end and knew that she would do it herself if she knew,” he said. “Or perhaps he wanted her attention.”

“He was courting her,” Maedhros said. “In what way did he not already have her attention?” Fingon shrugged and started tossing his ball again. “Do share your thoughts, Findekáno,” said Maedhros, and Fingon could hear the annoyance in his voice. A smile twitched on Fingon’s lips.

“Perhaps Makalaurë enjoys the turbulence of his relationships,” he said. “Perhaps he thought if he riled Culuina this way, it would inspire her to passion.” Maedhros was looking at him like he had just suggested they test whether the Children of Ilúvatar had the power of flight, an expression at which Fingon couldn’t help but laugh as he sat upright.

“Passionate in her anger with him, perhaps,” Maedhros said. Fingon shrugged. Anger was passion, of a sort. “For what could he ever want such a thing? I think you have been laying in the sun too long.” Fingon laughed again.

“Is it so hard to understand?” he said. “Never have you wished to make another jealous to prove their affection for you?”

“Never!” said Maedhros, looking perfectly appalled. “Have you?”

“Once or twice,” said Fingon, shrugging one shoulder. “Never have I done it thought—it is rather immature, is it not? Although for Eteminion?” He grinned. “He would be worth the effort! Have you seen him on stage? There is an Elf who knows passion!” Maedhros was still looking at him like he’d gone crazy. “No? You find him not attractive?” he said.

“I never thought about it,” said Maedhros. “I do not watch plays to drool over the actors.”

“Are you accusing me of drooling, Russandol!” Fingon laughed. “One can appreciate both the art and also the bodies behind it!” Maedhros’ look had gone sulky, the way it did when they spoke overlong of issues concerning romance. “Perhaps you and Makalaurë simply cannot see eye-to-eye on this,” he suggested.

“I think perhaps we cannot,” said Maedhros quietly, picking at the grass. “It makes no sense to me, Findekáno, not even when you speak of it.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The way people behave when they find another attractive,” said Maedhros. “How do they manage to lose all sense of reason?”

“That is nature of love and sex,” said Fingon with a little smile. “It renders one a little insane…but that isn’t always bad. One may enjoy a touch of madness.” Maedhros was just looking at him, indirectly, still tearing at bits of grass.

“It makes no sense to me,” he repeated, softer still.

It took Fingon a moment to gather that perhaps Maedhros was trying to tell him something. (He was not always very good at picking up on these things, which Turgon had told him.) Sobering, he folded his legs, setting his ball in the space between.

“You know,” he observed after a pause, “I believe Auntie Irimë is that way.”

“What way?”

“I mean, that she agrees with you. She is unwed,” said Fingon. “And I have never known her to express a desire for it.”

“Aunt Findis is unwed also,” said Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged.

“Auntie Findis has always been a bit aloof, has she not?” Maedhros was shredding a long blade of grass between his fingers, a furrow between his eyebrows. Aunt Findis also spent a great deal of time out of Tirion, and was not in general inclined to discuss such things around her nieces and nephews, which made it harder to guess at her stance.

“Russandol,” said Fingon, and when Maedhros was looking at him, he pitched the leather ball right at Maedhros’ face. His nose was spared the unfortunate content by his quick reflexes, and then he glared in a way that would have made their cousins cower (it was rather reminiscent of Uncle Fëanor).

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“You are thinking no longer about your problem, are you?” said Fingon cheerfully. “You’re welcome!” The ball clocked Fingon in the head right before Maedhros tackled him.

***

It pleased the king to host, as frequently as he could, large dinners for the entire extended family. Atar always insisted they were there, to a man, and there was little that could excuse one from the event—academic demands were about the only thing. Grandfather Finwë would throw a celebratory dinner for nearly anything—Princess Findis visiting from Valmar or the start of a new season or a grandchild getting a particularly good grade or Atar finishing a new project—but often he hosted them for no reason at all. That night’s dinner was one of that sort.

The dining hall was bedecked in lanterns alongside the lamps of Atar’s design and the seats around the table had been cleared to allow family and guests to take food and wander at will. Maedhros and his brothers, as always, were dressed to the nines, as Atar would not tolerate them arriving at any event of his father’s smirched in soot or dirt, or dressed unsuitably. The particular headpiece Maedhros had chosen for that night demanded he move with stately grace, or it was going to fall off his head and with the weight of it, probably take out someone’s foot in the process. (It did look very fine though, and he had spent several minutes in front of his mirror admiring the effect.)

Choosing the right time to approach Lalwen meant not accosting her as soon as they arrived, while ensuring she wasn’t able to slip off before Maedhros got to speak with her. It would need to look natural—he was not interested in anyone else thinking he had cause to seek out his aunt. For a few moments he lingered around the wine with Maglor, to reassure him that there was nothing amiss between then despite Maedhros’ earlier annoyance. Maglor was then distracted by one of his many musical rivals and disappeared to go boast under the guise of conversation.

When Maedhros did approach Lalwen at the table, he didn’t get his greeting past his lips before she said: “You took your time.” Then she turned to look at him, seeming amused with his expression. “I will give your subtlety is much improved on that of your brothers, but your eyes have been burning a hole in me since you arrived, Nelyafinwë.”

“You knew,” he said, deciding Lalwen did not need a lead-in. Lalwen shrugged.

“I theorized,” she said.

“But you said nothing of it. Why?” Lalwen added a few more dumplings to her plate and considered.

“You seem to me rather reserved,” she said. “And we have not spoken much. I did not think you would appreciate my theorizing, nor take it to heart. Some conclusions we must reach on our own, in our own time.” Maedhros was somewhat troubled that she had gathered so much about him despite the brevity and infrequency of their interactions.

“And are you?”

“I am,” she said, flicking her eyes up to him.

“How did you know?” She shrugged.

“It is harder to see a lack of a thing, but at some point, it becomes apparent. Anyway, it is not as uncommon as you might think. It is simply not spoken of.”

“And…Aunt Findis is…?” Lalwen let out a burst of laughter.

“Findis? No, not her. She’s only excessively particular—about what is she not particular—and will take only women as long-term partners.”

“Does…do people…know?” he asked.

“About me?” she asked. “Some do. Some may have guessed by now. My siblings know. But,” she added abruptly, holding up a finger, “that was by my choice only. Such things are private, and no one has a right to know what you do not wish to tell. This you should bear in mind, Nelyafinwë. To none do you owe answers or explanations about this. If I may offer counsel, as your aunt, little though I have taken the role—” This being the fault more of Atar than of Lalwen, Maedhros suspected, for she was close with both the children of Fingolfin and of Finarfin, “—let no one pressure you to speak when you would not. Your heart is your own business, and no one else’s.” She turned to go, paused, and glanced back. “There are many kinds of love. An absence of one does not mean an absence of all.”

Then someone was waving her down from the side of the hall and she departed with a last glance at Maedhros over her shoulder. In pensive silence, he took a few pork buns and meandered off out of the way of those trying to reach the table.

Witnessing Elves in the bliss of courtship and wedlock, it was easy to feel cheated. Taking in the countless works of art labored over with such effort and devotion for the sake of romantic love—for a particular paramour, or simply for the notion of it—it was hard not to be frustrated at his own lack of perspective and understanding. Hearing the way others spoke of romance and of marriage—how could he not feel the rest of the world was in a joke he simply didn’t get? Yet Lalwen seemed content.

