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silmawensgarden · 2 years

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XIX-THE SUN CH5

Fëanorians x GN Modern Reader.

Word count: 3.7k

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It is difficult to grasp, that the comfort characters once believed to be fantasy, could turn out so real in the blink of an eye. Two doors are unlocked, it is up to you whether you wish to open them, and bear witness to the worlds that lie within.

Vulnerability is a skill worth mastering.

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The day was passing by without a hitch. Happy conversation accompanied by soft humming and a pluck of strings here and there. The atmosphere was soothing, yet alight with joy. Amras, Amrod and Celegorm were in the garden. Doing something in the trees, no one really knew what, no one really bothered to check.

Caranthir had found your grandmother’s embroidery materials, and sat in a corner of the living room, embroidering while sipping his how-manieth cup of coffee. A small ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

Curufin had found a stack of crafters magazines, and was occupied with the designs presented in them. Taking notes on the sides on what he would have improved or done different.

Maedhros had been conversing with Maglor, but later retreated to their shared room for some rest. His nightmares were flaring up for some reason again. Which left Maglor, turning his full attention to you. He walked over to where you were sitting in your reading corner by the sofa. Smiling he asked if he could keep you company. You agreed.

He was curious about the book you were reading, so you conversed about it for a while. Enjoying each other’s company. At some point you had both fallen silent, just sitting beside each other, while he plucked at his harp. How come he keeps his harp, yet Celegorm can’t keep Huan? You thought.

After deeming the silence to be deafening, aside from the slight harping, you decided to question Maglor about his time spent wandering. Out of all things you had read about him, this probably broke your heart the most. Though you weren’t entirely sure of how to breach the subject to him.

“Maglor…?” you tried to get his attention. It worked. “Yes y/n? What is it?” He smiled at you, like he’s done this whole time he’s been here in your world. Though sometimes it seemed like the smiles he’d send you, and even his brothers, never really reached his eyes.

“I would like to ask you about something, though I am well aware this may cause you grief. So if you do not want to talk about it, I respect that. I would like to hear what happened to you during your time of wandering the shores…. I know a small amount, but I prefer to hear the truth from the person who has lived it.” You said, carefully gauging his reactions to your words the whole time.

He fell silent, and his smile faltered just slightly. Shock was etched on his face, and perhaps a good helping of disbelief as well. He did not lash out, nor become cold towards you. He sighed deeply instead. “I understand, it’s alright. I feel well enough to speak of it. You need not worry.” He answered many silent questions of yours with his statement. You felt a bit guilty for asking after seeing the expression on his face. His reassurance helped you calm down some, but did not fully erase the feeling of having reopened his wounds with your bare hands.

“The best way to describe what I felt, though perhaps not really the best way, is grief. I felt immense grief for what happened at Alqualondië. Grief and guilt. I truly could not stand the pain I was dealt, though the pain given by our people to the Teleri….was far greater than my own. Of that I am sure. To this day I live with that grief. ” his face was drowned in sorrow as he continued with his story.

“ I screamed my lungs out over the sea. I screamed of my sorrow, my grief and my guilt. Screaming apologies for each and every life I had taken without right that day. They were all innocent….all of them. I wished I would have suffered for them instead. And this wish, foolish wish, had only grown with time. ”

“yet I did not fade. And a part of me, perhaps a sick and twisted pain loving part of me….was grateful I didn’t. I did not deserve to fade. The blood on my hands, of those poor people, the children….who’s burning sandals and ripped plushies I had walked past that day…! I could not fade, for I was sure their fëa would grasp on to mine and drag me back to life. To repent for my crimes, I will need forever. “

A lone tear slipped from his eye. On instinct your hand reached for it, wiping it off his cheek. In elven culture, this was probably highly inappropriate. Which you realized the moment you felt his face tense under your fingers. He did not pull away, but he cast his gaze to the side. Avoiding you somewhat.

Retracting your hand, you decided it would be better to offer him a handkerchief instead. So you did. He took it from your hand and wiped what seemed like invisible tears from his face. Though you knew better.

You sat in silence again. Before you spoke up, wishing to share your thoughts, hoping it would release him from his torment just a little. Even the slightest bit would help.

“Maglor I –“ he cut you off. “Káno. You may call me that.” He said. Still willing his gaze away from you. Pausing for a moment to process this, you continued now even more determined to ease his suffering.

“Káno… I understand you feel grief and guilt. I have not done or ever experienced that which you have. So in truth I can’t say that I truly do understand what you feel. But I want you to know that you have punished yourself enough --“ you got cut off again.

“Was it really enough?!” He turned to you sharply. Searching for something in your eyes that neither he nor you could place. Determined to get your point across you continued with little time for him to interfere.

“Yes Káno. It was enough. Your remorse, your sorrow, the guilt and the grief you have carried for ages was more than enough. Because it is genuine. That is what matters the most of all. And I hope that if you ever return back to your world, that you get the chance to tell those people what you have told me. So you may see with your own eyes that you have suffered enough.”

“I am no Telerin person, but if it helps you, even just a little bit then that gives me enough courage to say this.….” You took a deep breath in, and with all the honesty and emotion you could muster you said what you’d been wanting to tell him for a long time; “I forgive you Káno.”

For the first time in the past 10 minutes of him avoiding your gaze, he finally allowed his eyes to lock on to yours. His face showed disbelief, shock, surprise…..you name it. If it was possible to accurately describe what he looked like…

He looked like an unyielding wall of stone that had suddenly crumbled before you. Undoubtedly replaying everything that has happened up till now. Doubting himself if he’s truly allowed to be forgiven. Though there was a small glint of hope still left in his eyes.

Curufin and Caranthir who both had been silent this whole time, minding their business, now looked up from their work briefly. Inspecting the situation before them. Silently. The distress their brother was in must’ve reached their fëa.

The whole elvish soul thing is rather new for you still, but you knew they could sense a lot of things through their fëa. So you didn’t bother with being surprised.

Maglor soon calmed down slightly. He was still feeling distressed, but now a new feeling was starting to settle inside of him. Perhaps it was hope, or maybe the feeling of forgiveness. He wasn’t sure about it just yet. But it was warm and soft. Something he hadn’t felt in many ages.

This time his smile reached his eyes. It was genuine. “Thank you y/n…. your words mean a lot to me.” He whispered. He was just barely audible, but his eyes spoke loud and clear.

“I think I’ll go join Nelyo for some rest, I feel tired, if you don’t mind…?” he looked you in the eyes again. It was nice. For some reason it had felt terrible when you saw him avoiding you like he did. You felt relieved.

“Go ahead and get some rest Káno. You deserve it!” you said, laughing some. He smiled wider, bid you a good day and went back to his shared room with Maedhros. Most likely telling the eldest about everything that had just happened. Provided that Maedhros was awake.

You stayed seated on the sofa for a little while longer. Processing all the information you had just received from Káno. You were having mixed feelings. On one hand you were filled with sorrow for all the pain he had suffered all those years. On the other, you were happy that you’ve grown closer to him.

And as time went on, you would find that Makalaurë looked at you different from this day onward. A little something in his crystal blue eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

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You got up from your spot on the sofa and decided to go see what Curufin was up to. You knew he had busied himself with the crafters magazines for quite a while now. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to ask what his opinions were on the designs presented there.

However he wasn’t in his spot at the table in the living room anymore. It seems that he had gone upstairs a little earlier than Maglor. You greeted Caranthir before leaving, who hadn’t moved from the chair in the corner. Still working on what seemed like an elaborate piece of embroidery. You didn’t quite catch what he was embroidering on, only that it was some teal colored piece of cloth.

Changing your course from the living room to the second floor you also stopped by a window that gave you a perfect view of the backyard. Easily spotting Ambarussa and Celegorm working in the garden. It was a heart warming sight. They seemed to be doing something near the raised garden beds.

Finally walking upstairs , down the hallway, you stopped one last time before reaching your final destination. Stopping at the first guest room, it isn’t good to eavesdrop, but you needed to know for sure that both Maedhros and Maglor were alright. Everything was quiet on the other side. You assumed they were sleeping and walked to the 3rd guest room. The place you’d stay for possibly the next few hours.

Knocking on the door softly you asked if you could come in. After hearing a soft “yes” you entered the room, closing the door with a click. Curufin was sitting at the desk placed near one of the windows. Some magazines in front of him as well as a heap of other papers. Walking closer towards the desk you noticed that his hands were stained with ink. How’d he manage that..?

Mustering up some courage to ask him you spoke finally; “Hey! I saw you were busy with those designs earlier, I was wondering what you thought of the things we have here in my world. Perhaps we could talk about the things you crafted in Arda as well. If it’s not a bother to you of course…” You were a bit hesitant to approach him further. His brows knit together on his face , he was frowning. Though it seemed to loosen just a little bit at the mention of a good discussion about crafting related things. He was after all, first and foremost a crafter, like his beloved father had been.

If your accounts were worth anything, what you saw in front of you now must’ve been the spitting image of Fëanáro in his youth. Steel grey eyes with a piercing gaze that dissected your very being if you dared to hold his gaze too long. His face framed by long raven-dark hair, waving, nearly curling past his tense shoulders. The sun was starting to set, it’s golden light illuminating his features in such a way that they seemed to be carved from pale and even marble, creating a stark contrast with the burgundy walls that surrounded you both.

One of his brows quirked up and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you mind?” he said, amusement in his voice.

Your face and ears grew hot like coals. You hadn’t realized that he had been talking to you for the past few minutes. You were too busy admiring his features. Damn the Eldar and their ridiculously attractive selves… you cursed under your breath. That was truly embarrassing.

“Eh…ha…ha. Yeah. I’m sorry I wasn’t really listening earlier. Forgive me. “ You felt like sinking through the hardwood floors into the ground beneath the house. You hoped he’d be lenient enough to excuse the rude staring.

“No problem, you wouldn’t have liked what I was saying either way. Unless you are prepared to accept the fact that many works of your kind are subpar. So much could be improved upon. A shame no one has done more. There is potential here in these designs. ” he said. Maintaining a neutral and utterly unbothered expression.

“Have a seat, y/n. There is much we could discuss on this topic. Do you craft anything yourself?“ He turned back to the magazines and papers on the desk. Upon closer inspection, the heap of papers contained prototype designs from the magazines, but redrawn and improved in many ways. Some even redrawn to the point it was hard to recognize what it used to be.

“Ah, not in the way you would describe crafting. I paint and draw a lot. I’ve attempted DIY’s too, some turned out better than others. “ you replied. Knowing that your grandpa had spent lots of time with you as a child doing little paper and clay crafts. Those memories you would treasure forever.

Curufin hummed in reply. Flipping through some of the papers on his desk another thought came to his mind; “Perhaps you could show me some of your works later. I’d like to see them.”

You were a little surprised, maybe even a little sceptical. Was he genuinely interested? You didn’t think about it too much and agreed to it pretty quickly either way.

The next hour was filled with you and Curufin speaking about the many technologies on earth. He practically lit up each time you mentioned something of interest to him and he couldn’t keep himself from asking you thousands of questions. When you mentioned the fact that there were workshops in the city, you saw a fire light up in his eyes. He wanted to go there. That was obvious. Too obvious really.

You were about to ask him something when you got silenced by your phone’s ringtone. You fished your phone from your pocket and checked who was calling. Grandpa! He must’ve recently arrived at his destination, he always made it a habit to call you to say he arrived safely.

“My grandpa is calling, I gotta pick up, hope you don’t mind.” You told him. Curufin nodded, mesmerized by the new contraption presented in front of him.

“Hey gramps! How are you? How was your flight?” You were happy to hear from your grandpa, he had taken a little longer than usual to call you. “Hello my dear child, I am quite alright, the flight was good though we had some hold up half way. So it took a little longer.” He said. You were relieved to know that nothing bad had happened.

“How are you? Is everything alright? Nobody troubling you I hope..?” He asked. A strange tone in his voice. You gulped. Did he know….? He couldn’t know, right?

“Everything is alright here! No worries.” You told him. Hoping he wouldn’t catch on to your slightly nervous tone. He hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Good to hear that dear. I’ll be hanging up now, Filype invited us over for lunch earlier. So I’ll be going now. Take good care my dear. Rest well!” were the last words you heard before he hung up.

You put your phone away with a sigh. Curufin broke the small silence between you; “What was that contraption? “

“Oh this? That’s a phone, it is very similar to the Palantiri made by your father.” You grabbed your phone again and showed it to him. Showing him some apps as well and talking about how it worked. He was intrigued by it. A small melancholic smile creeped on to his face. “I miss atar.” He said. “I had been separated from him so cruelly…..those balrogs…..I felt useless. I can barely look at myself in the mirror nowadays. I am eternally reminded of the person I loved most. ”

His gaze swam in an ocean of unshed tears. The halls of Mandos heal many hurts, though they do not take away the memories with them. This memory for him, was one of his worst.

You noticed how quickly his mood turned sour, he looked incredibly miserable. You decided to try and draw up the good memories about Fëanáro instead. It helped you to deal with the losses in your family, so perhaps it could help him as well.

“Curufin? Can you tell me some things about your dad? Maybe some happy memories?” He looked up at you in confusion, taking a moment to process what you asked. “Well….there are many happy memories I have with him…..” He started. A small smile starting to creep up. “When I was a small elfling I used to dress up in his clothes… my atar loved it. He would often allow me to wear some smaller items of his when we went to court meetings or just family visits. I loved it so much.”

“There is actually one item….that I still wear to this day.” He smiled a full smile, the sadness slowly melting away from his face. He fished out a small pendant from deep under the layers of his many shirts and tunics. He was still wearing all of his royal layers, likely also a reminder of his dad.

It was a beautiful pendant, with silver vines and swirls encasing a shining fire opal. The stone almost radiated heat. The silver was only an ornate cage to keep the fire from bursting. It was gorgeous.

Curufin smiled again seeing you in awe. “It was one of my father’s earliest crafts actually… ” “Nonetheless it is far better than anyone else’s first tries!” he said full of pride and slight defence. The pendant had been made by Fëanáro for himself, though after some time his dear son managed to get a hold of it. Since then it had become a gift to Curufin, and he kept it with him all his life.

You smiled, seeing how happy Curufin was with that little pendant alone shows how much he loved and revered his father.

Both of you sat in silence for a small while, both admiring the pendant. Curufin taught you some of the works that went into the shaping of the silver vines. Despite being very grumpy when you couldn’t answer questions, he turned out to be an incredible teacher. It took him little time to have you grasp the basics. Without any physical representations either, just by word and gesture.

He was about to say something to you when the door slammed open. “Carnistir! Stop your aggressions towards the doors at the very least. ” Curufin stated, a slight edge to his voice. Caranthir didn’t seem to have any reaction to the edge in his brother’s voice. Instead he started yelling at him about all of the ink everywhere; “You spilled ink everywhere Curvo! It best not be on my parchments else you and I shall have a problem. A big problem. Now for the true reason I’m here; Y/n has been gone too long with you so the rest of us got worried.“

Caranthir was still displeased with all the ink and approached the two of you with big strides. An even bigger frown on his face, nearly morphing into a scowl. Curufin stood up from his chair to face his brother. You simultaneously snapped out of your stupor and looked outside, it was dark and the moon together with the stars were visible. You had been there for a minimum of 4 hours, otherwise it couldn’t have been this dark. Dinner seems too much effort now, even if not, it would have been wasted effort after all.

You got up from your chair as well, facing the two arguing brothers. “I think it’s best If we all turn in for the night. If anyone has objections to skipping dinner say so now.” You said.

Caranthir and Curufin turned to you, stopping their argument for a moment. They looked at each other and both agreed to skipping out on dinner. It was too late. One thing they can at least agree on. Turning around you walked to the door, leaving the two temperamental brothers behind. Just before leaving you turned back to them again; “Goodnight Cara, Curvo. Sleep well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You walked to your room, exhausted by the day and all that it had given you.

You didn’t notice the weird look Caranthir gave his brother, neither the smile on the other’s face from what you failed to realize you called him, this time fully justified. Because he’d given you a silent permission, some time ago.

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Bonus panel ♥️

#silmarillion #tolkien #elves #feanorians #sons of feanor #curufin #curvo #maglor #caranthir #x reader #gender neutral reader #XIX-THESUN #art #maedhros #maitimo #moryo #Makalaurë

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thatfeanorian · 3 years

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I was tagged to do this writer game by @arofili! thank you!!

how many works do you have on AO3?

33 (counting my two unrevealed TSRBs)!

what’s your total AO3 word count?

177758 (wow somehow thats only a third of what I’ve written)

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I’ve written for.... literally one fandom published and 5 unpublished. We’ll stick with published since I don’t want to expose myself lmao: Just Silmarillion because I’m a high key nerd. That and the whole fandom and work facinates me to the extreme because it is so open ended and nearly any interpritation of the text can be canon!

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All The Ways To Love - 198 (a longfic about Maedhros and Fingon in an arranged marriage finding exactly what they need in each other, side appearances by baby feanorians)

Make You Mine (the way you should be) - 99 (a short Kidnap Family fic featuring prophetic dreams E&E who have known Maedhros and Maglor would always be coming for them and loved them for it)

Fëanor Finds Out Sort Of But Not Really - 78 (another Russingon fic about Maedhros and Fingon’s secret relationship being found out at the consequences that go along with that)

From The Ashes, Rising - 69 (a 13k four chapter fic-- medium length?-- about Maedhros and Fingon growing up and falling in love, a Modern AU.)

the difference between you and I - 69 (a kidnap dads fic about E&E’s first night with Maedhros and Maglor and how they began to understand that their first impressions might not have been right.)

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Always. Comments are one of the best things I, as an author, can receive and I adore each and every person who takes time to put their thoughts and appreciation into words. Thank you so much to all of you who have done that for me!!