“Russandol!” He recognized Celegorm’s excited call as he tore himself out of his thoughts. His brother was coming towards him with an ear-to-ear grin that usually spelled Trouble, and even more concerning, with him was Fingon, who rarely spent time in the company of Maedhros’ brothers, less still without him present.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Not what I’m doing,” said Celegorm in a poor pantomime of innocence. “What Findekáno and Irissë are doing.” Maedhros’ eyes snapped over to Fingon, who grinned.

“And what are Findekáno and Irissë doing?”

“Grandfather has some fireworks from your father he has saved for a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And?” said Maedhros.

“And Irissë and I have decided tonight is a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And why is that?” Fingon shrugged.

“Because it is!” he said. “Tyelko is coming with us. Are you? When the party begins to wind down?” Maedhros scrutinized the pair, opposed in so many ways, but united over the opportunity to make things explode in pretty colors. They were both grinning at him, pleased as a bird on the wind with the prospect of their stolen pyrotechnics.

“Come on, Russandol!” wheedled Celegorm. “Come with us! It will be such fun!”

“I suppose I shall have to,” Maedhros sighed with feigned resignation. “Someone must make sure you burn nothing down by mistake.” Fingon pumped his fist in triumph.

“I shall come and find you when we’re ready!” he said, hurrying off for more food. Celegorm flashed a double thumbs-up and went to go steal sweets from Caranthir. There were plenty on the table, but he insisted the ones he took from their younger brothers and cousins tasted better.

The Arafinweans were in from Alqualondë for at least the next few weeks, which meant Maedhros could pick out their golden heads among the rest of the dark-haired Elves. Finarfin himself was there with Fingolfin, debating over what to take from the table, while Queen Indis leaned over the table to remark to them both. Finrod was over by a window with Turgon and a friend, where they were all in animated conversation about something, which presently involved Turgon using cheese cubes to make a demonstration (Finrod gave a wave when he saw Maedhros looking in their direction). Aunt Eärwen, warmly tanned after several months in her hometown, had her had bowed by Aunt Anairë’s, speaking lowly as they did when they wanted no one to intrude on their conversation. Atar was crouched beside Grandfather’s seat, listening attentively to whatever was being said, while Finwë observed his guests. Aegnor and Amrod were either playing or squabbling, it was hard to say, and either way it was happening perilously close to a pedestal housing a priceless vase. Lalwen was leaning back against a red column in easy conversation with the friends who had summoned her away from him before.

Something which had been tense in Maedhros for some time relaxed slightly. Ammë had warned him he had a tendency to overthink things and while he privately considered Ammë habitually underthought things, perhaps in this instance, there was truth there. Maybe Lalwen was right—maybe he was too worried about something that did not bear worrying about.

His bigger concern, in all truth, needed to be making sure Fingon did not set those fireworks off around a building.

#aspecardaweek #aspecardaweek2023 #maedhros #fingon #lalwen #lalwende #nerdanel #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine being a pirate in Middle Earth

(Anon I’m so sorry. From my lack of creativity, I made up dumb scenarios with quotes I cherry picked from youtube. I do have one serious so I hope you like this dumpster fire) 

Requested by Anonymous

Warnings: Pretty much none on the first part. Only Amrod is gonna have rough time. Most is jack sparrow like but the last one is Barbossa. 

---------------------------------------------------

-What happens when you pick up a washed-up pirate from a beach? Nothing good, especially if that pirate’s last name is Sparrow. The feanorians learned that the hard way with all the nonsense you caused when you woke up. 

Maedhros

*How you first met*

You: So, let me get this straight. You start murdering our kin, stole their boats, abandoned your other kin who helped you murder our other kin, then proceeded to burn to the boats which might had not burned your youngest brother alive? 

Maedhros: Uhm

You: Wow, and people tell me I’m stupid. Do you have any idea what you did when you burned those boats? 

Maedhros: I know it was wrong, but it was my father’s orders. 

You: Well, your father was an idiot because all the peaceful bonds and treaties you wished to have here on Middle Earth are not gonna happen because burning those ships marked you as the enemy of the Eldar and the sea. They’re protected by an honor code even we the pirates follow. So, what you technically did is that you told everyone you’re a bunch of orcs. 

Maedhros: … shit. 

You: Heh, how odd that we, the so-called foul pirates, have more honor than you. 

*You helping him and Fingon escape Angband with unimaginable means* 

Maedhros: This is either madness or brilliance

You: It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide

*You about his hand* 

You: Don’t be sad about it. You can now have a hook you can poke eyes with. Did you know there are sea creatures such as starfish that can grow their limbs back? 

Maedhros: …

Maglor

*Maglor talking about something* 

You: You know, your singing is good as a siren’s. It’s gonna kill me if it doesn’t shut up. 

*When he’s having a rough time* 

You: Close your eyes and pretend it's a bad dream. That's how I get by. 

Celegorm

*While in Nargothrtond*

You: Elf, Your dog has more honor than you and knows how to be a gentleman, unlike you. Which reminds me?

You: *Kneel in front of Huan, holding his paw*

You: Would you like to join my crew, mate?

Huan: *Barks*

Celegorm: What? You can’t just ask my dog to be a pirate. 

You: And you can’t just force a princess to stay in the tower like a prisoner and force her to marry you, especially when she said no. 

Celegorm: …

*When the silmaril quest was over*

Celegorm: That didn’t end well. Hey, where’s Huan?!

You and Huan: * Standing on a ship. Huan wearing a hat and an eye patch, holding a knife in his mouth*

Huan: *Staring with a judgy look* Arhhhg

Curufin

*When you kept him prisoner after attacking Luthien* 

Curufin: Hey, you can’t just leave me here tied up!

You:*walking away* You'll broke free moments ago. You have just been waiting for a chance to jump me. 

You: *Turning around to block his attack* 

You: See

*Talking about saving and stuff* 

You: If it ever came to that I would have to choose either you, your brother, or the dog. I'll take the dog. 

Caranthir

*When arguing something later and succeeding now* 

Caranthir: You actually were telling the truth. 

You: I do that quite a lot yet people are always surprised. 

*When Caranthir did something to the rum*

You: Why is the rum gone?!

Mairon 

*When saving Beren and Finrod* 

You: Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly ---stupid. 

Melkor

*When you got a jar of dirt*

You: Look what I got. I got a jar of dirt! I got a jar of dirt and guess what's inside it!

*When you make an escape* 

You: "You'll always remember this is the day that you almost caught --- Captain (Name) Sparrow!" *Makes an epic escape* 

Amrod

-He had jumped off into the sea when his family had set the boats on fire. He tried to scream for them to stop and tell them he was there, but they did not hear him. He had nowhere else to run, so he had to jump through the fire into the water. 

-He suffered terrible burns, which burned and stung harder than any blade. The pain was deep and agonizing, making it nearly impossible for him to stay on the surface, and when he tried to swim toward the land, the current suddenly swept him away. 

-He panicked when the land became more distant from his reach, and he didn’t have any energy to swim. 

-He was on the brink of drowning. He kicked his feet as hard as possible, but it only fastened his energy loss, and he was submerged under the water. 

-He thought it was the end for him as his lungs began to fill with water, making him feel even further pain before they became numb. 

-His mind nearly fell into darkness till he heard something heavy, and something suddenly yanked him out of the water. 

-He was thrown against a stern deck, and water gushed out of his lungs, making him cough and slough over the floor. His lungs gasped for air, and his mind awakened back to reality. 

-He was frightened when he saw his rescues. They were elves yet looked vicious and wore clothing no ordinary sailors wore during their journeys. It didn’t help when they sneered down on him, calling him a burned-wet rat and an orc. 

-He took a quick look around the ship, which was ten times bigger than the ships his family used to sail across the sea. The mast stood tall, carrying haunting black sails, and there were round metal constructs that looked like weapons of sorts. 

-His attention was brought back when his rescuers pushed him in a sneering tone. Amrod thought about all the stories he heard as an elfling about the sea and knew from them that he was dealing with pirates– real pirates. 

-They demanded to know if he was part of the burning of the swan ships since he possessed red hair. He didn’t dare the answer till they forcefully picked him up and took him to what seemed to be a captain’s cabin. 

-They pushed through the door, and there you sat, feeding a strange four feet creature with a long tail that screeched at him. 

-Your crew members talked about their suspicions about him to you, and you calmly listened and looked at him. 

-Amrod tried to hold up a calm face, but even though you were an elf, there was something strange and eerie about you. 

-You spoke softly to him, asking if he was hurting and if he would like to have a warm change of clothes. Amrod didn’t know how to answer– he felt reluctant even though the burns on his body were hurting. 

-You softly smiled at him and asked your crew members to bandage him up and give him dry clothes so you could have a proper discussion later. 

-Amrod felt hesitant, but when his wounds were treated and he got out of wet clothes and given time to rest, his body shut down from exhaustion. And he was glad just to have some rest even though he was on a pirate ship. 

-He felt odd the next time he woke up. The crew still treated him suspiciously, and when you invited him for dinner, he didn’t dare to refuse, so he accepted. 

-You spoke softly to him, letting him eat first. You apologized for the rough treatment and explained about the swan ships. 

-It was a prominent rule in the sea to never attack swan ships for they were considered neutral and were your kin. Attacking and burning swan-resembling ships will mark an orc or an enemy, so you stayed around when you saw several swan ships burning at the shore. 

-You discovered the heinous act was done by a group of elves, so you and your crew had been agitated by the news. 

-You asked if he knew about it, and Amrod hesitated, knowing what might come if he told you what he and his family had done to get the swan ships. He didn’t know why they were burned, but having heard such a sacred rule. He knew he wasn’t in a good situation. 

-Amrod decided to play ignorant, but he tensed when he saw you look at him strangely like you knew he wasn’t telling the truth. Your monkey only hissed at him. 

-You then started telling him a little story about you and your crew. How you sailed around the sea and resisted the orcs from the shore. How you found a treasure and how there was a curse of death and lies. 

-You told him how lying was a bad habit and how many end up as the victim of their own consequences before you offed him an apple. 

-Amrod acted out of his brashness, taking a knife and striking you in the chest. You staggered back, taking out the knife, looking unaffected. Amrod paled at his mistake and how you didn’t seem to bleed. 

-” I’m curious. After killing me, what was it that you planned on doing next?” You held the bloodied knife, looking at him with a sinister grin. 

-Amrod tried to leave, but when he got outside. He was faced with the crew, who looked like walking corpses, screeching at him and doing their chores under Tillion’s light. 

-He was struck with terror. He had never seen anything so horrifying in his life. He tried to hide, but even your monkey was a walking corpse, screeching out of his hiding place. 

-You grabbed him and made him look at your crew. 

-You explained to him the curse that made you undead and how the moonlight showed your true form before making him look at you. 

-You told him how long you have been unable to quench your thirst and starved yourself, unable to die. You told him how felt nothing and showed your arm, which turned dead and rotten under the moon. Amrod backed away in fright. 

-” You better start believing in ghost stories, little elf,” You said, showing your true form, which was a rotten skeleton. “You’re in one!” You said. 

-Amrod watched in horror when you opened a bottle of rum, drinking it which flowed through your bones and withered clothes. 

-Amrod ran inside, and you mashed the bottle while closing the door, laughing with your crew. Amrod was hiding in a corner, holding his knees and hoping the nightmare would end soon.

#silmarillion x reader #silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #silmarillion imagines #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #mairon #melkor #maedhros headcanon #maglor headcanon #celegorm headcanon #caranthir headcanon #curufin headcanon #melkor headcanon #mairon headcanon #feanorians x reader #pirate reader