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hooooo boy that’s a hard one. So many of mine have angsty endings on purpose because pain is always fun. Still if I had to pick one, I would choose Learn Your Place, another fic in my Modern AU “To Build the Bonds That Tie,” featuring middle school age Maedhros questioning his sexuality and being told that he doesn’t belong.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Very rarely, and I almost never publish them. The only one I have published as of right now is very old and embarrassing so I won’t link it but it was about Finrod, Turgon, and a self-insert OC being tossed into The Hobbit to try to retrieve the silmaril-arkenstone.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes I actually got my first bit very recently and I laughed so hard I almost threw up. I just don’t understand why people keep reading my fics if they know from the first few sentences they don’t like them. I’ve read my fair share of fics that weren’t my style and somehow I’ve never left a single piece of hate on any of them.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Absolutely. I write everything from very kinky sex to soft aftercare and all the variations in between. The one thing I absolutely refuse to do is non-con although I am okay with sex used as a method of torture. I love love love writing LGBTQ+ themes and do my best to incorporate as much diversity as I can into all my pieces NSFW and otherwise just because they’re not realistic if I don’t.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

have you ever had a fic translated?

I’ve gotten one request but the person who asked dropped it and never got back to me :(

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! A few of my fics are based off of an old RP server I was in with a couple friends and so as such the ideas are theirs as well as mine and I at least consider the fics co-written.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

.....if you can’t guess.... go take a look at my AO3 (I’ll give you a hint 90% of my fics contain this ship)

(it’s russingon)

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

My (first) Modern AU. I have it two thirds finished and only a third published but the entire idea is so enormous that I don’t think I will possibly be able to finish it. I adore my baby and I’ll do my best but I think I made the right decision splitting it into seperate fics so that we all can enjoy the parts I do get out instead of waiting ages for things to go in chronological order.

what are your writing strengths?

I adore writing emotion and description! I feel most comfortable writing long winding explanations of the scenery and people that put you (as people have told me) right in the scene.

what are your writing weaknesses?

oh my god smooth dialogue. I struggle so much it’s painful. That’s the part of any fic that takes me the longest because I sit there saying each part out loud to myself like it’s a play and trying to decide if it’s at all reasonable.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Yes! Absolutely. I love including in-verse languages in my writing in both names, pet names, and even small sentances, but it really really bothers me when people will go on a winding speech or a chunk of dialogue in another language and then have to translate the whole thing at the bottom. Another huge pet peeve of mine is when people use words in other languages and then *don’t* translate them at the bottom. I can’t at all get the full vibe of the fic if there’s words I don’t understand!

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhh.... I wrote a self insert fic when I was 10 about this one elf statue at the Santa’s Village Amusement Park in NH (please don’t ask)

but if that doesn’t count --please tell me it doesn’t-- then PJO and I still write the occasional fic for them now because PJO is just iconic.

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Omg that’s a hard one. I really struggled picking just one because there’s so many that I’m proud of but if I had to pick a genuine favorite I’d say... Inure, a fic I wrote a couple months ago detailing one of the darkest experiences of my life from Maedhros’s perspective. It was both incredibly hard to write and extremely cathartic for me and will remain one of the most terrifying things that I have ever had the courage to publish.

Mind the tags though, it is quite dark and can be triggering if you’ve had an experience similar to mine!

I’ll tag.... @findrahil, @sianascera, @admirablemonster and @secretlythranduil if any of y’all feel up to it!

#fey speaks #tag game #my writing #fic recs

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tilions · 3 years

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A long way from home

I always wanted to write something about Maglor's wife Cellin and how she goes searching for her husband. Daeron also made his way here and I'm not complaining. The relationship between him and Cellin can be interpreted however you want but I think of it as queerplatonic.

It had been her goal to find a lost, sad minstrel but as fate played out she ended up with the one she didn't go on a journey for. It was her first journey without any family or friends accompanying her and from the start it had seemed like it would be a lost cause to even go and search for him. Even her always optimistic father had said that such a search would be fruitless.

If someone doesn't want to be found, my dear it becomes an almost impossible task, he had said and smiled in her general direction.

She knew he wasn't just saying empty words but that he spoke from experience. When father said serious things like this he was always speaking from experience but Cellin was never brave enough to actually ask what had made him think that way. What had made him believe this was the way of things?

Now she looked in the direction where Daeron was waiting for her at the end of the pathway some people of the atani had made and wondered if her experience will be different from her father's.

Sure she hadn't found her husband - yet - but someone else whom her people had believed was lost forever.

Would she return with only Daeron in tow, the Sindar would probably praise her for bringing back their lost prince and maybe refrain from referring to her as the victim of her husband's wicked power, brainwashed and manipulated like they also did with Elrond whenever he spoke up in his father's behalf. Or rather done up until rather recently, since Cirdan had noticed it. And if there was one person in this world who could match the terrifying way in which Cellin's mother could show her disappointment, it was Cirdan.

Now the thing was that Cellin's didn't set out to find Daeron and she wouldn't return with only Daeron in tow. Even if everyone else would be overjoyed. Cellin's journey would have missed its purpose and she wasn't sure if she would ever find the courage to set out on another one ever again. She would always find something to do instead of traveling alone, no matter how much she yearned to see her husband again.

She was not an adventurer. Not in the sense in which they are portrayed in stories. She liked to travel in good company, with her family, their little caravan of wagons and a song on her lips, a known destination ahead and nothing to worry about except for the place they would rest at night. She was a comfortable person and she was wise enough to admit that. Her husband had known this too and never pushed her to do things she didn't want to do especially when it came to traveling.

Sure they had to pick up a more nomadic lifestyle halfway through the war but this had been a necessity not something Cellin could decide against. She could have decided against going on this journey and that's where the difference was.

The matter of choice.

She followed Daeron down the path further south, through the lands of those of the atani who not yet had discovered the wheel and who still lived in huts made of clay and dried grass. Those people watched them pass through their little settlements with wonder in their eyes, trading their knowledge of the land willingly for one of Daeron's songs or Cellin's handcrafted toys for their children.

Celllin could watch them for hours for they had not yet seen the terrors of the world and lived and thrived at their own pace, much like her own people had done according to legend.

Neither her nor Daeron spoke much with one another. Their travels were wrapped in silence, like they were strangers… which they weren't.

Cellin had been Daeron's friend when both of them had been children and they had done everything together, had shared secrets and made promises. Cellin was sure that if she hadn't met Maglor she would've ended up marrying Daeron, even if she wouldn't have loved him in the same way she loved her husband. And if she was being honest she still would marry him any day, not out of the same love that she felt for Maglor but out of a very similar feeling.

She didn't know if he felt the same way. He had always been incredibly difficult to read even during the time when they were the closest. But once again she was not brave enough to actually speak to him when the silence between them became too much for her, instead she would start humming some silly traveling song her father had made up of she would keep herself distracted by watching their surroundings with even more care than necessary.

She noticed the side glance he would give her but since he never said anything, Cellin assumed he just found it silly how she behaved.

Only very rarely would he join her in her silly songs and those were some of the most carefree times on their journey, reminding Cellin very much of her life before the War, before the Fall, before everything. Those moments never lasted long and she mourned them once they were over. The memory however she kept close to her heart, so that it could make the silence that would always follow again more bearable.

"We're coming closer to the shores," Daeron said one day when they once again left an atani village behind. "I can smell the salt of the sea."

"Can you?" Cellin wondered. "I didn't know that."

"Me neither," he replied and shrugged. "Father never allowed me to go near the shore and I never actively went there myself even after I left."

"It's… nice," Cellin said but tried not to think about the last time she had seen the sea, tainted red in the blood of yet another fight her father-in-law's path had caused his son's to take.

"So I have heard but there is even more. Some of the villagers spoke of a ghost that roams the black shores to the southwest, with a voice as enchanting as a siren - whatever that may be."

He didn't need to say more because Cellin knew what this could mean. She would've loved to cry out in joy.

"We shouldn't get our hopes up," Daeron said and put a hand on her shoulder. "Humans tell many tales and most of them prove to be quite untrue, they're not good at remembering history correctly."

"Every tale holds a bit of truth," Cellin shot back and Daeron just nodded.

Neither of them asked the other why they hadn't bothered looking near the sea in the first place, given that everything Cellin had heard always said that her husband was wandering the shorelines, but then again Cellin had never asked Daeron why he was helping her and Daeron had never asked Cellin what she actually was looking for. There was a silent understanding between them, that didn't need questions or answers.

They took the little they had and continued to travel, this time with a destination in mind and Cellin felt how this alone made her feel much more comfortable.

The closer they came to the shore, the more frequently they were plagued by storms and rain. Thunder would roar high in the clouds with the might of ten thousand lions and lightning would strike across the dark skies as bright as a star. They would huddle together under the cover of the trees, Daeron's large cloak covering their heads, shielding them from the cold, the rain, the lashing winds.

Still they didn't speak much but the silence between them was different now. Cellin couldn't put into words what had changed but she wouldn't dare to complain.

She would wait and listen to the thunder, the distant waves, the howling winds and Daeron's quiet breathing near her ear. And sometimes, sometimes there was something that sounded like a voice carried by the wind but each time she thought to hear it it would be swallowed by some other noise.

"It's not your imagination," Daeron would tell her, calmly stroking her shoulder. "I hear it too."

"Just like you can smell the salt?"

"Hm.." He replied and smiled faintly. "Just like I smell the salt. Come now the sky is clearing up. It is time to reach the shore."

Eventually they did so and it was as the villagers had told them. The sand upon these shores was a black as obsidian, as the darkest night under a starless sky but it was warm underneath their bare feet when they walked on it, following the distant voice even further south.

Cellin wondered which part of the world they had reached now and whether her husband would lead them to the end. How far would Lake Cuivienen be from where they were now? And would it be like her father and mother had told her? Should she ask Daeron if he wanted to go looking for it on their way back?

…

If he wanted to return with her and Maglor that was. She wasn't sure if he would. Maybe he preferred to travel like this? Was it possible that he only helped her find her husband and would leave them once they had done so?

The thought actually made her sad and before she knew it she was wiping tears off her cheeks. Tears that had somehow found their way from her eyes and didn't go unnoticed by her companion.

"He's not far, no need to cry now. You'll be able to go home with him soon enough."

But what about you?, she wanted to ask but her throat could produce no sound aside from ungly sobs. Won't you come with us? Will you leave us? Again?

He stroked her back and helped her silently through the avalanche of emotions that had overtaken her heart.

Eru, she loved him, as much as one could love their best friend, as much as one could love their family. She wouldn't want to go home without him, leave him. It would feel like leaving a part of her soul behind. She knew that feeling all too well, she had experienced it before and she didn't want to live through that pain again.

"You're not crying because you're happy to see him again?" Daeron asked.

"I… I am happy," Cellin replied when she found her voice again. "But I'm also sad because finding him would mean for you to leave us."

He remained silent then and in silence they continued to walk, towards the voice that was lamenting, only fueling the many feelings that were battling inside her chest with all the sadness told of.

Daeron's hand remained on her shoulder for the rest of this short way.

#maglor #daeron #oc cellin #maglor's wife #tolkien #silmarillion #silm fic #fic #my writing #tolkien elves #tolkien oc #my oc

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theelvenhaven · 4 years

Note

The order of which the Gondolin and Feanorian elves would allow/enjoy make up being put on them. Pleeeeaaase!!!!

Of course I can!!! ☺️ Elves usually aren’t very big on make up as far as we know BUT if the circumstances were right or if it was widely available like it for us I’m sure they’d indulge! Let it be noted that this whole answer took on a life of its own lol

Fëanorians

Fëanor - Fëanor, being who he is, is extremely confident in his appearance and his beauty and feels that it needs no enhancing what so ever. I think he would’ve absolutely experimented with it first though before deciding he didn’t need to wear it. Content with you applying a couple of different things, like eyeliner and mascara and even some highlighter. He understands the appeal but again he is confident he doesn’t need it. In turn Fëanor would absolutely apply make up to you instead, expect for subtle feature enhancing application until it comes to lipstick. Expect bold and rich colors as well as shiny and glossy gloss, he loves to smear your lipstick at the end of the day with a heated and passionate kiss.

Maedhros - Maedhros especially pre Angband wouldn’t bother with any, if you wore any of course he wouldn’t say anything. In fact he’d like the way mascara makes your lashes longer and giving the illusion your eyes are bigger. Post Angband that would change specifically in the name of concealer and foundation. Wanting to hide any scars that he could, he wouldn’t allow for anyone but himself to apply it. And he’d have no interest in anything else but concealer in foundation when the times could allow for it in the midst of his oath and war.

Maglor - Pre flight, Maglor would love highlighter and possibly even mascara! He’s a preformer, so anything that would enhance his beauty subtly would be accepted. Though he’d be averse to lipsticks and eyeliner and bright blushes. Concealer and foundation wouldn’t be necessary considering his skin is flawless. He loved it when you’d put highlighter on him and how gentle you worked with him. Post flight he wouldn’t worry about it, there’s too much happening and not enough time to indulge in such luxuries.

Celegorm - Celegorm’s version of make up would be extremely different as opposed to more classic wear and use. I think for him it would be more like face paint for the sake of hunting and blending in more effectively with the terrain. He’s completely opposed to wearing any make up other than that, and will allow you to apply his face paint. You wearing make up on the other hand is completely okay and encouraged, especially encouraging you to wear bright red lipstick.

Caranthir - Caranthir I feel like would possibly like eyeliner, not anything heavy of course. Just a subtle line around his lash lines, and he’s an expert at keeping it from running and smudging. Caranthir isn’t big on letting you apply it onto him considering it’s his eyes and is mildly fearful you’ll stab him on accident. He hates concealers and foundations and especially blushes. If you’re in a relationship and wear blush he’d find it somewhat endearing that you’d want your face to look similar to his. But if you’re big on wearing foundation and concealer anticipate him to be cold about you wearing it. Especially if you are constantly telling him how much you love his rosy face as is, he finds it completely and totally hypocritical that you tell him not to alter his complexion while you do it in turn.

Curufin - Curufin, like Caranthir, would like wearing eyeliner! Rather than wearing around his whole eye like Cara would, he’d wear it just on his bottom lashline. He’d not be up for you putting it on him at all, not so much because you might stab him, it’s just because he’s stubborn. I feel like Curufin would also get creative with his liner, wanting to possibly make his appearance look more regal and intimidating. Like Celegorm and Caranthir, he’d be opposed to anything else. As opposed to you putting any make up on him, Curufin I think would enjoy dolling you up instead.

Amrod & Amras - Amrod and Amras are still considerably much younger than their brothers and I think they would be experimental in what make up they’d wear. Even allowing you to experiment on their faces, and taking your suggestions to heart. They’d also certainly follow Celegroms lead on the face paint, considering they are hunters as well. Some days they might be more partial to eyeliner, another day blush or highlighter, or just mascara.

Celebrimbor - I think he’d take after his grandfather on this one, while he sees the appeal to wearing make up he just isn’t big on it. He appreciates the art to it and how beautiful it is, but it’s just not for him. He spends too much time in the forges anyways, sweating it all off to worry about keeping it on. He does like when you wear minimal make up as well, preferring a more natural look. Though even if you prefer a less natural look, Celebrimbor will think you are gorgeous either way. He loves you regardless of what you wear and what you do.

Gondolin

Turgon - I feel like Turgon would have mixed feelings about make up, he’d appreciate what it can do but he’d be a sucker for staying more natural. In the privacy of your chambers when it is just you two, he’d allow for subtle looks to be applied. No eyeliner or lipsticks though, and he wouldn’t wear it outside of your chambers. I think he’d have an affinity for the highlighter and heavily consider wearing it to court or doing his daily duties, but would be a little nervous about doing so. Keeping him to stay natural.

Glorfindel - He loves highlighter and blushes and maybe even some lip balm. Nothing too over the top of course, being an elf again that natural look is going to take priority. But he loves the extra sparkle it adds to his natural glow already, and he is absolutely content and relaxed to you applying the make up to him. He also loves to see you wearing make up as well, again more partial to natural looks. But he is content if you wear a little more heavier highlighter than he does.

Salgant - I don’t think Salgant would be partial to any make up at all, not wanting to stray at all from his natural look. Unlike Turgon, he would be completely adverse to you applying anything on him at all, even just to experiment and for fun. I also think Salgant would be adverse to you wearing any make up as well, wanting you to be completely natural.

Rog - Rog is very go with the flow and extremely laid back, but when it comes to make up it’s not something he will wear especially in public. It doesn’t help that he does spend copious amounts of time sweaty in the forges, and all of your hard work would wash away from the sweat. On nights when you both are goofing around, and if you ask Rog will let you apply make up to him. Even if you make it utterly ridiculous he will only laugh, but expect for the same to happen to you. The more outrageous you make him look, he will be sure to do the same to you in turn.

Ecthelion - He’s not very big on make up, preferring none at all for himself. Ecthelion feels that he doesn’t need to wear anything to enhance his features. Feeling that his features are beautiful enough, and he is adverse to experimentation to it because he knows he doesn’t need it. As for you, even if Ecthelion prefers no make up, he isn’t going to go out of his way to tell you that how he feels. If you like wearing make up and the extra confidence it gives you, he is content with that.

Penlod - Penlod feels no particular way about make up at all, I think he’d try and experiment with a little bit of everything. From more subtle looks, to a little more bold (nothing ever over the top.). He’d happily let you apply anything that you wanted to his face, wanting to see what all the looks you could come up with. Depending on how bold you go he’d wear it for the day, and absolutely would he experiment make up looks on you constantly if you allow for it.

Maeglin - Expect absolutely no room for experimentation or application on Maeglin by your own two hands for a considerable amount of time. Considering that require a great deal of trust and comfort that he would have to share with you before even letting you touch his face like that. Maeglin would probably be more partial to eyeliner and concealer. He’d like how black liner could make his eyes pop and be even brighter than they already are, probably wearing a thicker line as opposed to a thin one. He’d certainly use the concealer to hide the purple bags under his eyes from all of his lack of sleep. Maeglin would admire and enjoy when you wear make up, liking the way it makes your eyes look brighter, and the way your skin would sparkle and the way your lips would be tinted.

Galdor - Galdor prefers the simplicity of lip balm and nothing else, in fact he produces it himself! He’s not big on anything other than that for himself, being so laid back he doesn’t mind what else you like to wear. Other than that he won’t really allow you to apply much of anything to his face, save the lipbalm. He’s a simple ellon with simple tastes!

Duílin - Duilin I think would be like Celegorm and Ambarussa in the name of face paint for hunting before Gondolin was completed. I’m sure he loved the thrill of the hunt and all that entailed with it. As for make up outside of his face paint, he prefers nothing. He does however have a preference for when you wear mascara and blush, he loves the rosy color added to your face. Thinking you’re even more beautiful with it on.

Egalmoth - Egalmoth loves highlighter, and light tinted lip balm for himself. He loves the sparkle in highlighter and likes to look even more radiant especially when he is decked out in all of his jewelry. Egalmoth prefers pale pink lip balms to add a little more color to his face, and he prefers applying it himself. Though he will relinquish his control to let you do it if you asked. In turn Egalmoth also loves to apply make up to you as well. Adding extra highlighter and bolder colors of lip balm or lipstick to your face.

* * *

tags:

@lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandom-hoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Ridikulus Pt 37

Book and charm in hand you led the way through your enchanted doorway back to the arches to head to Rivendell that way with both Lords, chest puffed out fully prepared to share their markers on the union with you.

Once in the main courtyard you glanced at the pair saying, “Where would Lord Elros be? I know like three places here.”

Thranduil smirked and eased his fingertips playfully along your wrist on the start of the stroll through the kingdom remembering his first meeting of you and how you got lost after having been sent to fetch him. A couple Elleths along the way gave better direction to the path. Inside a sitting room among the Feanoreans and Gil-Galad you found Elros who rose to his feet and bowed his head to Thranduil and Glorfindel with eyes shifting to you a moment when you came into view between them. “King Thranduil, my brother is on a border run although he should return in a few hours.”

Thranduil, “Actually the Wizard who was captured by Melkor and Sauron has given his account and the location he was held in sounds similar to Numenor.” That had the others shifting as he did on his feet. “My Queen has been given the charm withholding the voyage and imprisonment if you would be up to aiding in uncovering the location?”

“Charm, how might I assist you Queen Jaqi?” he asked now with eyes fixed solely on you causing your grin to flinch out.

“Well the charm makes it easy, we just step through and flash ahead to the end and maybe you can see where he went.” Any questions they might have asked stilled at the toss of the Mirror Glass Charm that expanded to the size of a door that with one foot inside you said, “You’re going to see an eyeless weird looking creature, he won’t move as long as I don’t eat or drink anything. Other than that perfectly safe. Just enjoy the show while I wander through or you can do something else if you don’t want to watch could get a bit tedious after a while.”

Once you had passed through the mirror Amrod said, “That is not comforting to hear when traveling to new lands.”

It was confirmed they could not pass through with taps of their fingers on the glass Thranduil and Glorfindel claimed an empty set of chairs with furrowed stares at the sight of you holding the guiding wheel shaped like a time turner. The moment your fingers touched it the mirror lit up and you were in the middle of Pumpernickel in the middle of Lockhart’s send off crowd that in a mist spreading from the mirror filled the room to give each Elf watching you feel that the images were expanding out of the mirror and they were in the memory. A slight turn of the knob on the guiding wheel and the world to them moved faster while you moved Lockhart forward. Days sped on until the spot where shadows engulfed him in a cavern and with your arms crossed over your middle watching the smoke column take Lockhart across the vast empty barren lands the Lords discussed possible markers along the way.

Deep in the dark palace the conspiring Melkor and Sauron leeching strength from Lockhart on the ground you strolled past to start looking through the shelves. Shuffling small objects and papers in the shelves, the audience fought to keep their eyes on you instead of the disturbing squirming of Lockhart. All through the room you moved and surprising to them you passed through the closed door sealed and without a handle, as were the other doors you approached. The lack of handles puzzled them as well as the odd pops of bubbles of lights on the ends of each lit candle and torch along the walls casting shadows over you but not anything else in the room. Without having to move they followed along with brows furrowing in confusion with Meadhros asking, “What is she looking for?”

Glorfindel, “I have no clue. Perhaps something useful. It is peculiar how this charm enables her to travel into these moments.”

Thranduil stood up at the appearance of a naked saggy skinned creature with empty eye sockets and eyeballs on the palms of its raised hands along the wall as you dug through a bag. Thranduil’s eyes shot open wide in helpless fright and by the time he inhaled sharply Glorfindel was up on his feet with him. The appearance of the creature didn’t go unnoticed by you as they had assumed, you looked to the creature asking, “This is edible?” Tossing that over your shoulder you said, “Ugh,” Moving on to the next shelf in the move of the creature against the wall slowly fading into it.

Four more rooms were rummaged through when you crossed a hall and the Lords gasped at your startled squeak in a hidden hatch in the floor falling out taking the carpet with it into the dark chasm below. Above your head from your wand a red beam shot off latched onto the beam above that with a tugging charm you rose up from the hole to reach with a toe to work yourself back to the floor again.

Under your breath you muttered in sheathing your wand again the search continued on as you adjusted the controller on the chain around your neck ignoring the door being slammed open in Sauron angrily coming to inspect the hole in the floor he shot a fireball down to find it empty. The three cats that climbed out of a table along the wall that came to greet him won a sigh from the Maiar and were lifted into his arms starting his own muttering path to inquire more upon the location of the rest of his cats while you carried on. Nearly an hour had passed of dodged traps, near ambushes of the Maiar inspecting more noises form you, and a room packed with cats sleeping in a sunlit room you crossed on your toes stepping between them to get across the room. All the while lifting the confusion of the onlookers which now included the freshly returned Elrond and his sons who were floored on why you were searching and Celeborn on his way to join the audience.

From living spaces you seemed to be set on searching for something still and now had you delved deeper with glowing mice to lead the path ahead. Underneath chains looped across the ceiling you walked to a grated hatch at the end of a pitch black dead end hall that you lifted to climb down a spiral staircase. Hearing the sound of shifting water echoed in the distance. Deeper and darker only the bubble you were walking down the densely silent cave resounding with each step taken on the silt coated floor. Around the first corner however you shot back into the wall behind you with a startled shriek causing the Elves watching to jump at the body that collapsed from a ledge you didn’t see far above you. The shriek and thud traveled up to let you all know how far down you found yourself.

Panting softly in a trembling moment you muttered, “Don’t look up.” Simply over the body you stepped ignoring the eyeless fiend that appeared again that receded in your harsh whisper, “I don’t eat bones!” With a shake of your head after the glowing mice now over the body went ahead down the path closer to the water sounds. Right to the edge of a dead end walkway that emptied into a pitch black lake of water roughly two stories below your feet.

“Where are you going?” Thranduil whispered and lifted his hand to smooth over his lips in your jump off the ledge.

The light of the glow mice now horned serpents radiated the outline of your body showed where you were but not where you were swimming to as you dove and dove towards who knows where. Thanks to your gills on your neck and mermaid tail the distance didn’t bother you at all. Finally a row boat dimly came into view above a set of chains, a muffled knock on the boat had those chains shift unsettling the audience even more. Underneath the boat light traveled with you and sunk lower in a peek a foot came into view along with the startled dark haired Elf and giant wolfhound that had Maedhros gasp, “Fingon,” while Maglor said “Huan.”

Up underneath the boat full of a pocket of air the chained duo used to survive while the tide was in you eased startling the pair only seeing just a ball of silver glimmering light. Silently you broke their bonds and from around your neck the chain of the controller was stretched around their heads instantly frightening the duo that with a shove you pushed through the mirror gateway into the crowd of Lords. Right away Fingon was clung to by his kin to the startling spell to dry his clothes and hair along with Huan’s fur the both turned to watch you ease out of the ship that dropped to the ground, each Lord explaining exactly who you were and how he was saved. Faster and faster you swam shifting from mermaid to a phoenix to shoot out of the water back to the ledge that now in the relief of the tug you felt back up you went to Lockhart’s side where you spun the controller again to when Sauron and Melkor led the march to Gondor.

All around the still calming rescued duo mouths dropped as you locked the rotting dial and let them get a better look at the distant island. All of what you could see topped by glowing white trees for the few moments until you had to let it fly and soar over the dark kingdom and broken Shire, the painful ruins from which had you turn and hop out of the mirror doorway. Right away Glorfindel drew you into his chest for a panicked hug tailed by a face cupping inspection of you, “Please never do that again.”

Softly you chuckled and leaned into Thranduil’s own worried hug then stepped back asking, “Any clue where that was?”

Elrond, “Those mountains on the way back were on the cusp of Orcarni, though I do not recall that palace you were searching.”

Elros, “The island is Numenor.”

“Ah, well that’s good. I guess. More room for you all.”

Hastily you wet your lips and Celeborn asked, “What were you searching for?”

“I don’t know, them apparently. Everything, most times I can feel memories trapped in things, but inside the mirror it’s muddled, so I knew there was something, did find these though,” you said pulling a pair of ring horcruxes from your back pocket they didn’t see you tuck away. “Even muddled I could hear these screaming.” From your office you called the jar with Durin’s ring you uncorked and added these to and corked again then lifted your left hand to catch the Mirror Glass Charm that folded back up again with the necklace inside landing in your open palm.

Elrond asked, “What was that doorway?”

A Wizard can carry this along and through it people can go back and travel through wherever they went. Not very reliable for the weak willed Wizard but handy in a pinch when you need some sleuthing time.”

Glorfindel, “Sauron did not see you when you were in the same halls.”

“No, he wouldn’t, turns the wearer into a sort of ghost.”

Thranduil quietly leaned in pressing his lips to the top of your head with his hand on your shoulder luring your hand onto his wrist for a calming stroke along his forearm that brought focus to the new rings on your hand now in view of the Lords that saw the rings on your husbands’ index fingers.

Celeborn asked, “Are you hungry? You were inside that doorway for four hours.”

“Ah, felt longer than that, I guess you’ll be wanting a doorway to the island too?”

Elros, “If you wouldn’t be too troubled by that. The charm must have been exhausting.”

“I’ve had sneezes more exhausting more than that. Just a bit of scavenging.”

Elrond, “We have a meal prepared for you, come and eat must keep your strength up for nursing.”

Gil-Galad, “What was that creature who kept approaching you?”

“Fairy Plague is the closest we have to a name. There’s rules with Mirror Glass Charms, including you can’t eat anything, in a sense when you enter you give off the same aura of a fairy and he eats fairies but he can’t touch you unless you eat or drink. They used to be in the wild but then a line of Pixies mingled with some Muggles and there was a huge scandal where the confused Plague were seen by Muggles, and you can’t attack those creatures or, well let’s just say the earth tends to tear open and it’s a world shattering moment. Ministries from all over the world managed to lure them into the world of the Mirror Glass Charms so that they could feed safely away from the Muggles.”

Thranduil, “These Muggles almost destroyed your world then?”

“Well the Wizards managed to contain it into what is now known as the Grand Canyon which stretches 1902 miles.” Dropping jaws on the Elf Lords walking around you, “They managed to charm those around the canyon to believe that it had always been there before the record of Man. Shifting water levels splitting the earth and such. It very much could have broken that country within an hour at the least. They really are normally docile except around Fairies then they get hungry, and when other populations are threatened by Fairies one of the Plague is released near their lands and then taken back again after they’re contently fed. Just be glad I didn’t sneeze or that would have set lose the Grump Bats.”

Gil-Galad, “I hate to wonder what those creatures might entail.”

“Probably best you don’t know.”

Around the table the group all gathered with eyes on you watching from a small portal a large snake that slithered out up your arm that into a cup of juice from the table you offered to Lord Fingon. More than a bit frightened the Lord hoisted up with arms on the shoulders of two of his relatives eyed the cup then you, “I pulled you out of a thirty foot deep lake in the bottom of a cursed palace just to kill you with apple juice. Makes perfect sense. It’ll help that fractured leg of yours so you can walk Sir Hop Along.”

Maglor couldn’t help it but he chortled and translated for you and Fingon accepted the cup and finished it off grimacing through it to hear you say, “You’ll need a day off it and another serving tomorrow I’ll have it ready for you at lunch.” Off the table to the hiss of the snake an orange was lifted and peeled magically that it swallowed whole and lured curious smiles form the Elves who watched its mouth twist up into a content smile in its path through the same portal back to its habitat.

Into the dining room however you grinned seeing Regulus there at Lindir’s side in front of your father and Remus. All smiling in Em’s hurried trot over from your uncle’s side to your arms where she was lifted announcing the elephant in the room to your family smiling even wider. After a kiss on her head and hug for you Em gasped saying, “Big puppy!” With a giggle you set her down and she sped around the table to lay against the giant exhausted dog now wagging his tail excited along with the Lords to see the small child that began babbling to him between sloppy strokes and pats of her hands all over his head and side.

Awkwardly you looked to your uncle passing over the jar as he said, “Neville let on you went into the Mirror Glass Charm. Found them all?”

You nodded, “Yup, the other four according to these are destroyed, they were in Mordor. Found another Elf Lord and the puppy.” Your eyes shifted to your dad and you said in his eyes detailing your new rings, “And, I sort of got married after work.”

Loudly Regulus laughed and Remus chuckled in a rub of his hand over his mouth to your dad’s chuckle. Lindir, like a deer in the headlights looked at your uncle only to hear him say to your off guard husbands. “Sorry.”

Remus said, “I told you she’d say that Padfoot.”

Your dad came up with arms lifted revealing the front of the sling under the side of his jacket holding your sleeping baby brother, “Your mum said the same thing.” Folding you into a hug, “Congratulations Pumpkin.” Over your head he looked to the two as behind his back Regulus lifted your hand to see your rings. “Welcome to the family,” when you pulled back he said, “I take it this means the boys are my grandsons now too?”

You nodded and Remus said, “Good, we will add their names to the birthday tree, for now, will you need a sub tomorrow?”

“Should be fine, and Thranduil said I could do the Pegasus flyover above Greenwood tomorrow so you can calm the creature department I’ll give Buckbeack a flight.”

Remus, “Very helpful indeed, so very helpful they do love to swoop on us. Now we just need to get Percy through the band of Sphinx to their new habitats from their safe island. They’re all demanding days worth of riddles for themselves.”

Regulus came for a hug of his own and said, “We’re glad you came back fairly early. Enjoy your supper, we’ll keep Em from stealing someone’s giant puppy.”

Thranduil said, “That’s alright, I am sure Em could lift his spirits greatly.”

Regulus smiled saying, “Good, private dinner by candle light for us,” easing his arm around Lindir’s back cuddling close with a peck on his cheek that spread a blush across his face mid congratulations to you three.

In his glance back your dad asked, “You haven’t happened to pump yet?”

“I did, few hours before this.”

“Oh that’s good,” he said settling his hands on the sling to Fin’s waking grumbles, to the boy he smiled saying, “Come on Fin let’s go get you some milk before story time.”

Into your seat you lowered at Glorfindel’s gentle hand on your side and again you grinned at the table of eyes aimed at you. Out from the entrances the servants came with trays of food they laid out for each of you, your plate luring Em over to see what she could take to feed the puppy who perked up with each morsel he carefully took from her open palm. Quietly you focused on Em and eating managing to get her to eat some bites of food as well to not ignore her belly for the starving giant puppy surely to be well fed shortly once the kitchens readied his share to eat and rest at his leisure. Fingon much more content savored the meal his kin added more of their helpings to for his strength to return, though you could tell the scars across your face had him muttering lowly to them about how they were inflicted.

A question however had Celegorm asking you, “Queen Jaqi, that snake venom is able to heal bones, I am curious, is there no tonic to heal scars?”

“There are several, depending on how deep the scar is.”

Caranthir, “Your scars, why keep them if there is a healing tonic?”

“I was given my mother’s face, she had her mother’s face, who had hers, and so on for twelve generations back, this is my face.”

Curufin asked, “Might I ask, on your kin’s claim of stardust in your veins, is there a source to that belief aside from that inherited claim?”

“Well, it’s, it sounds more like a bedtime story really than something based on fact etched in some tomb.”

Celeborn, “We would be honored to hear the tale all the same should you agree to share it.” He said adjusting Tin against his chest to burp her in Arwen’s claim of the bottle her aunt had just emptied to wash later in sitting to hear the tale.

Em back at your side popped up asking, “Story time?” Smiling in her climb onto your lap to settle in for the story.

With a swipe of your hand above your head the roof above your head revealed the stars shining brightly above your head and a pair of misty figures formed above the table hovering on a cloudy earth both apart then joined together in a loving embrace. “Back to the days of the birth of the Noble House of Black was Major Ursa Black. A Wizard who was an expert on the stars and all matters Astronomy and Astrology with an ear for their whispers on the wind married the greatest Seer of their age. The what the signs had told shown their First born came a daughter even though her mother believed to have seen a son as their first grown child so they named their girl Ursa after her father.”

The two figures now played out the tale with a baby held between them in a golden aura contrasting their silvery blue ones. “One day little Ursa got sick and kept growing sicker bedridden for her whole life kept away from light as it hurt her eyes and pained her head.” Their lips parted seeing the girl now glowing inside the dark outline of a house while her body grew across a growing bed and in her father’s arms while his figure danced in a sea of music notes. “But her nights she knew because her father would come home and dance with her in his arms or standing on his feet singing with her to what he called the song of the stars. Years he shared all their stories those stars she never got to see and as her time grew short she wished for nothing more than to one day see a star.”

Her body grew sickly and their chests clenched to the tale’s turn. Suddenly in a slink out of his daughter’s room the father left the house and took a broom flying up into the sky near the roof until he was just alone in a sea of stars their eyes followed. “And so breaking the laws of nature he broke into the sky finding the pastures of the stars slipping past their keeper and snatched one, and people below saw it streaking across the sky, but you can’t outrun the gods as the keeper had warned them taking notice of the theft.” Down to the house he came again chased by angrily glowing figures much larger than him that stilled at the Queen’s calming. “Though the Queen of the Stars in all her fury and contempt for the only one to dare steal from her, her eyes fell on the child he led them to and she stopped the others who paused and slipped away letting that child enjoy that single star.”