[nothinghereisworking]

~~~Rarepair Appreciation~~~

Rarepairs are my absolute beloveds!  (as evidenced by my fic history lol)

After chatting with @herinke9 and following along with the anon asks I realized that many of these are so rare that nobody would even think to *look* for them.  So I decided to share some!  Who knows, maybe they’ll get popular? (ahaaahahahahaha)

Círdan | Nowë/Gandalf | Mithrandir

My Heart is with the Sea, My Heart is with You [Art] by @rauko-is-a-free-elf Beautiful art!

My Heart is with the Sea, my Heart is with You by @chrissystriped Círdan has known and loved the Wanderer since the first age. When he hears of Gandalf's fall in Moria he resolves to find him and retrieve his body, if nothing else.

I Shall Await Thee by @cuarthol The fifth Istar, Olórin, sent by the Valar to Middle-earth to aid the free peoples against evil, has arrived in Mithlond, and to a reunion nobody had expected.

At Long Last, Love by alexcat Gandalf finally finds time for love.

Findis/Gandalf | Mithrandir

Birthright by @cuarthol - Mature But of Olórin that tale does not speak; for though he loved the Elves, he walked among them unseen, or in form as one of them, and they did not know whence came the fair visions or the promptings of wisdom that he put into their hearts. In later days he was the friend of all the Children of Ilúvatar, and took pity on their sorrows; and those who listened to him awoke from despair and put away the imaginations of darkness. - The Silmarillion, JRR Tolkien

Yep, there’s still only the one in this tag!

Dírhavel & Maglor | Makalaurë

Illuminating Now and Dark Hath-been by @polutrope Two great bards meet during the Sack of Sirion.

Thee one and only place to read this pair!

Curufin | Curufinwë/Eöl

Iron Cleaver by @polutrope - Mature Eöl is ill-at-ease after an encounter with the first Elf to elude his piercing mind. That there is much to link him and Curufin, including their shared craft, a friendship with the Dwarves, and the fact he carries a knife made of Eöl's metal, only unsettles - and allures - him all the more.

Shining Black by @skyeventide - Explicit The forest of Nan Elmoth is warded by magic and, apparently, inhabited. Celegorm and Curufin head into the woods, discovering who exactly lives in it. A "dark elf", who is a blacksmith. And is friends of the dwarves, and speaks Khuzdul. Curufin camps outside of the forest, to check that trade with the dwarves isn't disrupted by the encounter -- and to see if perhaps he could learn more about the enchantments that protect this land, and about its dweller.

Heart of Sugar and Lemon by eldvarpa Eöl and Curufin (and Celebrimbor) meet for the last time (but not exactly as canon would have it).

Do not ask for permission by Kalendeer - Explicit It was a Khazad key, big and heavily decorated with geometrical patterns. This one was not mine and it was in the pocket nearest to where Curufin had been, but I could not begin to guess what it was doing there until I fully took the key in my hand and the spell was triggered.Do not ask for permission, Curufin's voice whispered in my ear, and I wondered at the game he wanted me to play.

Fëanorian Hospitality by peachBitch1 - Mature A slightly different version of Curufin and Eöl's meeting in Himlad.

Go Upon Your Knee by havisham - Mature  “Heaven-gates are not so highly arched / As princes' palaces; they that enter there /

Must go upon their knees.”

Angrod | Angaráto/Fingon | Findekano

Keep Moving, Keep Warm by @cuarthol - Mature Angaráto's strength begins to fail him upon the Helcaraxë, until Findekáno is able to coax both life and warmth back into him.

A Golden Opportunity by @cuarthol Sure, it's easy for Findekano to find Angaráto in a crowd, he stands out like a shining beacon. But how is Angaráto supposed to find Findekano in a sea of generally dark-haired Noldo?

To The Victor Go The Spoils by @cuarthol Finde ends up with a greater prize than he ever bargained for after he wins the archery tournament.

Caranthir | Morifinwë/Galadriel | Artanis AND Angrod | Angaráto/Curufin | Curufinwë

Shall I Teach Thee? by Elves_Behaving_Badly - Explicit The grandchildren of Finwë seem to get up to an awful lot, even especially with one another.

The one and only for both of those pairings

Finduilas Faelivrin/Nellas

A Settlement by Elleth Finduilas, Niënor and Nellas all live on Amon Obel. Entanglements are inevitable.

Rhythm of the Night by amyfortuna (elwinfortuna) - Explicit Elemmírë performs at a secret festival in honour of Vána and Nessa, and is transported into bliss.

We Made Our Own by @cuarthol Finduilas has accompanied Finrod on a visit to Doriath, but she is soon drawn out into the forest to explore the land of hidden enchantments.

Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë

As Flowers From the Sky by ajf - Explicit In the wake of the Quenya ban, a diplomatic mission to Doriath is arranged under cloak of secrecy. Two kings in Beleriand, one new and one old, have a volatile encounter.

Alliances and Dalliances by Elves_Behaving_Badly - Explicit After Mereth Aderthad, Ñolofinwë receives an unexpected invitation to Doriath. How far will he go to secure an alliance with the Sindarin king?

***

If you know of other rarepairs, please add at least the tag so we can go look at them!

🥰 Keep Making Those New Tags! 😎

#tolkien fanfiction #recommendations #rarepair #appreciation

[lordgrimwing]

Marsupial au

[from this ask!]

The basics: everything is the same but the elves are marsupial and have pouches to carry around their babies!

Why would @nighttimepatrons and I make this au? Because it’s cute. Imagine little elflets trying to climb into their parents’ belly pouches to hide. Imagine the process of pouch-weaning an elflet who is really too big to be climbing in anymore. It’s just cute, ok?

Now, let’s talk about some elves and their pouches!

Nerdanel: Very roomy, very comfy. She’s had a lot of kids in there. Solid 8/10 (points deducted because occupants might get banged against rock she’s chiseling for her latest sculpture)

Feanor: Comfy place to curl up for a snooze but it gets a bit hot, and he will kick you out when he goes to the forge. 7/10

Maedhros: Excellent, so roomy, can easily hold two or more elflets at once, he’ll never bump against pointy table corners. 9/10 (some argue it’s too roomy)

Maglor/Celegorm/Caranthir: it’s fine, I guess, but why would you go in there when Maedhros is an option? 5/10 (at least Celegorm has good stories)

Curufin: “Leaving was the right thing to do, but I miss him sometimes. I miss all of them—who they were.” 3/10 (sample size of 1)

Ambarussar: The only things in those pouches are arrows. Unrated.

Glorfindel: A good place to hide for a few minutes or to peek out of during hikes to enjoy the view but he will evict you when he’s busy. 6/10

Erestor: Due to unfortunate childhood experiences, the only thing getting into this half-elf’s pouch is lent and yeast infections. 1/10 (Glorfindel’s trying to help)

Celeborn: He looks like the weak link during pouch-weaning, but it’s a trick. Grandpa will Not let you inside when mom says no more pouch. 7/10

Galadriel: No one’s dared to get in lately, but Celebrian reports that she was quite comfortable. 5/10 (points deducted for intimidation factor)

Celebrian: Cozy, a little tight with twins, very easy to fall asleep. 8/10

Gil-galad: Little Arwen’s claimed it as hers and only hers, so it mut be good. 7/10 (unfortunately she had to be pulled out after he fell at Sauron’s hands, which is very traumatic for an elflet)

Elrond: Much to his children’s confusion, he doesn’t have a pouch. No one in Melian’s line has one.

Marsupial clothing would be designed so that elflets have pouch access, so it isn’t an uncommon sight for little heads to suddenly poke out from between the folds of a robe, or for an elflet to start pulling at their parent’s clothes, trying to find the opening. Pants are a no-go when an elflet’s involved, there’s just no room to stretch.

Pouch hygiene is very important. A healthy pouch is a little moist and it should be regularly cleaned to prevent itchy yeast infections. Lent and dust can also cause irritation. Elrond gives Glorfindel salves to try to get Erestor to use in his crusty pouch so he doesn’t itch himself raw in his sleep.

There are some less fun parts, too, of course. Like the fact that itty bitty elflets might not be noticed if they fall out of the pouch, leaving them abandoned on the ground and too small to be alone for long. Or the way kidnappers can hold out a sack and some elflets will climb right in because it looks like a pouch. But most of this is happy! (outside of Erestor being relentlessly teased by his human playmates and Arwen being traumatized by Gil-galad’s death)

Oh, did I mention that Gil-galad, Elrond, and Celebrian are a threesome yet, because they are.

And kidnap fam totally happens. E+E like Maedhros’ pouch more than Maglor’s.

Ask me about fics that live rent-free in my head!

#it's silly and i love it #rent-free fic game #elves but marsupial #nerdanel #feanor #maedhros #sons of feanor #gil galad #celebrian #elrond #erestor #glorfindel #celeborn #galadriel #so many darn elves! #the silmarillion #grimwing gripes #the void answers

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Happy Tumblrversary to me!

Drumroll for the invisible co-host of this blog:

💖My husband 💖

(who's a mathematician, a statistician, and an Excel pro)

𝕋𝕠𝕡 𝟙𝟘 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣

Ori (makes sense, he's my fave)

Thorin (still makes sense)

Maedhros (I guess?)

Fingon (I guess...)

Maglor (Where the fuck did you come from???)

Sauron (??? WHAT????)

Fíli (Ah, okay...well...)

Melkor (Nothing surprises me anymore)

Fëanor (Ok, this does surprise me)

Bilbo (??? Bagginshield?)

(Caranthir, Finrod, Elrond share 11! Next would be Thranduil and Kíli)

SAY WHAT???

𝟞𝟚% 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕪 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕖𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕠𝕣 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕥

ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕩 ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕦𝕡 𝟛𝟟% 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝟚𝟞% 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤

ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕩 𝕆ℂ 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕦𝕡 𝟙𝟡% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕨𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝟝𝟙% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤

ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕦𝕡 𝟟𝟛% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝟜𝟝% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤.

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔸𝕌𝕤 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝟚𝟟% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝟝𝟝% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤. (𝕄𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝔸𝕌 𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝟙𝟠% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝟜𝟜% 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤! 𝕄𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟!𝔸𝕌 𝔹𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙!!!)

Besides writing, I have posted a few bad artpieces (even GIFS!!!) under "idnmt draws badly", there has been the odd moodboard or graphic, I have started using colourful dividers, gradient titles, and clumsily made headers.

I am just annoying in every way I can think of 😁😁😁😁

Sooooo...commissions anyone? (There have been around 75-80 of those in 2 years as well)

(Also, pshhhhh, I do not want you to come here and laugh at me because EVERY SINGLE thing I've ever said about myself seems to be...erm...wrong)

Lots and lots, buckets and buckets, of love from me to you!

Thank you for making my experience on this platform so enjoyable, enriching, inspiring, and just all around beautiful!

I love you. I love you. I love you!

(My DMs are always open...come talk to me!)

#og post #it's my tumblversary #2 years on this hellsite #LOL #my life #IDNMT celebrates #writing #fanfiction

[tar-thelien]

Thank you for the tag @lordgrimwing

I haven´t written in about half a year XD, I got like four current WIPs tho I guess, my kidnap fam one, the one with Erestor, the one with Nerdnel and Elrond, and the angsty one with Maglor in the third age - I should begin again...

The WIP that currently makes the most sense is the one with Nerdanel and Elrond, Caranthir and Arafinwe is there too as guest stars, so here is the start of it;

Grimwing´s is here

Tagging everyone who wants too!!

Standing outside the art study, Elrond looked nervously around the garden it was in. Lifelike statues were standing around, hidden in bushes and behind trees, as well as below bridges, looking as if they had been placed randomly, yet that only made them look more like moving people. When caught only in a glimpse of the eye Elrond could have sworn he had seen two of them move. Their painted red hair of stone moving around the tree they were hidden behind.

When having interred the big garden of the manor Elrond had almost walked into one of the statues and yelped out loud as he came face to face with Makalaure, only his black shinning hair had faded as had the color of his skin and clothes, making way for the marmor beneath, and small cracks could be found in him.

“Are you sure you want to talk to her?” Arafinwe asked, noticing his hesitation.

Looking up at the older elf quickly Elrond nodded harshly.

“Yes! Of course. It´s what I wanted,” he murmured, “it´s what she owes me. As well as what I owe her,” he added as an after thought.

“What she owes you?” Arafinwe answered with a lifted eyebrow as he quietly chuckled at the Peredhel´s glare shot at him, “what she owes you.”

Nodding one finally nod, Elrond takes a step towards the door and slowly pushes it open at Arafinwe´s instructions before being met with a wall of heavy dark red fabricks in his face, of which has been pushed at him by the wind.

“I did forget to tell you, she tends to have curtains covering both her windows and doors when having a certain visitor.”

“Sounds like she is planning a murder,” Elrond murmured as he pushed his way through the fabric and the dust particles coming out into the open while facing the high king of Valinor.

Open having escaped the heavy curtains he turned around and was hit with even more dust particles, as well as the sound of clinging, like a hammer hitting rock, but a surprising amount of light too, coming from a ceiling window as well as some of the big windows on one of the walls being left wide open.

All over where there standing status. Some of them illustrateing objects, some people, other animals, all in various states. Some already looked done, although they didn´t have the same glint of light in the eye he had seen of some of the status in the manor, or garden, others still just a block of cold stone.

More curtains were heading down from the painted ceiling working as fine walls.

“This way,” Arafinwe said as he showed Elrond through the maze of sculptures and rocks, as well as carelessly placed tools and even some books.

Behind one of the curtain walls, where the sound was louder, a woman could be seen carving into a piece of stone standing on a wooding table, small pieces of stones and dust falling from it. Her long red curly hair had been pulled up in a bun at the back of her hear slowly falling from itself, letting smaller strands of the hair wind around her white loose lased tunic and dark brown loose pants.

In the closest corner, another elf could be seen, with shiny dark straight hair hiding most of the person's face. Some heavy fabrics and wine purple and black occipied the form leaving Elrond to wonder how much the elf was overheating. A pair of hands, now still standing at their presence, had been busy embroidering a red undershirt, where the only thing that could be seen of the person´s skin.

“Heri Nerdanel,” Arafinwe said cheerfully, opening his arm up but now walking close to the green eyed glowing woman who had turned to look at them with surprise.

“I thought you were the servants bringing the tea.” she answered with a lifted eyebrow, clearly not happy about being interrupted in her work.

“I would like you to meet my friend,” Arafinwe continued, unbothered by the cold look he received, “Elrond. He knew your oldest as you might know.”

Frowning the woman shot a quick glance to the other elf who had now returned to embroidering, although stiffly as if listening intensely, “yes. I have been told,” with that she turned back to them, lifting her hammer over her head, “and if you raise one word against any of my sen´s I shall throw stones at thy heads!”

“Herinya-” Elrond began, with surprise straining his otherwise smooth voice with a crack, but was interrupted by the sound of another door than the one they had entered, opening, and a moment later one of the servants of the place stood before them bowing quickly before speaking: “Herinya, it is ready, and standing in the pavilion.”

“That! Would be our tea.” she said with a cold glare, “Onya, do you still want tea, and would it bother you if… our guests… joined us? To talk about whatever they deem so important I guess, I can tell them to come back later and talk with me alone if this is too much at the moment.”

Both Arafinwe and Elrond turned their heads towards the elf in the corner, Elrond with surprise, Arafinwe with a small smile as the figure nodded, making the vail of hair rustle and showing a half bun at the back of the neck which was keeping a surprising amount of hair actively away from the already covered face.

“Thank you Moryo, we won't be long. We came with happy news but wanted to deliver them ourselves so as not to obtain a lot of unnecessary attention.”

Huffing the elf stood up quickly and went to his mother's side taking her outstretched hand and his as he pressed himself up to her glowering at them with cold mithril eyes. So much as Maedhros that Elrond shuddered.

´Moryo´ Elrond thought, ´that must be short for Morifinwe, which would mean he had now seen the fourth son of Feanor and was on the way to meet him. Caranthir the dark.´