You paused as the story changed in the little girl’s passing and arrival of the reaper. “And one day the King of the Dead came to claim her soul on the day her name appeared in his book of those to claim and her parents wept and her father swore in laying her in the earth he would never look up to the stars again. Though a silent offer was given to the child buried with that precious stolen star, an offer to come see those precious pastures and dwell there where she could always see her parents and smile down and sing for them.”

Once the story of the girl’s place up in the stars was shown a new child arrived between the mourning pair soon joined by others with alternating colored auras. “Their assumed only child soon had younger siblings beginning with a brother, Orion, every one of them named after the stars their father shared in mournful endless tales and songs but never looked to drinking himself deeper into his depression they were his stars now and he would never let any take them from him. Years and years her siblings swore they could see her and hear her singing each night and up until she came weeping to the King of the Winds who wed the Queen of the Stars she smiled at them trying to get him to look up to the girl whose voice always echoed in his ears each night. And the King of the Wind sent winds like never before blowing and blowing until he was forced to get out of the house to appease his terrified children to bolt the slamming shutters and tear the broken branches away from their house tapping without stop.” The storm was mimed after the tale of little Ursa’s failed tries to get her father’s attention.

“And those winds blew him off his roof until he was on his back and paralyzed by pain and his eyes opened and the winds died, and there she was, his Ursa. Clear as water he could see her and sing with her as he did every night after with his wife and other children. And while her siblings grew so did she, one of the lesser gods asked for her hand and she had a family of her own she showed off each night.”

A battle brewed clenching their chests after a moment of peace in the tale. “Then one day word came for warriors and their sons were too young for battle so Major Ursa picked up his sword in his old age in their place and he fell on that field having brought down fifteen times what any other had to endure so none stepped foot on their lands keeping his children safe. And he had just enough strength to roll over and watch his daughter come down at the King of Death’s request, his kindness after that long wait. And all his children didn’t need a notice of his fall because they could see him that night up there in the sky. Holding her and her babies close dancing to their song and every night after, one by one rising to join their kin. But the men needed a Keeper of the Stars, so naturally his son, Orion, took up his place as expert to the stars and upon notice by others of the new lights n the sky the son named their constellations Ursas Major and Minor, The Big And Little Bear.”

The story faded to the bright glow of the actual constellations in the sky stunning them to silence a moment with eyes settling on you as you shared where the moon was that Em’s name was named after earning a giggle from her. A turn of your head had the boys now in your sights snapped out of their daze who hurried to greet Huan as well luring Em back to the giant puppy again. To Celeborn you said, “Not the friendliest or happiest story.”

Gil-Galad, “We share that same tale. One of the Maiar. A mighty tale and well worth the boasting.”

“The one thing we can be proud of from our generations of hateful ancestors who latched onto corrupting ideals. But our house is going to be unquestionably Noble again one day.”

Gil-Galad, “Your House is unquestionably Noble. I am looking at the proof. None of us are without fault or a gloomy past.”

After a moment of silence and a nod you glanced to Huan, now on his feet to go and lay in the garden the children had rushed into seeing a group of ducks that quacked and let them gently pat them on their way to the lake again from their nests. “Why’d they chain the giant puppy?”

Celegorm said, “Valar King Orome gifted Huan to me in our friendship in my youth. He is a Maiar blessed with immortal life, however he was doomed to fall to Melkor in his wolf form. Lord Fingon and Huan must have returned close to their lair and were captured. Thank you, for saving them.”

“Well, there’s a very short list of people I’d have left down in that pit, conveniently they all are already dead from their idiocy.” Making the Lords across from you smirk. Each of the once venomous Feanoreans now able to see just how visible the pain you had endured was being shouldered and worked through with a façade they themselves knew was shattering to hold to support a nation of people. All of that and still while they had thousands of adults you had thousands of children to protect and had taken even more so upon the arrival of Estel and the twins on top of your own child you had shockingly young. Slowly they could see you weren’t as abrasive and hard to befriend as you put off, truly granting them a chance to change while you tried to change yourself.

A squeaking yawn at Thranduil’s side and his eyes lowered to Em in her lean into his side between you both and he twisted to pull her up onto his lap while Estel and the twins were climbing onto you and Glorfindel’s laps. All together in a break of the gathering the children were all taken to the boys’ room now like your dorm in Hogwarts with beds built into the wall above built in desks with plenty of shelving around a round lounge covered in pillows for story time. Draped on the lounge a second story once the kids were changed was read lulling the four to sleep to be put to bed, the boys in their new beds they loved and Em in her own room back in your house. Gently you kissed her forehead in her nestle under the covers to the star casting crystal by her bed that began to hum its song.

Up again you stood to Thranduil and Glorfindel adjusting the curtain around her bed and blanket across the foot of it leading the way back to the hall they eased the door shut once it was behind them. “I guess we’ll have to go over living arrangements.”

Glorfindel, “Our homes are linked, that can be settled in time.”

Thranduil, “Exactly, our people are still bonding, your family does still join together in your home for meals at least once daily. We join in on that.”

Glorfidel nodded, “Yes, and for us we do usually keep sons and daughters in separate rooms while they grow and often wives have their own beds if they do require solace.”

“So, just, keep doing what we do?”

Thranduil smiled asking, “Do you have a set plan you wish for us to lay?”

Haltingly you replied, “No.”

They both chuckled and Glorfindel guided you back to the archways that brought you back to Rivendell. Thanks to a memory from Elros the lot of you were able to pass through to the restored island that the Elves from Numenor were already had been readying to return to their former homes to clear the overfilled spare guest wings of Rivendell. While they explored your husbands smiled in audience to your stroll between the swaying glowing white trees dancing and singing in your arrival, each glowing brighter in your hands tapping the trunks with branches coated in blossoms that began to open to your touch.

Lowly beside your husbands Celeborn said, “We are gladdened in your news.” His eyes lowering to the spread of flowers that sprung out of the ground behind the path you took, small animals and birds from distant darker willow trees flew to the glowing forest with timid deer that crept out more across the island now full of chatter from the returned Elves that all greeted them fondly calming each of them. “Her light seems to be growing in the discovery of those rings from Sauron.”

Glorfindel, “There is a great deal of pain we now can shoulder along side her.”

Thranduil, “At least her family seemed quite pleased with our union as well. So there will not be tension concerning their worries.”

Celeborn, “Has Legolas been told yet?”

Thranduil, “Legolas is on his patrols tonight, I will inform him upon his return. The attentions Jaqi made to include him upon the design of the ring will be endearing to him I am certain.” He lifted his hand showing him the rings you had given them, “These stones on our wedding band symbolize our children, they grow to the size of the middle stone and gain emeralds around them as they reach adulthood with Legolas’ in the center of our brood.”

Elrond, freshly returned grinned claiming Glorfindel’s offered hand tilting it to get a full look at the identical set of rings saying, “These are quite lovely, these must have had a hefty cost for hiring this Master Craftsman.”

Glorfindel stated, “Jaqi crafted these from clumps of earth in front of us when we presented her our ring.” Parting their lips, “We were quite open to waiting for display of our bond until her customs had been honored with a ceremony for her family although she wished to honor our bond to our customs as well.”

Thranduil, “Yes, in fact stated for her people she may just claim to have eloped and simply have a dinner of sorts to celebrate the union. That seems to be an acceptable route for her impression. Although we do hope she changes her mind later on and we may celebrate her choice of us publicly for her people and family one day.”

A giggle from you turned their heads to find Huan in a playful trot around you, up to your shoulder melting into more pets and attention from the woman who saved him from that prison. Under the light of these trees he felt his strength returning a bit more and curiously he watched you crouch and stretch to inspect more flowers and plants you seemed to not know while they were quite common to and everyone else. Even without speaking to the Numenoreans or other Lords you turned to Glorfindel’s side, his smile split wide open to your hand on his arm in a lean into his chest. Right on your forehead through your curls his lips pressed and he hummed, “Tired?”

“Just think they might want some space,” you said in the rest of his arm around your back under your curls.

Elrond chuckled replying, “Merely I believe you are catching on that the songs are about to begin. However you are always welcome here, I trust you know that.” You nodded and he said, “We offer our congratulations as well for your union.”

“Thank you.”

Celeborn stated, “Your birthday celebration shall be all the more special welcoming you as Queen of The Greater Greenwood.”

Two pecks on Glorfindel and Thranduil’s cheeks had the grinning pair still with their friends on your way to get some sleep before the day ahead. A quick shower and after hearing a pair of cleaners cleaning in the apartment you climbed into your own bed for the night, drifting off to bed with a final glance at your wedding ring from the pair.

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

Ridikulus- @long-cosmos-overhead, @partoftheminfamily, @alishlieb

#Into the Mirror Glass Charm #Fairy Plague #Saruman and Melkor the Old Crazy Cat Ladies #Lost Souls #Saved the puppy #Fingon and Huan #Rivendell #Sharing the News #Thranduil x Reader OC #Glorfindel x Reader OC #Regulus x Lindir #HP Crossover

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aregebidan · 4 years

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Fëanáro is Glaurung AU, or: Arda’s conspiracy theories 101

@xirinofarvada Apologies once again for the endless wait! The first snippet (that ended up being a bit more than a snippet) is finally done, and I’m delighted to share it :D

This takes place toward the middle of the Third Age in an AU where Fëanor and Glaurung are the same being, through some creepy soul-magic of Melkor’s. Centuries have passed since his children have left the Halls, but he’s determined to apologize to them and show his love somehow.

word count: 4328 words content warnings: fire, blood, mild body horror

The soul had been a great many things in life: a newly awakened Quendë, a naive young thing on a journey, a tortured thrall, and eventually the hardened leader of his captured kindred.

He had finally perished in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, as the battle was called by the rest of the slain, on the third day— or was it the fourth? He could not remember many details of his time in Angband these days. The first time he had ventured out of his and his companions’ chambers in the Halls, he had done it to ask one of Mandos’ Maia why his memory was no longer clear.

You are healing, the spirit told him, and would have left it at that if he had not grabbed them by their robe and demanded further explanation.

I am grateful to be rid of my torments, but I do not wish to forget my comrades, he’d said. Is there no other way to go through this healing?

Comrades?

He would never forget the look of subtle distaste on the Maia’s face. No doubt they’d been spending too much time with the Noldor, the ones who had been killed in their original skin; most of those who had died as Orkor kept their familiar scars and disfigurements when they bothered to manifest, and Ainur, as a rule, tended to gravitate towards beautiful things.

The Noldor are worthy warriors, and far more kinder to us than your folk, the Maia snapped, pulling the thoughts out of his head. I will speak to Lord Námo of your predicament. Now leave me be.

The soul had huffed in frustration and begun the long walk back to his rooms.

He hadn’t reached them until three living days had passed. He had heard the stories, of course— so-and-so got lost and never returned, so-and-so wandered the halls for years until she wasted away and lost her physical form entirely. But words often made things seem smaller than they were, and he’d been unprepared for the sheer size of the Halls.

Mandos was a labyrinth of corridors and chambers closed off by hanging tapestries instead of walls, even larger than Utumno, though a few of his elders had told him it had started out small and expanded as more dead arrived. Silk veiled the gaps between the tapestries, shifting in the cold air like smoke. It was a rare thing to meet anyone by accident here, and difficult to meet anyone on purpose.

Which was why, on the day of his release, the soul had expected to be alone.

But then, he thought dazedly as the Prince of the Noldor advanced on him, Fëanáro Curufinwë has always been known to have a gift for the impossible.

He backed up a few steps, the floor cold and hard on his bare feet, making him wince. He had been in this new form for less than a day, and each sensation was multiplied; even the birdcalls that floated in from the other side of the door sounded like what he remembered of a fire-drake’s roar. Were there any of those left? It had been a long time, more than an Age, but the creatures had been made to endure…

The prince stalked after him, driving him away from the door and cutting off his line of thought.

In a world of smoke and shifting silk, the many gates to Mandos were the only truly solid things, carved of dead wood and secured to the walls by metal hinges. Looking at Fëanáro’s tall, crimson-robed form against this door, one might think he was back in his beloved forges, if it were not for his eyes. They glinted a bright, fierce gold, not unlike the jewelry and chains the Lieutenant used to be so fond of.

Gold? He frowned, then cursed himself mentally. Orcish faces were designed to be impassive, but his new Elda’s features would certainly betray his emotions. If anyone found out that he’d been rude to a prince’s face— well, there would be no real consequences, but he had spent so long relearning his manners, becoming civilized again. He couldn’t throw all that aside the second he was reembodied.

“My lord.” He bowed, perhaps not as deeply as he would for Fëanáro’s father, whom he had actually known things about besides “went mad and started a war.” I am his elder and his better, and have seen far more battles, he reminded himself.

Or rather, had to remind himself, because the fire prince was certainly living up to his name and reputation.

Flame flickered along his forearms in faint wisps of red and blue, painting a darkness across his face that never touched these bright eyes. His hands were stained black and tipped with long claws, and the mere sight of them— even now, all these centuries after his defeat— sent shivers up his spine. Pitch-dark hair slashed down the front of his tunic, crowned with a silver circlet that looked strangely fluid, as if it were constantly being melted down and reforged.

And then there were the other things. The prince moved strangely, as if he was not used to manifesting in his own shape; his eyes were too large, the whites near invisible, the pupils little more than black slits. Again the soul could not help but think of the Lieutenant before he spotted the thin line beneath Fëanáro’s cheekbone.

It was nothing more than an errant streak of silver paint in one moment, and in another a gaping chasm, as a crack in the earth, split open by the something churning beneath his skin. A bright, hungry sort of fire, not essentially malicious but rather entirely too much for this world, as if it would consume the hall and tear the sight from both their eyes without the cracked-porcelain mask of the prince’s face to keep it confined.

The longer he looked, the more such faults he could see: on the backs of his hands, his neck, even across his eye at one point. They were always shifting across him, lingering near his eyes as if reaching out to caress those long lashes. It was as if Fëanáro had the same troubles as he did, and couldn’t quite remember what his living face had looked like.

He hadn’t been so unnerved by someone since the first dragon-lord. The fire, or rather the implication thereof, was a creative way to fill in the gaps, but he shrank away from it all the same.

“Ai, Nirvë.” Fëanáro smiled, revealing row upon row of long, cruelly pointed teeth that shouldn’t be able to fit inside his mouth. The soul’s spine shook again. Nirvë, yes, that had been his name. He wondered briefly if his lord Finwë had been the one to tell it to his son, but no— the two hadn’t been as close since Alqualondë and the whole Silmaril debacle.

(A great chamber of iron and obsidian, a jagged silhouette on a throne and the golden one commanded by him, throwing him to the floor and snarling Have you not recovered it yet—)

This was getting out of hand. He would try to find a polite way to reprimand the prince on his disconcerting tastes, but first he would have to recover what was left of his dignity. He would stand tall, keep from running.

Golden eyes narrowed, a look he’d seen all too often in them both, and he backed into the corner. Perhaps Mandos would be merciful enough to re-disembody him right then and there?

“I have need of you.” The prince’s voice was low and inexplicably familiar, and grated on his nerves for it.

“I would suggest you stop trying to intimidate me then,” Nirvë shot back, beyond manners now and glad to know his mouth was not yet frozen. The more powerful Eldar could have that effect on people, he knew. His fellow Orkor soldiers had spoken of Maglor and Nerwen’s gifts, the way they could command stone and steel alike with their words. None who faced either of them head-on ever returned alive, and if the dead of the War of Wrath spoke true, the former had only gotten worse after he took in those clever twins of his.

And wasn’t Maglor just one of Fëanáro’s outrageously many sons?

This is getting out of hand, he thought.

Fëanáro did not heed his words; in fact, he gave no sign that he had even heard them, save for a slight tilt of his head, a surprisingly regal gesture in such a wild thing.

“I require you to take a message to my sons,” he announced.

“A message, my prince?” Nirvë managed. Before he was aware of it he was falling back into old habits again, trying to think up excuses to avoid the task instead of a simple refusal, thinking only to survive under a being that couldn’t be refused. He swallowed and ran through his list, perhaps a little shorter than it would have been in wartime. Fëanáro’s sons would not want to be bothered by a stranger. Even if they would believe his words to be truly from their father, which was a very big if, he had no idea where to find them, and…

“Ask one of the city guards for directions to the House of Maitimo,” Fëanáro said with a dismissive wave and almost Maia-like surety of his words, “and you will learn where they are.”

Nirvë could feel himself relaxing, resigning himself to the inevitable, but he put up one last defense for appearances’ sake. “And why would I agree to this?”

Fëanáro seemed surprised by the statement. It was the first time Nirvë had seen him look even vaguely like another elf. Something sharp and childishly spiteful reared up in him, catapulted into him straight from his claw-footed, Edain-hunting days. You thought a few pretty fires would be enough to bind me to your service? Fool!

But Fëanáro recovered quickly, and it was with another being’s face and sheer, stone-heavy presence that he responded. “What have you to lose from doing my will?”

“What have I to gain from doing your will, and what have I to lose from simply walking out of here?” Nirvë retorted.

Fëanáro’s eyes flashed the color of magma, as if he had been waiting to hear this exact thing. “Why, my Nirvë,” he laughed, “what makes you think I would let you simply walk out?”

The other elf felt his face drain of color. Instinct had him crouched down and looking for a weapon before his thoughts could catch up with him, before he could remember that this was Mandos and civilized places did not have spears and knives lying around on the floor. No, that had been Utumno, that had been Angamandi where courtesy did not exist and you could hear the Lieutenant’s laughter echoing off stone as he threw another thrall to his Valaraukar, or into the care of his master if he was feeling especially unmerciful. One more for me to break? Ai, my Mairon, you spoil me.

“Look at you.” The prince’s voice was everywhere, in his ears and the wind and the stars of the White Lady Herself. “You have been alive only hours. It would not be very hard to keep you here, even when I am like this.”

I have not had elven blood in so long, sang his uneven shadow and the cruel light inside of him. Let me out, let me out, let me have this one thing—

The heavy tapestries that served as walls shook, creating a sound not unlike that of beating wings; the silk doors fluttered and mist circled above their heads, briefly dimming the torches inside Fëanáro’s wrists. Wind tugged at their robes, whispering in Nirvë’s ear.

You will have your second life.

Nirvë shuddered. My lord Mandos.

“Námo.” Although now damp and thus robbed of much of his former splendor, Fëanáro glowered up at the mist, no doubt in disapproval of whatever the Vala was telling him. “Yes, I am aware of my relative freedom and the way it can be taken away. I am also aware that you are on the other side of the Halls, and that not enough of your will is gathered here to hold me for long.”

His voice had taken on the calm cadence of a practised lecturer, a father to many, but it exploded back into anger after several more seconds of listening. “A second life that I should have been given, whether or not you are comfortable with it! You would treat me as you treated the Enemy, when you and your kind owe everything to my children, including the company of their father, marred as he is.”

The wind sighed next to Nirvë’s head. Fëanáro Curufinwë is a special case, it told him.

“What sort of special case?” he asked it, curious despite himself. Yes, the prince had died in fire fighting the Valaraukar, but so had dozens of others. His appearance and power could not affect Mandos, so what could make him stand out to him?

Newly-kindled eyes snapped to his, and he flinched as the full weight of that gaze bore down on him. “One who would not have killed you, but is now contemplating otherwise.”

The wind hissed. It spoke no words, but Nirvë heard the message anyway: Such insolence from one so foul.

Fëanáro let out a short, harsh laugh. “Come now, fearful one, are you so easily fooled? I expected more wit from one who survived so long in Angamandi. I can do you no harm” —making a rude gesture at the mist above his head, ever defiant— “or Námo will have me locked away again. Will you not, my lord?”

Nirvë knew better than to say anything to that. In the few precious seconds of silence he went over the gesture again, wondering why it looked so damned familiar, like he’d seen it before. But such things hadn’t been invented before he was taken, and surely the prince couldn’t have talked to enough Orkor to learn it in his short time in Middle-Earth.

“It’s true,” he mused, “I have nothing but empty threats to convince you to do this. But I know you, Nirvë Elennion. I did not come all this way to see a stranger.”

That smile again. Where had he come from, anyway? Nirvë found himself regretting the way he’d spent his time in Mandos. The dead Eldar, particularly the Vanyar, had gone straight to the Vala himself to learn what he had to teach, while Nirvë had only helped a number of his soldiers with their healing. It was a worthy task, but one that had kept him busy. After several centuries here, he still knew so little about it.

“I know you.” For a second Nirvë thought he saw an oddly vulnerable look in the prince’s face, a slight dimming of golden eyes that had nothing to do with Mandos, but Fëanáro began to pace quickly, his hair hiding his face and his voice falling back into that confident, superior tone again.

“I have seen the way you scurry after Irmo and his Maiar, looking for someone to serve again. I have seen you try so desperately to become good again and judge yourself unworthy every time. What was it that you said to your friends? Each deed is a tally mark?”

Nirvë bristled. “That is none of your concern-”

Fëanáro only waved his hand. “I have been dead for millennia. Everything here is my concern. And what I have learned from watching you is that you want a cause to follow, and you want to do good things. I can give you that.” Another quick smile; he looked like Nirvë himself back in the old times now, explaining a strategy to yet another dull-witted squadron.

“And would it not be good,” the prince finished with another elegant gesture, “to reunite me with my children this way, since those above us seem to have no care for them?”

those above us seem to have no care for them

Nirvë stared at him, hands hanging limp in shock. “What did you-?”

Fëanáro raised an arched eyebrow as if to say, do go on, but he couldn’t finish. He was not in Mandos; he was back in the Halls of Iron, back in the throne room of unnatural black stone, covered in armor and scars and too tired to care about it. All he cared about was the still-healing whip mark on his back and getting his soldiers into position before they were punished again.

The Lieutenant had been in a foul mood that day; Nirve had had to reform the lines several times, putting everything in order the way he liked it. He kept one eye on his dark silhouette at all times, a mockery of elven-fairness that had earned him a good deal of reluctant admiration from those who had been taken at Cuiviénen.

This had better be good, the rogue Maia had muttered to himself, and Nirvë privately agreed. If they’d gone through all the trouble of organizing an assembly for nothing…

He avoided thinking about that. There was no time for thinking, anyway, not when the footsteps in the corridors closest to them were drawing nearer and nearer. The Lieutenant straightened up and commanded him to take his own place at the doors, and Nirvë complied with the order shoved into his mind, momentarily erasing all other thoughts.

He stood, bore silent witness as the doors creaked open, and gave way to something many of his brethren seemed to have mistaken for the sun itself; they threw themselves to the floor as the light streamed in, drowning the chamber in silver reflections that winked off dark stone like stars on the water. He was half tempted to follow them, but noticed that there was no pain when the light touched his skin.

This was no Vala’s siege-fire, then, but the old flame of Utumno. Whoever had the One deemed worthy of receiving it? Nirvë watched with bated breath as the light cleared, gold and black flames that danced in the air around the form behind it, a wicked serpent-like form tipped with claws of gleaming metal, led on by the unmistakable form of the One himself.

The new being’s golden scales constantly shifted and re-formed on his left side, showing the hard steel of his heart and the fire-river of his blood. Even more impressive was the intelligence visible in every feature, every tilt of his head as he listened to the One’s instructions.

Those in the West would have no care for the others, then, an unfamiliar voice said, seeming almost sad, and Nirvë silently committed the words to memory forever.

All the other beings of Angamandi and the old shapes of his comrades would fade from his mind over time, but this vision he knew he would carry to the end of the world. That had been the only time he had been stunned like that— and now, standing at the door for a second time, overwhelmed by the same being.

“My lord Glaurung…” he breathed.

It was as if he’d never left the Iron Halls; one second he was standing still, a strange sort of respect settled in his heart, and the next he was being pinned against the wall with claws pressed to his throat and blinding red eyes inches from his.

“You would dare,” the prince snarled, mouth widening as he watched to reveal yet more teeth; Nirvë smelled smoke from his throat, and that dark hair now seemed ready to ignite. He swallowed on instinct, drawing these eyes to his neck, only for Fëanáro— Glaurung?— to hiss in annoyance and fling him away.

He landed on the stone floor with a loud crack. The world vibrated; he groaned and touched his head, pulling himself into a sitting position with his free hand.

When he had managed to get back on his feet, the prince looked a little calmer, the fire and smoke that had surrounded him faded. Nirvë still kept his distance and was glad for it when he began pacing, fists clenched. Blood fell from his palms in heated red drops, nearly identical to Nirvë’s own and oddly out of place among the other aspects of his form.

“…five thousand years.” A low, fey laugh echoed off the tapestries, which had turned almost as hard as stone. Nirvë realized belatedly that they were probably meant to contain them. “Five thousand years I have been here, and all my attempts have been for nought.”

Attempts? Has he tried to escape before? Nirvë certainly wouldn’t put it past the prince, especially considering their… shared background. Still, that he was able to attempt multiple times was worrying. Mandos was supposed to have knowledge and power over all who resided in his Halls, and Fëanáro belonged to him as surely as he had belonged to the One. That must be why he hates him so much, Nirvë thought, and the wind answered with another sigh.

Yes, his distrust has only gotten worse after his enslavement. I have tried to tell them he does not fully belong to me, to send him to the realm of Ulmo where he can be less restrained, but they insist upon holding him here for now…

Does not fully belong to you? Nirvë frowned, watched Fëanáro prowl around the entrance hall for a few heartbeats before it hit him. The Silmarils. The One used to say they were the only thing that could control him…

Melkor was right about one thing. A shiver shot down Nirvë’s spine, and the voice took on a gentler tone. I am sorry, young one. I did not mean to frighten you.

“The fault is mine,” he said aloud. “I should be over this by now.”

“Over it?” Fëanáro cried, sweeping the floor with the hem of his robe as he turned on him. “Ai, yes, I know what you mean. You and Námo’s Maiar— all of you want to forget your suffering as quickly as possible, as if you could get over it now.”

Nirvë had been in many fights, but he had never been the target of such mighty disdain; each word from the prince’s mouth, however unreasonable, he felt like a lash on his skin. “As if you could simply put it behind you, like the selfish thing you are. Perhaps family means nothing to your kind, but I had children there!”

This last part he shouted at the ceiling, and now he focused on Mandos, blood still pooling on the floor beneath him.

“I had children,” he whispered, and broke off with a hitch in his breath, sounding almost pained. “Maitimo and Makalaurë, Tyelko and Curvo and Moryo, the Ambarussa, Ancalagon and Gostir, Scatha and Smaug.”

The last dragons of Middle-Earth, the broken and defeated heroes. All his and all precious to him.

What happened next Nirvë could probably chalk up to fear and excitement, but he’d never felt as rational as when he stepped up, took his lord’s shoulder in his hand, and said, “I will take your message to Maedhros.”

Fëanáro stared. The silence filled the room for an agonizingly long moment before he finally replied, “Why?”

“You need it,” Nirvë said out loud, and added in his head, I’ve no idea. Contradictory. Unclear. The Lieutenant would have his head for that; there must be an explanation, and he tried to create one as he went over his next words.

Perhaps it had been the children. He’d been a child once, after all. Taken by the dark powers before he could even reach adulthood, forced to grow up too soon, tortured and mutilated, but he had been a child, and he wanted to accept that.

“You don’t believe in second starts,” he told his prince, “but I do. You were right about what I wanted, and your sons do not deserve this silence from you.” None of them did, not even the ones with your own fire in them.

“Your hand is burning,” Fëanáro said distantly, then snapped back to attention, pinning Nirvë again with that wide golden gaze. Nirvë could see the desperation in them, the fever. Despite the pain in his hand, he tightened it around the crimson-robed shoulder. I will not leave you, my lord.

“Tell Maitimo.” The prince hesitated; Nirvë knew all too well what he was going through; he had had no idea what to say when he’d met the others who had been taken from the Lake of Awakening, friends long dead who he’d thought he had forgotten. “Tell them all that I am sorry for the pain I have caused them. Tell them I love them still- no, wait! Tell them I love them, but it is up to them whether they choose to return that love. They never knew that.”

Fëanáro was smiling, the words falling out of him, and Nirvë ached to see such unfamiliar glee on his face. “Tell Curvo to start standing up straight for once, Tyelko that he must stop tormenting his brothers, and tell Makalaurë— Maglor— that I am so proud of the twins. Tell him I am sorry for what I did in the Gap.”

Nirvë Elennion, Mandos warned. The door is almost closing.

Nirvë looked at himself. His physical form was beginning to fade again, becoming less solid, but Fëanáro would not let go. “Promise me,” he said urgently, “promise me you’ll remember everything. This last part is most important. Apologize to the Ambarussa for me as well, but you must tell them I will never let it happen again. In these exact words, do you hear me?”

Son of Finwë, it is time to go back.

“I understand,” Nirvë said simply, and then the door was opening and finally pulling him into the light of Valinor, the promised land he had never gotten to see.

A sense of almost childlike joy woke in him, and he looked back only to see Fëanáro leave, golden scales replacing skin before he took to the air in the shape of a great, winged flame, majestic and hopefully at peace at last.

#feanor #my writing #silmarillion #tolkien #feanor is glaurung conspiracy au #tolkien oc?#he's just like a window but #fanfiction

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kendrixtermina · 4 years

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Assorted House of Feanor Thoughts

I wrote this as a reply to someone, but then realized that this should be a post of its own.

Line between extrapolation, interpretation & headcanon is going to be fluid here

Long post under cut

The seven sons in general:

all moody, fierce, intense and brilliant, each in various different ways

none of them can really stand to be cooped up in one place for long

F R E C K L E S you will not convince me otherwise

Apart from the ones explicitly described as pretty (ie, Maedhros and Celegorm) they’re actually relatively plain by elf standards, or at least sort of rugged-looking, especially compared to their part-Vanyar cousins - I mean, figures that some would turn out more like Miriel or Nerdanel both of which were supposedly more average.

all are very resourceful having spent most of their lives helping out with their parent’s projects, exploring the wilderness, or (save for Celegorm) hanging out in Aule’s halls. Most can probably whip up a steampunk or magitech solution to basic war-related problems

Because of this they’re a very tight-knit group

growing up, they did not know many children their age; Ironically the most contact they had was with their cousins because Feanor paid semi-regular visits to Finwe. Apart from Turgon (and Orodreth if you place him in the second rather than the third post-journey generation) the cousins really dug the adventure stories. (Galadriel pretended not to be interested and offered plenty of critiques, but listened anyways)

more survival skills and just a lot more casual than your average princes

They’d all been adults for a good while by the time of the rebellion; the twins are a tad older than Aredhel, Galadriel and Argon; Caranthir and Angrod are about the same age. Curufin is younger than Aegnor.

They all look back at that trip to the lightless shore of the outer sea as a cherished family memory

Also I don’t think Feanor disciplined his sons very much after all his own father let him get away with everything. In his eyes the brats can do no wrong especially not Curufin and to a lesser extent Amrod Nerdanel tried her best to counterbalance this and it kind of worked on some of them, but the three middle ones were a lost cause

I think a lot of the weight behind the oath comes from how Feanor made them promise him to see it through on his deathbed. It was his literal last wish.

Maedhros:

The Leader™, the most strong-willed and the deadliest fighter by a huge margin. What the orc under your bed has nightmares about.

Obviously a very competent diplomat, strategist, and the sort to put constructive results over personal glory; resilient, formidable, unpretentious and tough as leather

but not at all overconfident, and the type who is not blind to the flaws of the people he loves. He knows very well that Feanor wasn’t perfect and does many things that his father would not have agreed with - at the same time he has a strong sense of obligation, honor and loyalty which turns out to be his fatal flaw in the end when being loyal and keeping his word increasingly requires him to do dishonorable things

if there was a definite breaking point it was the fiasco with Dior’s sons

Stoic but courteous and eloquent; From Finwe’s death onwards increasingly grim, grizzled and not very hopeful, though he’s the sort to give his all and try to be noble even when there’s no reward or even thanks or respect.

Despite this, he has as a dry sense of humor and at times uses it to defuse tense situations or disarm people he’s negotiating with (see the scene with Thingol’s message) - does have a streak of gallows humor to him especially after the Thangorodrim incident

As the heir Feanor actually let him in on trade secrets and scientific speculation; Their relationship is probably the most equal; I do think Feanor was capable of actually appreciating that Maedhros got a mind of his own and isn’t afraid to stand up for himself. Feanor values independent thought, even if he’s not always good at really living that value with his tendency to take things personally and see others as taking sides for or against him.

Can’t really craft stuff to the same degree without his right hand. He then focussed on more abstract/mental pursuits which were perhaps his forte, to begin with but it still bothers him more than he lets on, especially since he still retains, or swiftly regained, his skill at making things dead.

He may or may not qualify as a cinnamon roll but he definitely looks like could kill you

Maglor:

Maedhros might have been the token responsible sibling, but Maglor was the understanding, comforting one and always had a nurturing streak - hence why he was the one to take in the kids.

Sensitive Artistic Type™ - goes from quirky and passionate back in Valinor to melancholy & tormented as the war drags on

one of those people who despair over & get self-critical over their work even when it’s regarded as masterpieces

Like Feanor and Miriel before him, he tends to get super absorbed in his work/art and just plain disappears for days

Now some ppl hold that he didn’t start having second thoughts until near the end, but judging from how he comes along to Fingolfin’s party or to hang out with Finrod, I’d hold that he was always ‘the nice/gentle one’, but not solely in a positive way; Unlike Maedhros he did not stand up to Feanor about the thing with the ships and indeed lets Maedhros talk him out of turning himself in at the very end, so he’s probably somewhat lacking in assertiveness

Even so, he’s probably one of the better fighters, given the difficult territory he gets, that he’s the one to kill Ulfang, and how long he survives. He probably feels ambivalent about this.

I imagine him having an agility-based fighting style

Probably codified the heroic epos as a specifically Noldorin art form

Celegorm:

A lot of ppl focus on the barbarian aspect, but I’d say he actually has some degree of ‘subverted prince charming’ going on, with how he sweet-talks Luthien at first before throwing her in the dungeon, and how he seems to have been one of the more accomplished ones, joining a respected order and all

He’s actually pretty elegant and perhaps playfully gallant, but it’s a facade; He’s an animal underneath; though his instincts are probably somewhat nobler than what ends up happening when he gets roped into Curufin’s schemes

usually, the first to react and leap into action when something happens.

Herculean strength, daunting presence

also a fairly efficient general, if a bit of a glory hound and pretty fearless in the pursuit of victory

very much has an ego and doesn’t like being humbled at all

Strikes me as the sort of person who would take badly to the realization that they can no longer return to the glory of the past or being judged unworthy, not that he’d respond with anything but defiance

Wrestles giant monsters barehanded

Always low-key wished to fight creatures of darkness before the rebellion to test his might against them; Orome and the Maiar members of the hunt would have told stories of them

though he gets his pretty face from Daddy, his strong build comes from Nerdanel, possibly somewhat accentuated by his being a dude

Caranthir:

grumpy, moody, no filter, likes his alone time, shows his feelings mostly through actions, also somewhat pragmatic

the quartermaster; Actually one of the smarter ones, if not outright the second smartest after Curufin, though he has more a logistic/administrative sort of intelligence

generally one of the more prosaic, practical family members, or maybe he’s just more subtle about his dramatic side or has a harder time expressing it. Definitely has Hidden Dephts™

I mean, putting your hideout on the slope of a mountain near a deep, dark lake circled by mountains? Goth AF. A+ aesthetic there.