Studying the scowling face Elrond thought it was a more fitting name than he had ever thought. The stern brows and drown back mouth, made him look as if he was snarling, mashed with the sharp hooded upturned eyes and red birthmark spreading across the left side of his face as well as his left ear that looked as if it was dipped in heavy big golden earrings a copy of the right, except from the mark.

Both seemed to have shunned the Noldorin braids for some reason, although Nerdanel made sense for what she had been doing, it was hard to find out why Caranthir didn´t wear them as Maglor and Erestor had always spoken of him as an elf of traditions.

---

“Have all your brothers returned yet?” Arafinwe asked as they sat down at the elaborate table sat up in the pavilion outside of the art study.

“... No.” Caranstir answered after having grabbed for a biscuit which he had slowly taken a bite out of before answering slowly and hard.

“Turca has joined Orome´s hunt again, although he seems to live more in solidarity now than before, and at times the Ambarussa joins him,” Nerdanell shot in carelessly, “Nelyo is on his way, and with him surly will both Finno come and Kana, wherever he has been hiding.”

“Ahr…” Aranfiwne said with a slight frown and stole a glimpse at Elrond who gave him a pointed look, “yes, of course.”

“Herinya, you might want to know that both Maedhro- Maitimo and Makalaure were like- they raised me and my brother, and I love them dearly, and so did my brother, and it was a great pain to me when Maitimo decided to leave for Mandos. Know he needed the peace-” Elrond started to say but held a pause to draw breath from the dramatic lift of the lady's red brow lifting.

“After Maitimo, left, Makalaure, drowned in his own despair and left to wander the shores of what land was left.” strolling off he looked at Carnistir who had snorted as he had mentioned Kanafinwe´s despair, “-after many years of misery for him I did find him at the shores.”

Silently the two elvers before Elrond and the youngest son of Finwe stared at them emotionless.

“Then has he entered Mandos now?” Nerdanel asked coldly, with a slight shake hidden under her stiff shoulders.

“No,” Elrond muttered looking down at the cup of tea, yet to be drunken of he hadn´t noticed had been placed before him, “I fear that if he entered he shall never return and that it will not bring the healing he needs… and I am selfish when it comes to my fathers.”

“So where is my Hanno,” Canristir hissed, “does he resent my choice so much?”

“Your choice-?” Elrond halted.

“No! Of course not Moryo! Kanafinwe is merely not feeling well at the moment. He is a bit tired from the travel over Ulmo´s realm, he has already apologized to your Hina I have let myself be told,” Arafinwe quickly cut in but was only answered with a grunt from Carnistir, “told? He might as well have spread a rumor!”

“I tell you, he has not the mind to do that now,” Arafinwe sharply replied, “and your son has returned with him, and I have been told, from him, that he wishes to know if you wish to visit him, or if you will rather he visit you?”

“Son?” Elrond said with a confused look but was otherwise ignored.

“Where does he live?” Nerdanel asked, “my doors are always open for him, for long have I waited to meet him from all the stories I have been told of my second Indyo, and I have heard Tyelpe speak of him as if he were two! I heard he was the High King´s Herald for a time.”

Happily, she looked at Canristir who looked confused back at her.

“Ah,” Arafinwe said with a little chuckle, “that was-”

“That was me.” Elrond said.

With a frown and a confused smile, Nerdanel leaned closer, “no…? Are your parents not Earendil and Elwing, and my sons merely your caregivers for a few years? The situation must have been hard on you and your brother?”

“I see them as my fathers just as much as Earendil,” Elrond replayed, now too with a frown, had the lady not known that? “If a bit different.”

“Makalaure later went as far as to adopt Elrond and his brother, and Maedhros, of course, had no choice but to follow, though I do not think he minded much. Although it seems not many know or accept it. I had wondered why you had not come running but it seems no one did tell you, Verresse.”

“... I did not know,” Nerdanel said with a surprised look on her face slowly turning into a wide smile. Beside her, Caranstir looked empty at them with an open mouth, as if he had been ready to say something, “then you too are welcome here!” Nerdanel exclaimed happily grabbing for Elrond´s hands over the table, showing pastries and small biscuits out of her way, “whenever you want!”

“Thank you Herinya, you are-” Elrond started surprised at the sudden change of mood of the lady in front of him.

“Call me Haruni,” she said with a soft smile, making her eyes wrinkle upwards.

“Yes, of course, Haruni,” Elrond said with badly hidden surprise and wonder, “I am honored.”

Smiling Nerdanel shook his hands, “you are family. Now! Do you have any ideas where your Rendole can be found?”

“No.” Elrond said after a moment of hesitation and flinched as Carnistir made to stand up but was grabbed by his mother and guided down to sit again.

“Amil!” he hissed in a low voice. “His name would be Carnisen Moriattefinwe?” Nerdanel informed.

“No, I´m sorry Heriny- Haruni, although I would love too to meet… my… Rendo…”

#tolkien #silmarillion #jrr tolkien #elrond #nerdanel #arafinwe #finarfin #caranthir #i think i shared some of this before #??

[grey-gazania-fic]

A Stitch in Time

Elrond, Caranthir's wife, and a Fëanorian heirloom. Rated G.

The quilt had been added to the twins' bed during their first winter at Amon Ereb, after two nights spent curled together for warmth. Clearly their captors — caretakers? Already the lines were blurring — had noticed, and had taken steps to remedy it. It smelled of cedar and gave their room some much-needed color. Large enough to cover the bed of a full-grown man, it was more than sufficient for two children, and could even be folded in half for extra warmth on particularly cold nights.

And it was utterly unlike the other quilts they had seen, with their neat, regular blocks and clear patterns. This one was a rich riot of reds, golds, and browns, with different fabrics cut into asymmetrical shapes and quilted in winding, stylized, visible stitches. It quickly became a comfort, something that could hold Elrond's attention when he was ill or injured and confined to his bed. There seemed to constantly be something new to discover — here a sliver of fabric soft as lamb's wool, there a quill picked out in neat, tiny stitches. Tiny brass bells hung at three of the corners; the forth was adorned with a slender gold ring sewn on in blunt stitches of crimson thread.

And yet, somehow it never occurred to either of them to ask about it, not until they were half-grown and fast becoming too large to comfortably share a bed. It was Elros who gathered up the nerve to speak, after he had helped Maglor move a second bed into the room and begun to take his share of the blankets.

"You can keep using the quilt," he said to Elrond. "I know how much you like it." And then, turning to Maglor, he said, "Who made it, anyway?"

"Our sister-in-law," Maglor said after a moment of silence. "Caranthir's wife." And then, before either of them could ask, he added, "She stayed in Aman."

Caranthir, Elrond knew, was the brother who had built the keep, and one of the three who had fallen in the attack on Doriath. He wondered, sometimes, about those brothers. What had they been like? Did they have Maglor's gentleness or Maedhros' wry humor? Were they as tired-eyed and worn as Fëanor's remaining sons, at the end? But the topic was clearly closed, as Maglor folded down the last blanket, clapped Elros on the shoulder, and left the room.

And so the quilt stayed on Elrond's bed, always there to greet him when they returned to Amon Ereb each winter. And when Maedhros and Maglor informed them that they were being taken to King Gil-galad, after their protests had broken like thrown dishes against the wall of Maedhros' will, when they had given in and begun packing, Maglor had folded the quilt up and placed it in Elrond's bag, just on top of Maedhros' herbal. The corner with the ring rested face-up, and he traced it with his long, strong fingers.

"It's his wedding ring, isn't it," Elrond said. It wasn't really a question; he'd guessed as much years ago.

Maglor nodded. "It feels like I'm sending a piece of my brother away with you," he said with unusual candor.

"You are," Elrond said. "And I won't forget them. Or you."

The Sons of Fëanor were not good men, but neither were they wholly evil. Someone needed to remember that. Maedhros was grim and deadly and cooly logical, but he was also a patient teacher, prone to unexpected dry wit but never mocking his students. Maglor was equally deadly, but he had soothed their nightmares with his gentle voice and taught them all the lore he knew.

And the others…he'd learned about them, slowly. Celegorm, who had spent half his childhood sneaking his dog into his bedroom or running wild in the woods. Caranthir, who had liked numbers better than he liked most people but who had spent nearly every waking hour at Maedhros' bedside while he recovered from his torment on Thangorodrim. Curufin, whose own son had denounced him but who had spent a full day designing Himring with one hand tied behind his back, making certain that his brother could live there without hinderance. Amras, who had dragged his twin into trouble at every opportunity. And Amrod, who felt such kinship with the Green-Elves of Ossiriand that he had nearly abandoned Quenya entirely for Sindarin.