Hosts the family get-togethers at his fortress. Has most certainly shoved Celegorm and Curufin in the lake at some point

has a certain respect for strength, valor and skill even in ppl he doesn’t necessarily like; Not at all diplomatic or polite, but also not finicky or fastidious, so actually forged a whole lot of alliances on a “everyone’s money/swords are equally good and we don’t have to set conditions” basis and seems to have been pretty successful at this

started out haughty but definitely learned to be more open-minded/ broaden his horizon over his time in Beleriand - but as no good deed goes unpunished, Ulfang happens

Whereas Curufin and Celegorm can put up a noble veneer but will totally stab you in the back if provoked, Caranthir’s sort of the opposite, in that he’s rude and quarrelsome on first contact but has a good heart deep down (see the Haladin incident) and doesn’t keep grudges long term once he’s done grumbling where Celegorm is sore loser and Curufin a spiteful twerp.

though personally, I don’t see Caranthir as trying to reign himself in. He wouldn’t really be known as “the harshest” in that case. Who was gonna teach him to behave himself, Feanor maybe? kek.

Curufin:

We have a lot of actual dialogue & description for him - he has this characteristic little defiant smile, is often coldly contemptuous in tone, some level of ruthless pragmatism

has mild/vague foresight - nothing as impressive as what Finrod and Galadriel have, but he has it more or less to the degree that Feanor did.

actually pretty insightful, thought-through and political-minded in some ways, too bad he shares Feanor’s tendency for unwarranted suspicion and factionalism, as well as a tendency to just act on his own without checking with anyone

always either filthy from work or fully blinged-out and impeccably groomed, no in-between

more calculated and subtle than Feanor - not that Feanor ever needed calculation or subtlety since he could get by on sheer awe or intimidation. Celegorm and Maedhros have that same quality in spades and Curufin’s a little bit jealous

Not actually that much older than the twins, but always acted older than his age, especially once he heard that Feanor was the same

collects weapons, loves fancy horses, the most traditionally aristocratic of the seven

Got married relatively young; saw it as a matter of honor to further his family’s line

continued his scholarly pursuits in Beleriand; this is part of why he elected to share a territory with Celegorm

The last Celebrimbor ever heard of him was a magically sealed box filled with research notes he sent out in case he didn’t make it out alive

Did not take his parents’ estrangement well and is stubbornly salty toward Nerdanel (though deep down he misses her as much as his brothers if not more)

Frequently the Bad Influence/ Shoulder Devil to his brothers.

But when he gets excited about his research/craft he’s got this “exited cocky little boy” side to him that’s surprisingly pure.

Only Nerdanel and possibly Celebrimbor’s mom are allowed to call him ‘Atarinke.’ His brothers might still use it when they’re teasing or scolding him.

The Twins:

Every time a fic does something else with them than “generic prankster redheads” I cry with joy

We don’t have that many data points on them, but most of them suggest they’re every bit as fierce as their brothers

they’re somewhat aloof & mostly do their own thing;

As kids they’d mostly sit in a corner and play with each other. Possibly deliberately played up their identicalness as a kind of emo fashion statement / to fuck with people (”Should we do this Ambarussa?” - ”I don’t know, what do you think, Ambarussa?”)

never really gave up their semi-nomadic ways

Compared to Celegorm they probably more on stealth and precision than strength and bravado. They suddenly appear in front of you, and bam! You’ve got an arrow poking out of your face. Probably the ones scouting the perimeter of the camp.

Amras is a bit sassier, but it’s actually Amrod who’s a little bit braver.

Hardly ever argued until their parents’ estrangement; That led to quite a few quarrels between them.

For all his faults, Feanor made a point of doing things with each of them individually.

quietly nursing some level of pent-up despair and frustration until they push for the assault on Sirion

In the version where one of them dies, and then no one ever talks about it, - I imagine that the remaining one ended up cynical in a “let’s just get it ever with we’re already doomed after all’ kind of way

Bonus:

Celebrimbor

“Curiosity killed the cat but the second mouse gets the cheese” incarnate. He’s a sweet, excitable, deeply good guy, but Curiosity is the strongest force within him, besides maybe “think of the potential”

very bold in his thinking, not held back by any conventional boundaries. This is partially why he ended up more independent than his father and uncles but ironically that might in a sense make him more similar to grandpa than any of them

Really looks like Feanor. Like, Arwen and Luthien level of resemblance. It takes ppl a bit to notice because of how different his general demeanor and surface-level personality is.

Very scattered and absent-minded, prone to sudden flashes of inspiration, often shows up in some form of disarray

spent his adolescence at Formenos. Retained a certain affinity for wintery places ever since

He sensed something fishy about Sauron before long, but between wanting to avoid the family propensity for unwarranted suspicion and being tempted by all the possibilities of what he could do with that power/knowledge even if it did come from a fishy source, he didn’t act before it was too late - he can't have been fully clueless since he hid the three; There was definitely just a bit of actual seduction/forbidden fruit appeal in place there, whether to use the word “hubris” probably depends on your philosophy.

He drops the ‘th’ once he renounces Curufin, but slips right back into the old habit when excited or exasperating. At some point during his rule of Eregion, he stops bothering to hide it - A similar thing happens when he’s talking Sindarin with his northeast Beleriand accent.

I know this is a very popular old hat headcanon, but... His other name is also “Curufinwe”. Everyone called him Telperinquar from the start, lest all three come running and grumble about being distracted from work, but after the Nargothrond debacle, he had other reasons for not using it. But really, Telperinquar/Celebrimbor is just another more metaphorical way to say “this baby shall be good at working with his hands” so yeah

My HC for where he was between the Finrod incident and the second age is as follows: He departed for war with Gwindor’s troupe (this is someone who tried to engineer a way around entropy - not a “do nothing” sort of guy) and fled the battlefield with Turgon. (hence some of the passages that place him in Gondolin can still be made to work. He totally made Earendil’s baby-sized mail coat) He fled with Idril’s party. Had she not tipped him off somehow he would probably have died with the rest of the smith’s guild. Or perhaps he grabbed all the valuable records he could find and ran for it because someone needed to preserve them. As living surrounded by the survivors of Doriath would have been awkward to say the least, he went to the isle of Balar to offer his skills and service to Gil-Galad. This is where he befriended/ reconnected with Galadriel and Celeborn.

Finrod once told him the “faithful stone” legend from Brethil. It would be an inspiration to him much later. Generally credits Finrod with being a good influence on him.

Judging by the stars on the doors of Durin his stance on his family probably softened over the years. He essentially attained their original new dream of exploring distant lands and building unparalleled new realms, at least for a while - also definitely has a similar “screw destiny!”/ “I defy you stars!” attitude. Perhaps he wanted to see their vision done right.

But on some level, I think he also wanted to associate himself with their fame eventually especially once his own accomplishments grew. His feelings were probably always very ambiguous because he must have admired and envied their great works but also lived getting weird looks whenever he did what he’s best at and loves doing most in the world because it associates him with these very ambiguous people whom many hated... at one point in the past he must have really admired his father and grandfather, I mean, he came with them across the sea.

Nerdanel

She got Feanor the apprenticeship / gave him the idea after they met on their travels.

Were seen as something of an eccentric hippie/ hipster couple in the early days

She’s tough, confident and definitely quipped/ yelled back at times. Definitely described as ‘strong-willed’ and individual. Like this was a ‘kindred spirits’ thing before everything went to hell

it counts for something that even during the ugly bitter parting scene the worst Feanor could say was “someone must’ve turned you against me because you definitely cared once” rather than “you’re a traitor” for all that everything else in that scene made him very punchable

Their relationship dynamic, as I see it, is that she’s the one person who just sees and treats him like a normal dude. No apprehension, no fawning. He’s not “the greatest” or a tainted aberration to her, he’s simply a like-minded friend. So she’s pretty chill about his idiosyncrasies and doesn’t see them as a big deal, but on the other hand, she’s not overawed and will not take bullshit

Since she is good at understanding people she probably usually gets where he’s coming from even when he’s not being reasonable

possibly invented abstract art; was most certainly influential.

the elves who serve Aule probably have their own little traditions. She might’ve imparted some of those on her descendants

Also ppl tend to forget that she also does metalwork. Again, it’s quite possible that she got him into it and that if they’d never met, he might have landed in a completely different discipline

I think it says a lot about Feanor that he chose her for being smart, creative and independent-minded. It shows that he actually values these things and that it’s not just a rhetorical device; he’s not a hypocrite, he failed at what he was genuinely trying to aim for.

She had Finwe won over the moment she mentioned that she likes children. To Feanor’s chagrin, she proclaimed that his then-tiny half-siblings were the cutest thing ever but since he was trying to impress Nerdanel, he actually kept his composure there.

She was totally buds with Earwen and Anaire.

I really like those fics where she played some part in the reconstruction efforts. She’s already renowned for her wisdom and has some familiarity with the court, so why wouldn’t Finarfin make her an advisor?

Miriel

She was described as having “silver” hair like what the teleri sometimes have, but that was for lack of a better world. It’s actually pretty close to pure white. It was an unprecedented anomaly. Celegorm got it. Though overall Maglor might be the one who most looks like her. Or maybe Caranthir.

Well, her tendency to refuse to eat her words no matter what has certainly proven highly heritable

Canonically one of those ppl who talks very fast

Feanor doesn’t look very much like her at all, but he talks like her and is similar in his body language etc. The shape of her hands, however, has made it all the way to Celebrimbor in an unbroken line. Maglor’s got em too.

She was the only one of her family to make the great journey. That’s why “the names of her kin are not recorded”. You see, they tried to convince her not to go, and that only made her more determined.

Miriel and Indis used to have this thing where Miriel would sing while Indis plays the instrument. First time Indis caught Maedhros and Fingon doing something similar she got very emotional about it. She told them how she and Miriel also used to have a sort of odd friendship despite their opposite looks and personalities. Maedhros had at this point never even heard that they used to be friends. She proceeded to tell him some fun stories from Miriel’s youth and encouraged the two to spend time together.

We’re told that Miriel and Finwe only got together in Valinor; Since Indis had a thing for him since before the Vanyar moved out of Tirion it’s fully possible that Indis actually liked him first. Maybe she actually introduced them to each other, like she wasn't confident enough to ask him on a date so she brought her friend, only for the two to be immediately smitten with each other. Poor Indis decided that she had no chance and moved out of town when Ingwe did.

Miriel definitely expresses her love/admiration in the way of “You! You’re perf! I must make art of you!”

Since his arrival in the halls of Mandos, Feanor has made several of Vaire’s Maiar cry with his critique of their tapestries, but he holds that his mom’s are best.

Feanor himself

In general, I hold that while he said many things that were not right, there’s a lot of what he prophecied that was not quite wrong and does come true in a kind of way, even if not necessarily for himself and his family. They sort of pave the way as Promethean figures. The second mouse gets the cheese (it’s usually some Nolofinwean)

Though he’s also the ultimate example of “you are not immune to propaganda”. Literally the smartest man in the world; Still touchy enough to be an easy mark for emotional manipulation.

I think a lot of ff undersells what a polymath he must’ve been and that part where he worked on many different topics and was “the most learned”.

You know the type of author who has a bazillion unfinished wips going and jumps wildly from topic to topic? Feanor’s research notes are exactly like that, especially the tendency to disintegrate into cryptic jottings and notes right before the most interesting part. Just like the unfinished texts from HoMe Just like Gauss or Euler, having invented everything a hundred years ahead and 40% more discoveries buried that he never felt ready to publish. (I can also definitely see the sons – especially Maedhros and Curufin – spending the better part of the siege of Angband compiling some of it into a presentable format. Celebrimbor would then be the one to stumble upon implications /corollaries that had somehow been missed for thousands of years.

For all that I enjoy fics where they’re all smoll and adorable as much as the next person, canonically we’re given every indication that he was an adolescent or young adult by the time the remarriage occurred. The published silm has him “well-nigh full-grown” by the time Indis started having kids; In the HoME passage detailing the romantic meeting on the mountain it’s said that he was “wandering in the mountains” (ie, old enough to do so on his own) at the time. He moved out as soon as he could, so he and his half-siblings never actually spent any significant time in the same household

I mean, he reacted like a teenager would, and IMHO neither his character nor Finwe’s make any sense if this wasn’t a single parent situation early on.

Personally, I really don’t like that headcanon that he was nicer to the sisters for no reason. I don’t think his relationship with Fingolfin was ever much better than the sort of “awkwardly tolerating” we saw at the reconciliation scene; At the same time, I don’t think things would ever have escalated to that degree if Melkor hadn’t gone mucking things up.

In the same vein, I don’t think he always had beef with the Valar. He used to hang out in Aule’s halls and let Celegorm study with Orome after all and studied their language. - he certainly seems to have had some romanticism for the Hither Lands evident in his speeches, he traveled far past the well-lit areas, made crystals that shine in starlight etc. so he was probably always somewhat independent-minded and he certainly knew, better than anyone, that the Valar are imperfect and can’t fix everything (they couldn’t heal Miriel after all) - but it’s a long way from healthy skepticism and understandable disappointment to asserting bad intentions where there are none.

There’s a long way between not wanting a relationship with someone, and pointing stabby objects at them. Feanor was always difficult and never the type of person to be easily satisfied but at the same time, he clearly had his “delight” in his work and life as it was pre-Melkor. He could’ve gone on as an inventor and author of strongly worded opinion pieces; perhaps the elves were even “meant” to go back & come into contact with the Edain for a brief while, just without all the murder.

The thing about Melkor’s lies is that they made a complicated situation conveniently easy in a way that he (and Fingolfin!) would want to believe. It’s not really either of their fault that they both exist, but if your rival is actually out to get you then suddenly all your negative feelings are justified

Personally, I don’t think it the remarriage made that much of a difference - Miriel would still be dead. What Feanor’s really mad at is the inherent unfairness of the world. But he can’t fix or fight that, so in a misfire of his engineer’s mindset that thinks in terms of simple cause and effect and wants the world to be logical and controllable, he blamed something tangible (Indis.)

I think Melkor hates him so much because he’s kinda what Melkor wishes he was or likes to think he is. They’re both the mightiest of their respective kinds and don’t really fit in, but Feanor’s actually extremely creative. He goes and does his own thing, and maybe errs in overlooking that no man is an island and that all works are built on those of others, but, look at Melkor who wants all the scale of a group project but none of the “cooperation” part and basically can’t make anything of his own. “You’re like me, yet you’re successful? I cannot allow it!”

In a sense you have classic Satan and Miltonian satan in the same setting, and they can’t stand each other

#silmarillion #house of feanor #sons of feanor #feanor #nerdanel #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #celebrimbor

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onthesandsofdreams · 4 years

Text

Battle Worn But Going Home

Characters: Beleg & Mablung Rating: T Summary: The battle rages, hard and brutal. And it’s going to end badly, Mablung can tell already. Something feels off, like Belegûr is holding back, mocking their armies and their dead. Beleg stands side to side with him, and that is a comforting thought for him.

And then it happens, a betrayal from their own side and the battle grows worse. Words: 1081 Notes: Day 6 of Doriath Week. Tagging: @doriathweek

Read @ AO3

The battle rages, hard and brutal. And it’s going to end badly, Mablung can tell already. Something feels off, like Belegûr is holding back, mocking their armies and their dead. Beleg stand side to side with him, and that is a comforting thought for him.

And then it happens, a betrayal from their own side and the battle grows worse.

It is only then, truly, that he and Beleg stands back to back simply trying to survive. Beleg had given him a worried look, he shares the worry, of course, but right now, he must put his thoughts and feelings on ice. Only lets the anger he carries toward Belegûr help to cut down his armies, he will not let anything else distract him. So he lifts his ax and cuts through orcs and betrayers alike. He intents to make sure that he and Beleg return home.

Fingon is killed and he can feel the bubbling of despair, but he grips his ax even tighter and continues fighting. He will not die here, nor will Beleg if he can help it. Azaghal dies and his people carry him out of the battlefield, no one dares disturb them. He has to admit, there’s a great deal of reverence as Azaghal is carried out, amidst the songs of his people. But he has no time to appreciate this naugrim ritual, not when the battle rages on around him.

One swing of his ax after the other, his enemies fall before him, but it is not enough. Damn Belegûr and his ability to ensure that his armies always stand victorious.

Once the battle ends, both he and Beleg stand on the battlefield, leaning on each other. Tired, battle worn, hungry and dirty, but alive. They get to the tents, Beleg has a cut on his arm that needs tending and he needs to get provisions for their return home. He leaves Beleg at the care of the healer and goes in search of food, he receives lembas and fortified wine, some fruit and dried meat. That should be fine, they can hunt on their way home.

Beleg’s wound is nothing serious, praise the Valar. So, he gets a poultice, stitches and wraps and he’s deemed free to go. Beleg looks at him with tired and sad eyes, he’s sure his eyes match them. There are no words yet, they will come, but not while they are still surrounded by such sorrow and terrible defeat. Elven voices sing in sorrow for the fallen King and kin, sending waves of grief to both their hearts.

They part ways with the Noldor and make their way home slowly, always making sure the other is safe. He has always trusted Beleg to look out for him, in the same way he does for his captain. There’s no need for him to worry if Beleg is with him. But this time they do, the roads are dangerous and they must keep vigil all the way home.

“Unnumbered tears,” Beleg whispers, once they have put a good distance between themselves and the Noldor host, and are making a small camp near a river. They do not risk a fire yet, so they eat the lembas and some dried meat. “That’s what they’re already calling the battle.”

He nods, “I can see why, Fingon and Azaghal dead. Húrin lost to Belegûr. The Noldorin army in tatters, Turgon retreated back to his hidden city. And for what I heard, Maedhros himself nearly fell.”

Beleg’s look of surprise is quite something. “Kinslayer he may be, but at least he is a good and steadfast warrior in his stand against Belegûr. How?”

“Seems like Uldor attacked from the rear. They say that it was Maglor who slayed him himself as thanks.”

Beleg frowns, “Dark are the days that are to come, I fear what Belegûr might yet unleash.”

He shares Beleg’s worry, he lifts his wine skin and takes a large mouthful, drinks it slowly, savoring the burn of the alcohol. “And I share your worry,” he offers the wine to Beleg, who takes it with a grateful smile and sips. “But no more we can do, save watch over our people.”

Beleg’s countenance falls. “Indeed,” he murmurs. “We did what we could here, but now, we must keep watch over Doriath, as we have always done.”

“And to redouble our efforts no doubt,” he counters. “I doubt Belegûr will leave Doriath alone forever.”

Beleg looks up to the skies, the dark is beginning to fall and stars are already peeking through. “Indeed, my heart is troubled by this loss. Truly, Belegûr has outdone himself by swaying some of the second born to his ranks. Our King will not like the news.”

“No,” he agrees. “He will not. But come, you are weary and I can see that your arm still bothers you. Sleep, old friend, I’ll keep watch and wake you as soon as anor rises.”

“Thank you, Mablug. Truly, you are the best of friends to have in these trying times. Rest well.” Beleg grins at him, tired he might be, but Beleg is not one to loose his spirit. Not even Belegûr can take that from his friend, and for that, he is grateful.

He watches as Beleg rests on his back, sword at the ready as his eyes grow vacant. He gives his friend a smile, even if the other can’t see it, Beleg can sleep through most everything in the safety of Menegroth, but he is a light sleeper on the wild, so he simply sits and hums a song he heard Daeron sing not so long ago. Tired as he might be, he knows he will not rest properly until they are safe within the Girdle.

And right now, they are just two weary warriors, on their way home. He hopes that at least, they can arrive home safely. Times will grow darker, his heart tells him so, but he is stubborn in his hope that they might yet know peace and freedom from Belegûr, and for that reason alone, he will continue his fight and watch, his King and Queen, over Doriath, over his friend and his people. Beleg and himself will have quite the story to tell, but right now, he might be tired and battle worn, but they are alive and they are going home.

So long as Mablug, Marchwarden and Captain of Elu Thingol stands, Doriath will stand untouched if he can help it.

#doriathweek #mablung & beleg #mablung #beleg #the silmarillion fic #missing scene fic #the silmarillion

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sweetteaanddragons · 4 years

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Day 6 - Ambarussa

@feanorianweek

Day 6 - Ambarussa > Weapons, Childhood, Lordship, Regrets, Twin, Hunting, Nandor

(Note: I am aware that since this takes place during their childhood, they should be using the Quenya version of their names. However, I find the Sindarin forms easier, so since I’m running later than I hoped, I decided to just use the Sindarin names for everybody in this fic.)

. . .

There are precisely three people who can tell them apart without taking an overlong moment to think on it aside from themselves, of course.

Their parents make up the first two, and that hardly counts, Amrod thinks, though Amras thinks their mother at least deserves credit for always knowing which one had snuck into their parents’ room in the middle of the night without even opening her eyes.

Amrod thinks that’s mostly luck, especially since Amras is the one who does it four nights out of five because he keeps having nightmares about Maglor’s monster stories like a baby, but that always leads to a fight, so he tries not to bring it up anymore. Fighting is better when it’s both of them against the world - or at least their brothers - not the two of them against each other.

The third person is Curufin, and Amrod thinks it might be because everyone says Curufin is pretty much just Atar but smaller. Curufin always puffs out his chest when they say that.

Which makes what Amras says late one night when the light is soft and silver and they’re both staring up at the ceiling trying to fall asleep all the more puzzling.

“Do you think it ever bothers him?”

Amrod, who has been contemplating sneaking down to the kitchen to steal something from the cupboard, has no idea what he was talking about. “Who?”

Amras rolls over in his bed to look at him better. “Curufin. Do you think it bothers him what people say about him and Atar?”

“No,” Amrod says immediately, not needing to think about it. “Why would it?”

Amras bites his lip. “Well, he’s not just a smaller Atar. He’s his own person.”

Amrod, who shares a room, a name, and nearly every moment of his life with Amras, has never been particularly concerned with being seen as his own person. He is Amrod, individually, and Ambarussa, collectively, and Amras whenever someone isn’t paying enough attention, and it doesn’t matter to him in the least.

The tight knot in his stomach is starting to make him think it might matter to Amras though.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, and he’s careful to keep his eyes fixed firmly one the ceiling. “When people do it with us? When they think you’re just - “ He struggles to think of a difference between themselves. “Me, but younger?”

Amras is younger by approximately ten minutes, and normally just bringing it up is enough to merit a punch to the arm. The fact that they are in bed that are five feet away from each other isn’t normally enough to stop him.

This time, he just lays so quietly in bed that Amrod eventually has to give in and turn to look at him.

Amras’s face is scrunched up in thought. “No,” he says slowly, like he’s trying the word out. “Or - maybe yes. I don’t know. It’s never been any other way. I don’t know what it feels like.”

This is true, Amrod supposes. But the knot in his stomach is twisting even tighter.

What if Amras’s idea of trying out things being different is to get separate rooms? Or to stop spending time together? Or to -

“I think we should dye our hair.”

Amrod blinks. “What?”

Amras sits up in his bed, overcome with excitement. “They have dyes in the market,” he reminds Amrod. “And Atar’s taking us tomorrow, and he promised to get us something. We should get the dye. You could make your hair - Green. Or blue. Whatever you wanted. And I could do mine a different color, and we could see what we thought.”

Amrod considers this.

It is not, he decides, as bad as it could be. In fact, it’s not a bad idea at all.

“I want green,” he decides, because Celegorm’s been teaching them about how to bled in on hunts, and green hair is a logical continuation of that.

“Then I’ll take blue,” Amras agrees, and it’s settled, just like that.

Assuming, of course, that they can talk their parents into it.

But that’s a problem for the morning, and for now, with the knot finally vanishing from his stomach, Amrod wants nothing more than to finally go to sleep.

#amrod #amras #ambarussa #fic #silmarillion #years of the trees #feanorian week

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youareunbearable · 2 years

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I swear I wrote this down before, but I cant find it in any of my notes so here's a little fun idea! When the world gets recreated so its no longer Arda Marred, I think the Valar got together and Looked at the Finwe problem and shrugged and decided to make all of Miriel and her descendants Maiar to slove that tricky little problem of Remarriage.

Because the Feanorians are now Maiar, they aren't technically born, meaning they aren't really siblings and part of the same family so there is no real issue in separating them now is there?

Miriel is one of Vaire's weavers of course, and Feanor is one of Aule's most talented smiths, but that is understandable as he is the spirit of Hearth Fire itself. There are others within Aule's Halls, but their knowledge of each other is passing, for Celebrimbor tends to stay with the jewelry makers and Curufin likes creating hunting gear for Orome's hunt

Orome is almost never seen without his most prized hunter, Celegorm, who prefers a form that looks more wolf than Elf.

Vana, Orome's wife, herself has a pair of giggling and twittering songbirds that follow her around as she follows her husband's Hunt. They dance and sing and twirl in sync that many often just call the pair of them by a singular name, Ambarussa.

Irmo within his forest full of Song and Music has a very talented Maia that is so in tune with thr Song that they can play with it however they choose. Maglor only uses this ability to give the Elves good dreams, of course.

Este is forever thankful of her assistant Caranthir, who keeps all her medical necessities and books in order, so she is always prepared to help those in need, even if he himself doesn't have the best beside manner.

Lady Nienna’s Maia, Maedhros is a bit more of a recluse. He is charming when spoken too, but there is something distant, some type of lingering melancholy that clings to him, like a weak dawn in the deepest days of winter. He tends to hide himself away in the forests surrounding Formenos, helping those who are lost find their way back home.

Then there are Finwe and his beautiful wife Indis, their children, and many grandchildren. They are a stunning example of a happy family, and all the citizens of Tirion love having them as their royal family. Nothing is ever wrong, even when Fingolfin’s daughter Aredhel got lost during a hunt, she was lucky enough to be escorted back to her worried brothers' camp.

Fingon, who had never felt the degree of terror that flooded his veins at the thought of his sister lost in the woods, terror that was much stronger than what was called for because what could befell her in their peaceful land of Valinor?

She was being ferried on the back of a behemoth of a horse, pristine and laughing at the antics of the silver wolf-like Maia walking at her side. The horse was being led by a silent Maia, who smiled softly at the pair but made no move to include himself.

Fingon looked up at the tall Maia, and felt something in his fea shatter. He always had felt like something was missing, that he would havr an urge to go looking for someone he could never find, catch himself looking up to share an idea with someone who must have been taller than him only to look up at empty air. His bed felt so cold, but no matter how high he tended the hearth flames he knew it was because it was empty. He would look to the distant mountains and see a dawn peaking over their tops and weep as something in his fea ached.

Everything felt so overwhelming when he looked at this Maia, this being that looked cold, who wore furs and had snow dusting his shoulders even though it was a warm sunny summer day. Fingon was so lost in the sensations swirling within him that he was too slow to act before the Maia helped Aredhel off his horse, swung up himself and was out of the clearing. That wolfish Maia giving his sister a laughing twirl before bounding off into the thicket, chasing after the distant horn call.

Fingon’s knees felt weak, he found himself sinking to the forest floor. This world may be Arda Remade, but he still felt Marred.

#amber rambles #Silmarillion #maedhros #Feanorians #fingon #there was more to this that i thought i wrote down #basically the story is in Arda Remade fingon finds that he is the only one in his family that feels Off #he doesnt knkw why. no one has memories of arda marred but fingon knows he lost something precious to him in the remaking #finwe is worried for his eldest grandson. he doenst know why seeing someone he loves turn so melancholic makes him afraid #it just does. so he urges fingon to visit Lorien to soothe his Fea and heal #here he meets Caranthir and Maglor and he feels a connection to both and spends a lot of his time he #there bothering the both of them and he shares his feelings with maglor who just humms and agrees with him #that the Music within his fea is missing something.maybe someone? maybe hes supposed to go out and find them #maglor tells him to let the Music guide him and Caranthir gives him supplies and then fingon is off #he travels around Valinor by himself. where he meets the other non-Feanorians and feels pieces slot together #his most eye opening experience was meeting with the Maia Feanor and his Elf lover Nerdanel up in Formenos #she agrees with him that what hes feeling is valid as she also lost something in the Remaking #she cannot have children and this aches as she has dreams of a full house and 7 perfect sons that are no longer hers #she shows him her sculptures and as he looks he realizes he has met most of them on his journey! not elves like she has created #but Maiar who under their unnatural differneces look almost identical to these sculptures #he pauses at the last one. the unfamiliar one. Nerdanel sighs and says she feels like this one was her first born #the one she lost even before the Remaking. Fingon feels the same. this face makes him ache.#he wanders the forest that night haunted by these people. these elves he feels like he should know but doesnt. hes so in his thoughts #he doesnt realize hes lost. he calls out into the woods and hears nothing call back but his echos. a chill crawls up his spine #his breath begins to fog and there is a sound behind him and he twirls and there is rhat sculpture. his missing piece #Dont Worry. the figure of Winter and Memory says to him. I Found You #You Found Me. Fingon replies

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theelegantbookworm · 5 years

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The Argument

Part 3 of 12 Days of Fanfic for @independence1776. In this installment, Elrond and Celebrian have their first big fight- I don’t always have the best of luck writing arguments, but let me know what you guys think :) Enjoy!

...

I am seething as I make my way to the library where I know Elrond will be pouring over his precious books. Elves scatter from my path as I approach the doors, some even whimpering their unease. I don’t care. The doors open with a bang.

“Did you even mean to tell me about this alliance you’ve made with the dwarves?”

Elrond had set aside the book he was writing in the moment I burst through the doors; now he makes his way towards me. “How do you even know about it-?”

“A messenger from Círdan, though why the Shipwright knows that Imladris has made an alliance with the remnants of Khazad-Dum and not the Lady of Rivendell herself is beyond my understanding!”

His expression is incredulous. “Because this agreement is needed and I knew that the very mention of such an alliance would see you react like this!”

My temper sends blood rushing to my cheeks. “And do you not think there might be just cause for it?”

“What cause?” he shouts, “When has any of Durin’s folk ever done you harm?”

“Do you truly ask me that? Me? Look around here and I’m sure you will find some tome with the record of the Nauglamir and the murder of my father’s uncle.”

Elrond stiffens, the sign that his own temper is incensed. “I need no book for that Celebrían. Thingol was my forebear.”

I slam my hand on a nearby table. “Then why do you make an alliance with the people who killed him?”

“Because they aren’t! Have the centuries so blinded you and your father that neither of you realizes that none of those responsible for the fell deeds against your kin are all dead and dust?”

“Blood will tell!” I retort. Elrond opens his mouth to argue more, but then he shuts it and walks past me. “Where are you going?” I demand as he opens the door.

He turns back to me, his jaw set and angry. “For a walk, before one of us says something we will regret.” The door slams shut and I let out a yell of frustration. I throw myself into the chair he left, glaring at the sheaves of papers and maps he has laid out. In the silence, I find myself considering the reasons why Elrond would overlook the ages of mistrust between our people to forge a binding alliance with the dwarves. True, they fought with us when Eregion fell, but where were their forces at Mordor? Of the seven rings Celebrimbor made for the dwarves, Sauron had reclaimed all but one. The dwarves did not dain to tell us this until the Last Alliance was already marching on the Black Gate. And while the Eldar freely share the wisdom that we have gathered across our long years, the dwarves hide away in the mountain halls, delving deeper and into darker places for more wealth. I do not trust them and I do not see why my husband is so willing to do so. What troubles me more though is his arranging this alliance without even telling me. He swore to me that we would rule Imladris together as equals, and yet at the first test, he acts alone. It is sometime before I leave the library; from the porch I made my way to, I see twilight has fallen across the valley and the first of the lamps are being lit along the paths. Erestor finds me there a little later.

“My lady, what should be done about supper?”

I frown, puzzled at why our usually astute steward would ask such a simple-minded question. “What do you mean Erestor? The same thing that is done every night.”

He bows, apologetic for annoying me. “But my lady, Lord Elrond has not returned yet, and I did not know whether you wished to dine in the Hall of Fire or to eat elsewhere.”

That catches me off guard. “Elrond isn’t back yet? Did anyone go with him or see where he went?”

“I did my lady, but he bade no one to follow him,” he cringes, “He did not seem in a mood to be disobeyed.”

Never before in the two decades of our marriage have we missed taking supper together. Worry begins to dig at me, but I push it back. “Ensure something is set aside for him when he returns,” I say cooly, hiding the hurt I feel behind my pride. “I will eat in my chambers tonight.”

Supper is brought, but I am too disheartened to eat and the food grows cold, untouched. As the night deepens and Elrond still hasn’t returned, my worry grows into fear. What if something has happened to him? Why an earth would he not take at least a guard with him? These questions roll over in my mind like stones tumbling in a river as I sit waiting. It is well after midnight when I hear our bedroom door open; I don’t bother to look back as he makes his way to the chair next to me and sits. Silence settles on us, an awkward heavy thing that neither of us is sure what to say to break it.

“You missed supper.” I can’t keep the accusation from my voice when I say it. I watch as Elrond grimaces and reconsiders what he was about to say.

“I am sorry my love. I think we both needed the time to think though.”

A frown begins to take form on my face. “We both needed to think?”

He meets my gaze, his eyes as stern and serious as ever I have seen them. “Yes. What you said about the dwarves… I will not lie to you Celebrían, but it angered me.”

My temper wants to rise again, but I cannot bring myself to let it. “Why? You know the histories as well as I do.”

“I do, but I also know that sometimes it is necessary to look beyond the past to ensure the success of the future.”

“And we will not have a future if we put faith in those that we cannot trust!”

“But you do not know that!” There is an edge in his voice, but it is not meant at me I think. “I have seen how mistrust and prejudice tear our people apart, how the enemy twists them against us for his benefit. You spoke to me of Thingol; had he put aside his hate for the Noldor and joined with Fingon and Maedhros, Morgoth would have been defeated at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad!”

For half a heartbeat I want to ask him whether it was Maedhros or Maglor who told him this, but I quickly dismiss this. His foster-fathers are not a subject Elrond is fond of discussing and it is a wound I will not inflict upon him. And he has the truth of it; even my father has told me something similar when he taught me of the Eldar days. “Do you not think that, had you shared your reasons for wanting to ally Rivendell with the dwarves, I would have listened to you?” It was something I came to realize myself sitting alone this afternoon. Elrond looks surprised at first and then his face turns sheepish. “Even without my feelings for the dwarves,” I begin,“you swore to me that we would rule together. You made a decision that effects every elf in this valley without telling or even consulting me.”

He turns away for just a moment. “I am sorry Celebrían. It was never my intent to offer you any slight; knowing that I upset you like this pains me greatly.”

As I see the regret written across his face, there is a pulling at my heart and I am overcome with the sudden need to apologize as well. “And I never want you to think I would be dismissive of your ideas my love. I am sorry for losing my temper.”

Elrond takes my hand in his and pulls me to my feet. “I think you would cow even a balrog with it.” he says with a nervous grin.

I set my hand against his chest. “Do not tease me. Not yet. Tell me why you we should ally ourselves with Durin’s Folk.”

The first of Arien’s rays have crept into the room by the time we finish discussing the new alliance and making plans for the future. We slip into bed for a few hours sleep and I drift off to the sound of Elrond’s gentle breathing and his arms wrapped around me.

#lotr #tolkien secret santa #fanfic #elrond #celebrian #elrond x celebrian #lord of the rings

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ivanaskye · 6 years

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y’all need Elrond fic pt. 2

(second chapter of this bc I’m unstoppable. once again I’m sorry @ ppl who follow me for my original work and aren’t prepared to drown in elf fic,,,, I’m so sorry)

The stars, the stars, the stars! I have always loved them, and yet to see them now is somehow a greater joy; which reminds me to ask Elros if he feels the same of the sun, and of course to remind myself now is to remember, to remember completely.