Someone needed to remember those things, after Maedhros and Maglor were gone.

"You know that we knew Gil-galad's father well," Maglor said, dragging Elrond's attention back to the present. "If they're anything alike… You'll be in good hands."

Elrond didn't answer, but wrapped his arms around Maglor in a last, unspoken goodbye.

continue reading on AO3

#elrond #sons of fëanor #sons of feanor #caranthir's wife #parmacundë #my ocs #quilting #grief #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fic #silmarillion writers' guild #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silmarillion

[annoyinglandmagazine]

‘We have dealings with other elves, you know I wondered if you might know them,’ Telchar inquired as he leaned over his workbench to observe the embellishments the elf was pounding onto a swords hilt to finish it. Curufin looked up to fix him with an unimpressed raised eyebrow as he slid the sword into its scabbard and set it aside, ‘so because I’m an elf you expect me to be best friends with all others of my race? Because we’re all the same? And you call us haughty and small minded?’

Telchar snorted at his affronted tone and held his hands up in an appeasing gesture, ‘peace, lad there’s no need to get all indignant I simply asked a question.’ Curufin scarcely bothered scowl at being referred to as ‘lad’ by someone many millennia his younger at this point and merely muttered under his breath, ‘well I just feel it’s a bit reductive is all. Alright then, give me the name.’ Telchar rolled his eyes and said ‘well we have dealings with an elf lord known as Caranthir.’

Curufin froze and then glanced firmly at the floor ‘I …… may know him.’ Telchar smirked catching his uncertainty and probing further with a raised eyebrow ‘May? How closely acquainted are you?’ Curufin mumbled under his breath unintelligibly. ‘Pardon?’ and oh was he curious about this. Curufin spoke more clearly ‘Caranthir and I have a millennias old rivalry of a complicated backstabbing nature.’ ‘Oh?’ Curufin paused before admitting ‘He’s my brother.’

Telchar’s eyes widened in shock, ‘You’re siblings?! I never would have guessed, you look as different as any two elves I’ve met.’ Curufin shrugged awkwardly, ‘well I suppose we don’t share much of a resemblance compared to you and your sisters. Moryo-’ Here Telchar interrupted ‘Is Moryo Caranthir? I’ve never heard that name used for him before.’ Curufin looked down guiltily ‘Don’t mention that name to anyone, alright? I’m not really supposed to use it anymore what with the ban on Quenya and all that. Even otherwise it would be best for you not to use it, it’s a nickname see, for family use, it’s quite personal.’

‘Of course, of course I understand. You were saying?’ ‘Well Caranthir took after our mother and paternal grandmother more than anyone whereas I am supposedly an identical copy of my father. So identical that both of my names are based around that fact. It wouldn’t be wise to mention our grandmother in reference to Caranthir. Or mention her at all really, though I don’t see what circumstances would compel you to.’

Telchar, though never being partial to family gossip in general, found the idea of the seemingly only elvish family that actually talked to them having regular familial dirty laundry very intriguing. ‘You can’t say something like that your lordship and just leave it there once you’ve piqued my curiosity.’ Curufin snorted, a very unelvish sound, and seated himself down on top of the workbench and patted the spot next to him, ‘if you want even a summarised version of that story best you sit down.’

Telchar pulled a flask of something out of his pocket and knocked a bit of it back while readying himself to enjoy what was most certainly not a gossip session. ‘ My grandmother had always been weary, she’d suffered a great deal in her life and even when she arrived in Valinor she was not healed. When she became with child it was too much for her, her fea gave out and she passed not long after giving birth to my father. Ordinarily when one of the Eldar pass they will wait a period of time for recovery before being reborn but my grandmother did not do this.’

‘She had lived so long weak and unable to find even traces of happiness in her life that she told the Valar she would never be prepared to live again in all the Ages of the world. This was a great blow to the people as she was a much admired queen and the knowledge that something like that could happen left many feeling ill at ease. But none were impacted more than our family, for it left a gaping wound that our grandfather could scarcely bring himself to hear spoken. Especially not as in choosing to remarry he solidified her fate and ensured that she can never reconsider and be reunited with her kin.’

‘Apart from the tragedy of it all,’ here Curufin’s eyes got a dark look in them, making clear this topic was one he had Opinions on, ‘there was always the point of view from a not insignificant amount of people that it was some fundamental flaw in my grandmother herself that this happened when it never should have been possible for one of my people. That she was a representation of how marred the world truly is, a mistake. And that we, as her line, are as well. That we shouldn’t have existed and our blood shouldn’t be permitted spread its inherent weakness.’

‘I ask you not to mention it to Caranthir as he bore the brunt of it, so closely resembling her in face as well as spirit, with his chosen crafts of needlework and mathematics echoing her own and his tendencies towards the emotional.’ Telchar snorted at that despite the depressing topic of conversation. ‘The only emotion I’ve ever seen from Caranthir is frustration at everyone else’s apparent idiocy.’

Curufin rolled his eyes ‘Well you don’t know him very well do you? Just for trade deals. He’s not exactly the easiest person to get close to.’ Telchar bumped his shoulder teasingly ‘And you are?’ ‘Well not normally. But how could I resist such smithing skill?’ This was said with great sarcasm but in his years of knowing the elf he’d learnt that that was his favoured way of being genuine.

‘Still though. Caranthir. Emotional. You really expect me to believe that?’ Curufin smiled softly ‘You should have met him in Valinor. He changed. We all did but him especially. He doesn’t laugh anymore or cry or anything really. People always worried that his sensitivity was a sign that he would end up the same way, or end his own life, grandfather couldn’t bare to look at him some days without thinking of his grief. But those people didn’t truly know him. His feeling things was never a problem, that’s just who he is. It’s the emptiness that worries me.’

‘And here I thought a high and mighty elf lord like yourself didn’t worry about anything.’ He paused and twisted a gold ring on his finger, emblazoned with an oddly shaped star and no further ornamentation. Now that he thought about it he remembered Caranthir doing the same with a similar trinket. ‘Family is family. I’m sure you can understand that at least. If it isn’t too improper of me,’ he hesitated as if unsure of himself for once and forced his voice into a more casual tone ‘if you see him again could you pay attention to his manner? Keep me posted if you see something out of the ordinary, uncharacteristic silence, weeping, zoning out, excessive alcohol consumption and the like. Just out of curiosity of course. Plotting, scheming and blackmail purposes and all that.’

#silmarillion #tolkien #curufin #Telchar #Caranthir #Humor #angst

[swanhild]

hi! I did your survey! can I ask what are your own thoughts on the order of the Finwean cousins? I'm trying to decide for a artwork I want to create

Hi anon, I apologize for taking so long to answer this (the last couple of weeks have been hellish). And I need to point out that the survey is not mine, but @ceescedasticity's, so you might want to ask them. I only reblogged it to help with the sample size and because I'm a nerd who likes fandom-related statistics.

That said, this is the birth order I myself have settled on for Finwё's grandchildren at the moment (and my reasons below):

Maedhros Maglor Fingon Celegorm Finrod Turgon Caranthir Angrod Curufin Aegnor Aredhel Galadriel Argon Amrod Amras

(No Orodreth, sorry. I'm an Orodreth son of Angrod truther. It just makes both of them more interesting to me as characters if they're father and son and I enjoy the symmetry of Fingolfin and Finarfin both having four children).

I tried to incorporate what we canonically know about their ages, which is

the oldest child and birth order of each sibling group

that Finrod and Turgon are the same age (born 1300 YT)

that Aredhel and Galadriel are the same age (born 1362 YT)

The first four in the list are just personal preference- Fingon could theoretically be the second oldest (or even the oldest) grandchild, but Maedhros is firmly The Oldest (TM) in my mind and he and Maglor are so inseparable that I prefer them to have been the only grandchildren for a little while until Fingon came along (or Celegorm*, but I prefer Fingon to be born right after Maglor and a bit older than Celegorm).

They are followed by Finrod and Turgon and then Caranthir and Angrod. The latter two being roughly the same age is amusing to me, because instead of being besties like Finrod and Turgon, I imagine they were already getting into fights and throwing sand at each other if you left them to play unattended in the sandpit.

Curufin being surrounded by Angrod, Aegnor and Aredhel age-wise feels right to me as well, as he was canonically close with Aredhel (and if I remember correctly there is at least one version of events where Curufin was close with Angrod and Aegnor as well?) Both Curufin and Aredhel probably looked up to and idolized their cool older brother/cousin Celegorm. (I guess Galadriel already did her own thing even back then, or she preferred to follow Finrod around.)

I chose Amrod and Amras to be the youngest instead of Argon because Feanor would like being the one to provide his father with both the oldest and the youngest grandchild(ren) in the family (a perfect crown prince and heir to start with and a pair of adorable ginger babies to fawn over to end the Finwёan grandchild boom.) Also because I like the idea of Telufinwё ("last Finwё") actually being the last grandchild of Finwё in addition to being the last child of Fёanor and Nerdanel.

Looking at the list written out like that, it seems Finarfin and Eärwen had all their kids pretty closely together, while Fingolfin and Anairё had Fingon and Turgon, then took a little break and had another two. (Maybe Finarfin's and Eärwen's kids were all pretty easy-going for the most part, while Fingon and Turgon were little hellions a bit more difficult to handle? Sounds accurate tbh.)

*I'm not completely sold on the order above. I have considered Celegorm being younger than Finrod and Turgon for example, making him and Caranthir very close in age, which could be used to explain why Celegorm is closer to Curufin- by the time Curufin was born, he could be an "older brother" to him, while a close in age Caranthir could have been more of a rival for his parents' attention and affection growing up.

It's also possible I'm missing some pieces of obscure inforamtion that would change my mind, so if you know of anything, feel free to let me know!

#anon #asks #Finwean cousin birth order #silmarillion #silmarillion meta #this turned out way longer than I intended ajshjssjs #maedhros #maglor #fingon #finrod #not tagging the whole gang

[shiroandblack]

Silmarillion characters and if I could take them in a fight:

(note: this is absolutely unrealistic as if this was irl, average height-flabs for muscle-winded after one staircase-me would absolutely die fighting any of these people)

Fëanor: Yes. I can and will kick his ass.

Nerdanel: She can step on me and I would thank her.

Maedhros: I'd be dead in 0.1 second, thanks.

Maglor: No, but I would pull his hair so hard I'd rip a chunk off his scalp.

Celegorm: Yes. And I would pull his hair while I'm at it.

Caranthir: he wouldn't even need to get physical, he'd probably make me cry long before the fight even starts.

Curufin: yes, but I'm not walking away completely whole.

Amrod: I'll make him even crispier than his father did.

Amras: no, because he would kill me for Amrod.

Fingolfin: Absolutely not. I would be stepped on 7 times.

Anairë: she'd kill me without getting her hands dirty, so no I would die.

Fingon: No. He'd probably strangle me with his bow.

Turgon: Yes. I'd defeat him by throwing bricks at him.

Aredhel: I'd die.

Argon: who's Argon?

Finarfin: No, because he would talk me out of fighting him in the first place.

Eärwen: I would die via swans.

Finrod: No, because like his dad he would talk me out of it.

Angrod: No, I would get my head squished between his hands.

Aegnor: no, I'm not Andreth so I'm pretty sure I'd be dead.

Galadriel: I'd be dead in 0.1 seconds like Maedhros.

Celeborn: there is a reason Galadriel married him, so I'd probably die. No.

Elu Thingol: Yes, I'll bite his leg and never let go like a rabid dog.

Melian: bold of you to assume I'd fight her in the first place.

Lùthien: No, because I'd probably join her in dancing and singing in the woods away from civilisation.

Beren: Would rip off my head with his bare hands, so no.

Haleth: my head would be mounted on a pike after 5 minutes.

Elrond: no, because he would talk me out of it.

Elros: no, because he'd drown me.

Elwing: yes, because she would jump off a cliff before I even challenged her so I guess that would be a win for me.

Eärendil: no, he'd tie me up in his boat.

Dior: no, this is the guy who told the Fëanorians to fuck around and find out. I have chosen to NOT fuck around and find out.

Nimloth: no, I don't think I'd make it out alive.

Eluréd and Elurín: Celegorm's servants did the work for me.

Túrin: I'd probably be one of the many unfortunate souls he accidentally killed, so no.

Húrin: No. Just no.

Morwen: I'd be dead in 0.1 seconds.

Morgoth: yes. Just yes.

Sauron: no. I die like Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor: no. But he would give me trinkets as a consolation prize.

Gil-galad: I'd become a shish kebab via Aeglos.

Finwë: yes.

Míriel: no, she'd stab me through the eye with her sewing needles.

Indis: RIP me.

#the silmarillion #also no elwing slander guys #please

[doodle-pops]

Hi Mina!

I'm so happy reactions are open :)

May I please request how the Feanorians would react to finding their soulmate in a soulmate AU?

Thank you!

a/n: Honestly, I was surprised that I remembered half of these different forms of meetings, especially after my hiatus without reading a Wattpad story on these. I do love these a lot so I showed special love :)

Feanorians Meeting Their Soulmate

Soulmate AU

MATCHING TATTOO/MARKINGS — Having soulmates through the form of matching tattoos was the most chaotic event of their life. Despite the marking being located in an easy to access and view area on their skin, they still managed to be sceptical about revealing it to anyone. For years they've prayed on their marking in hopes that you would be nearby and not far. When they stumbled upon you one day, they could feel the slight thinking sensation in their body where the mark was located. Through a quick rustle and hasty movements, they would see your marking and shout it out at you. “Wait! What's that? Is that your... You bear the same marking as I do...look! I found you!” Finding you was the best day of their lives.

Maedhros, MAGLOR, AMROD

COLOURBLIND/SEEING COLOURS — All their life, they saw black and white while everyone else around them saw the world of colours. It was a constant mockery to them whenever they needed to identify different colours of items and they couldn't. The sympathetic look on the faces of everyone around them while they fumbled to guess the shades. The constant dependent behaviour, requiring another to assist them with picking out colours was a parody. They would meet you through a small breakdown, crying in the streets and eating themselves up at the lack of a soulmate. Seeing you stumble across them, greeting them a 'goodnight' and continuing, colours flashed before their eyes and they knew. You couldn't leave them so soon. “I know you see the world in black and white, but you can't tell me you're still colourblind after meeting me?”

FEANOR, CARANTHIR

DRAWING/INJURIES ON EACH OTHER'S SKIN — Being late bloomers when it came to discovering how they met their soul mate, they wouldn't realise it until pain struck them in areas they'd never injured before. Every time they attempt to be careful, the next morning they woke up, they were covered in little bruises and scribblings. Realising that this was how they would meet their soulmate, the first thing they could mention was 'Invest in protective gear clumsy'. That's how you both would interact from then on, planning when and how you'd meet and even helping the other to cheat during exams. Your meet and greet would be casual and nerve-racking because you had never seen them before, but you did, it was worth the wait. “I'm terribly sorry for my fights with my brothers. I nearly damaged a beauty like yourself, my soulmate.”

CELEGORM, Curufin

RED STRING — For all their life, they've followed that little red string tied around their pinkie, hoping that when they rounded the corner, you would be there. They've spent years chasing blank trails never finding you and finally deciding to give up. You were somewhere else in the world where they'd never find you. Soon, falling back into routine and carrying on with their life, you would enter, but they were so distant from reality to recognise you. You were within their presence, tugging on their string and their attention was elsewhere. It took your assertiveness to introduce yourself, holding up your hand and pointing to theirs before the puzzle was connected. “...You're real? You're not some ghost or made-up? I searched all my life for you and now you're here!”

AMROD, Celebrimbor

#reactions #house of feanor #soulmate au #maedhros x reader #maglor x reader #amrod x reader #feanor x reader #caranthir x reader #celegorm x reader #curufin x reader #celebrimbor x reader #amras x reader #doodlepops responds