How strange and yet how right it feels to remember each and every thought! Eternal, eternal, not even death can forever take me, for it is told that those who are killed yet become reembodied after time in Mandos’ halls—not even death, not even death.

I trace each and every star with my mind, and they sparkle, they all sparkle, it is a joy to see even though I saw these very same stars yesterday, in the very same place. But they shine, they shine, they seem to be brighter than even sunlight for their nature of standing out against the dark, white and yet not-white, occasionally blue, each of the many words for white my native tongue holds and so much more as well.

Oh, to know that I will never lose them! For a cloudy spell, sure, but not entirely, not until world’s breaking. Oh, there will be nights and nights and nights, and it will not end—

—and I sigh, for though I love each and every once of these thoughts and hold them like precious stars in their own right, they would be far truer and brighter if I could speak them. But Elros must be sleeping, he must be, it is so late now and even I should be dreaming and yet am not, for the stars draw me to the present moment too strongly.

And yet, and yet, would that I could speak these things, would that I could!

The very words I think echo in me, their memory eternal: and they are mine, oh how they are mine! My very desire for someone to spend the long and shining night with, to exchange stories with without end, stories and songs and tales by a fire—oh, how me that is! And I will always remember.

It makes me smile, even though I’ve come to this thought by way of a desire that might, had my thoughts gone down different paths, brought me to sorrow—but then, I’ve chosen the joy over the sorrow always, have I not? That is my way, that will be my way through all this world, holding tight to each moment I encounter, loving, loving, just as Elros predicted and wished for me.

My brother … well! I do not want to disturb him, but there is some chance he is sitting outside on his own anyway, perhaps gripped by an inability to sleep; of course I hope for his sake that he is resting as he should, but if he isn’t…

I stand up and shake my head at myself. My thoughts echo to me in my brother’s voice, which is of course also my own: oh, Elrond, you insufferable—I smile to think it, more than I was already smiling, enough for my cheeks to hurt.

What a convenient thing that my Kindred cannot develop wrinkles!

I laugh at myself at this thought, and remember the very stars that shine above me, that I was looking at mere moments before. I laugh and my laugh becomes a song, something old and remembers from childhood, and it provides me company as I walk forward towards the sound of the sea.

I close my eyes in the cadence of the song, and it feels just like bright starlight, it feels just like the air on my skin. I close my eyes and walk forward by the place we so often set our fires, past the grove of trees—yes, yes, I do not need to open my eyes to pass this, for I have walked here before, and I have memorized the places these trees grow. Or, no, no, I have not memorized them, for that implies effort, but ah! I will never need effort for such a thing again!

I only open my eyes as I come into sight of the sea, and though it is beautiful under the stars and dark of the night, I near instantly find myself close to tears.

Beleriand. Beleriand, once. And now, under that very sea.

And so I let my approach grow softer, not wanting to make sound against the sand as I walk, for it seems inappropriate to the mourning deep inside me. I smile something sudden as I realize that this, too, comes easier than expected; I can soften my footsteps with a thought. But oh, though I smile at it, I cannot make a sound of joy, for the very home where I once dwelled is under the waves, and never will I see it again, never with these eyes that hold memory forever.

I cast those same eyes back up to the sea and notice something I had not noticed before. A rock, moving, with my exact proportions—

“Brother!” I cry out, my joy at companionship overriding my grief, or no, not overriding it, merely existing alongside it, I hold both so bright as to burn, and yet I do not burn, I endure. Endure! I am far too young to think that, I try to tell myself, as I run toward him, softening my footsteps only a little.

“Now look who isn’t dreaming,” Elros says quietly, without bothering to turn his head to me; he doesn’t need to, I know the smirk on his face just from his words alone.

“I could say the same of you,” I say, sitting down beside him in one motion that I have every reason to believe is graceful.

“And yet you sounded so pleased by it.”

“Well,” I say with an exhale. “Yes.” Sadness carries into my voice; I know this. “And also, seeing you here, I suspect I know what you are thinking.”

“It is rather obvious,” Elros says.

“Mm,” I say, nodding. I close my eyes and imagine that all the rivers now drowned by the sea whisper in my ears. “It hurts, does it not?”

“It does,” Elros says.

Almost without thinking I stretch my arm to my side and open my hand; and before I know it, he’s grabbed on, and oh—oh—oh no, he is sobbing.

“Brother,” I say.

“Home,” he chokes out. “Now gone.”

“I know.”

“It is so hard to stop thinking about,” he says, and his hand tightens around mine. “So hard! How am I to bear this loss, brother? How?”

I have a thousand answers, but I know without saying them that they are Elf-answers, and their very inapplicability to him is why we are different now, is what separates us in our souls. He is mortal, but it is not because of that that he cannot bear loss so easily. No. It is the exact reverse. It is because he cannot bear it that he chose mortality. He has not said this to me, but then, he has not needed to.

But too much time has passed without an answer. “Oh, Elros, brother,” I say. “You know I cannot give you that answer. Not in such a way that it could become your answer, as well as mine.”

“I could hear you say it,” he says, distantly. ��“All the same.”

“I cannot guarantee that would not hurt more,” I say.

And he disconnects his hand from mine, and he says, “You are right. Do not tell me now, then. I do not know that I could bear it. But nor would I have you keep it from me forever, not when I suspect you have so much more to say.”

His acceptance of this hurts, and the pain is sharp—and of course, I will never forget it. Which is exactly what he cannot bear. For him, the stars are not enough, the air is not enough, the leafs in the trees are not enough to offset all these moments that hurt. He never could have been like I am now, he never—

“Brother?”

It is only by his asking of this question that I realize I am sobbing, my head leaning towards him. I raise my eyes to him, somehow, but oh, he cannot see my face, or likely he cannot, it is too dark for his eyes—“Yes?”

He shakes his head slightly. And without him quite saying it in words, I catch in him: what a strange response to a question that was not a question. You do not need to ask ‘yes’ to a word spoken only in concern.

The speech of thoughts: yes, it seems we still may share it. That is good to know; I had worried somewhat that we would not.

“Do you remember,” I find myself saying, “that Maglor said I smiled too much for a child of war?”

Elros smiles at this. “I know what you’re going to say next,” he says.

“He said you carried the sorrow for us both, but not needlessly; that your carrying of it was why you spent so much time drawing up plans for a better world.”

“He was right, you know,” Elros says.

“Of course I know,” I say, and my words feel somehow the same as the tears that fall down my face.

“And I know that you do.”

I squeeze Elros’ hand then let it go so that I may hug him; it seems that I now do this often, now that I understand I have a finite number of chances. “You will do so well, brother,” I say. “When you lead your people as you intend to, when you make something of a part of the world set aside for you. You will do so well.”

“And you, brother,” he says, and the pressure of his arms feels so light that I can almost imagine that I can feel the way his feels his own mortality, as freeing, which of course I do not understand through my own self, but maybe I can understand through him, “you, your smiles will carry light and warmth that would have otherwise died with an age to those who need it most. I daresay you may do better than I.”

“This was never going to turn out any other way, was it?” I ask.

“No, I suspect not.”

And because his thoughts are like mine echoed back, I breathe deep: for we are connected, entangled, and yet now also the opposite thereof.

“But you, brother,” Elros says as he releases his hold on me, and smiles, looking at me as if he can see me in the darkness although I know he cannot, although he knows I can see him, “you now, I suspect, need rest.”

“How can you tell?” I say with half of a laugh.

“Because all this talk we have just had, you’ve been repeating things you have said before, and though I may be Edain, it is not as if I did not grow up all my life around Elves.”

Accidentally, I grin. “The way they—the way we—would slip into conversation about memory, again and again, when we neared a need for dreams.”

“Yes.”

“Maedhros was the worst, when it came to that, you know.”

“I know,” Elros says. “And you’re doing it again, you do realize?”

I laugh; I hadn’t, quite, but it’s true. “In that case I might fall asleep right here! For certain definitions of sleep.”

“As if you could stop yourself from conversing with me long enough to.”

I laugh again: he does have a point. “Then perhaps it is you who should seek a bed, and leave me to act reasonably and actually find rest of my own.”

“Perhaps,” Elros says, but he does not move to stand.

“The mourning prevents you from it?” I guess.

“You know me too well.”

“It never could have been any other way,” I say.

“You’re doing it again.”

“And you know me too—“

“Elrond!” He says, almost laughing. “I stand by my statement that you need sleep! Now, perhaps!”

He may be right; I can feel rivers and stars and leaves near me, underneath my perceptions, all my memories bright and vying to hold me, to rest me, to bring me peace—

—even the hazier ones, like the collected sense of the color of the sky over all the time of a summer, me and Elros playing among dry grasses, the sound of Maglor’s lyre in the distance as we poked and teased at each other—

—“Oh, good,” Elros says, and I realize that I am dreaming, and I feel the emotion of the house we lived in with our mother and I temper it with the more recent and less sad memory of running through a meadow, and it is all I can do to smile at Elros in a sleeping response.

“Sweet dreams,” he says.

Always, I respond in the speech of thought.

#silm #elrond #elros #will I ever be stopped? signs point to no.#again this is andie's fault.

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djinmer4 · 6 years

Text

No matter how I do the math, I can’t figure out how Valinor is supposed to produce an army in less than 500 years to fight in the War of Wrath. The Teleri aren’t fighting, only about 1/5 of the Noldor were left behind, and the Vanyar are the smallest faction of all the elves. Even taking into account that the Noldor and Vanyar were reproducing at a faster rate than the elves of Beleriand (given that Valinor wasn’t a war zone at the time), it’s hard to believe that they were able to take casualties for decades and keep up a fighting front. And no, magic superpowers only go so far, especially given that these are the elves who weren’t fighting and improving their martial skills over the same period.

“So it’s settled. Any Reborn who is ready to be released fro the Halls and willing to fight will be allowed into the army.” Arafinwe was not as imposing as an Ainu or a Maia, but he was pulling out all the stops in order to bring an end to the argument. “In addition, they will be put in charge of creating and running a training program for the Firstborn.”

“This is an outrage!” Ingwion was taller than Arafinwe and the glowing hair and eyes added to that. “The Reborn, most of them are either filthy Moriquendi who refused to come to Valinor in the first place, or criminal Noldor who abandoned our Paradise in a fit of temper, or descendants of those criminals who are tainted by their forefathers sins. Having them join in the Blessed ranks is an abomination!”

“Fine,” cut in Olwe, just as tired as the Maia of this pointless argument. “None of the Reborn are from the tribe of the Minyar anyway. Any Nelyar or Tatyar, regardless of if they came from these Shores or those of the East will be welcome to join the Noldor. You can keep your precious purity.”

“As this is what the council of the Eldar have decided, the Maiar shall do their best to assist. Some of the servants of Tulkas, Nessa and Orome would like to help in the training.” Eonwe straightened up and the temperature of the air dropped to near freezing. “While the Ainur shall assist against Morgoth, the Eldar shall be governed by this council. You have been outvoted Ingwion. Accept the conditions and report back to your father.”

Ingwion opened his mouth again, but now Finrod jumped in. “That is an order from a Maia of Manwe himself. However, if the Vanyar do not wish to participate, that is understandable. There is no glory in war.” The reminder that this was essentially holy writ for the Vanyar and the dig at their bravery was enough to silence the Prince. Instead he bowed and left immediately. As soon as he was gone, Eonwe diminished, losing height and aura until he resembled some misplaced Laiquende. His hair and wings darkened to the same speckled brown as a songbird, and his expression resembled the same tired face that Finarfin saw in the mirror. Only his eyes showed the truth, and even those were darkened.

The High King of the Noldor left the Maia to his own thoughts. He turned instead to the remaining members of the council: his wife Earwen, who had been leading the Teleri during the past 500 years, Olwe, who had only recently been released from the Halls, and his own son Finrod, who had been selected for his knowledge of Beleriand. Earandil and his wife might have been better choices, but were currently recovering from the ordeal of getting to Valinor. They wouldn’t be participating in theses meeting for a while, maybe never if they accepted Manwe’s suggestion for inspiring hope for all. Neither of them were war leaders, so it would hardly be disastrous to miss their input.

“We can order them to go through the training, but we can’t order them to take it seriously. And once the fighting starts, I’m not sure how well they will be able to take orders from any commanders other than the Maiar.”

“Dump them on the Maiar if they can’t be bothered to learn.” Earwen’s voice was surprisingly bitter. In the years since Feanor had led the Noldor out of Tirion, the dynamics of the relationship between the three tribes had changed. The reparations from the Noldor to the Teleri had been heavy, but had worked to heal the wounds between the two. In addition, those Reborn had worked with the two tribes, revealing how different the two Shores had become. The Teleri and Noldor of Valinor now had more in common than they did with the Nelyar and Tatyar who had remained in the East. In addition, almost all the factions had various bones to pick with the Ainur and the Maiar. From the Sindar feeling abandoned by their kin, the Tatyar agreeing that the Ainur and Maiar had no right to interfere with the Noldor affairs, to all sides blaming them for the unconditional release of Morgoth. The anger the Firstborn felt had united them against their erstwhile masters. It had been a long, hard road to get any of them to trust the Valar again. Even now, the Maiar would only be partners to the leaders of the Eldar, not allowed full command of any divisions. Only the Vanyar had remained unchanged, isolated in Taniquetil. Arafinwe thought of the last conversation he had with Findis and his mother and had to suppress his own wave of bitterness.

“Morgoth has more than Balrogs now, and even the Maiar have not fought dragons before. I don’t want to die again because some Vanyar didn’t know how to defend against a crossbow bolt.” Finrod had been the one adamant that all the Eldar needed training, even the Teleri who Earwen had commanded not to leave the boats. Based on how easily his son had defeated him in a spar, Arafinwe agreed. And Finrod had said he hadn’t even been the best warrior among the Finwions.

“We’ll rotate them through.” promised Eonwe. “But you may want to think about how to distribute the Vanyar through the forces.”

“Too loose! Too loose! You’re holding your sword too loose!” The Sinda yelled at the Vanya as he swung at the straw target.

“First you said I was holding too tight, now you say it’s too loose. Make up your mind!” The exasperation was so clear that the Vanya’s golden hair was standing on end.

“It has to be balanced. Too tightly, and you’ll be too stiff to maneuver effectively. Too loose and you risk dropping the weapon when you strike or parry. Hold it, hold it like you would a live bird. Not so tight as to crush it, but not so lightly so that it can escape.”

For a moment the Vanya was silent and the Sinda thought she had gotten to him. Then he opened his mouth. “What would a wood elf know of swords work? You Sindar just use bows and arrows since you have no forges any way!” With that he turned back to the target, continuing to slash with a loose grip.

Silently she walked up behind him. When he took the next swing, she blocked him, engaged in a lock, then twisted his sword out of his hand to fall a few feet away beyond his reach. And he had a live blade, while she had been using a wooden practice sword. “Clearly, I know more than you do.”

“Watch your feet! Watch your feet!” The Noldo was observing a Teler sailor fight a Vanya warrior. The Teleri were perhaps the most vital part of the war effort. Without them, there would be no possible retreat, and even more importantly no supply line, and the most recent Reborn had confirmed that Beleriand was in shambles due to Morgoth’s efforts to wipe out the survivors. There would be no living off the land on the Eastern Shore. In addition, the Reborn had also confirmed that the Black Foe had reached the sea. Who knew what ships or worse, what monsters might now be lurking in the Belegaer? Even if they weren’t going to be on the frontline, every Teler now had to be able to defend his or herself.

Clearly the Vanya didn’t seem to be taking this seriously. His footwork was slow, and didn’t take into account the swaying of the ship they were on. The Teler, on the other hand was watching him with narrow eyes, his feet moving to keep his balance on the deck. When the Vanya stumbled again, he rushed him, feinted a swing with the dagger in his left, ducked under the parry that left the Vanya even more off-balance and knocked him over the railing with one good shove.

“Good job!” said the Noldo, watching the Vanya flail, then sink beneath the waves. “Where did you learn that particular trick?”

“It’s the same trick you used on me in Alqualonde.” The two of them paused, eyeing the eight-point star featured prominently on the Noldo’s tunic. “Knocked me right off my own ship, then you threw the dagger through my eye. I think I drowned then, but the dagger might have killed me.”

They both observed the rising bubbles. “On the other hand, now I know a good way to get someone off my boat in a hurry, so that day wasn’t a complete loss.”

“Do you think he remembered to lose his breastplate after he went over? That’s how your sister got me later. Hit me over with an oar, then I drowned from the weight of my mail.”

The bubbles stopped. “I don’t think he did. And after we both warned him too.” The two former adversaries shared a smile.

“There’s no need for any of our people to learn archery. We’ll be on the front lines, not skulking in the back. Just make sure you don’t hit any of our people as your firing.” Ingwion’s pompous tones set Arafinwe’s teeth on edge; he wondered how Dengwe had managed to not punch the Vanya’s teeth out. Finrod fortunately took it upon himself to handle the situation. “Angrod, how many orcs will you kill during a battle?”

His second son took a second to think about that. “It depends on terrain, if the battle was planned ahead of time, if I’m only facing orcs or if they’re backed up by men or other monsters. Also how long the battle lasts, no matter what others say, you start getting tired and your performance suffers after the first hour. But say in a five hour battle, I may kill about 150 orcs.” A moment of grumbling, “Maedhros and Maglor might do better but Maedhros is a phenomenal fighter and Maglor cheats.”

“And how long will it take an archer to match that?”

“They’ll hit about 100 in the first two hours, then have to switch to melee combat after they run out of arrows. Just on average, most of the Rangers of Doriath could do better.”

“And you’re better than average. Most Eldar will be exceptionally lucky if they get half that. Actually most will be lucky if they survive, never mind the actual number of enemies killed.” Finrod held the bow out again. “Still don’t want to learn any archery?”

Ingwion looked down his nose at the bow. “Archery may be efficient, but it still lacks honor. Not that I’d expect any of you exiles to understand. We will not taint the glory of combat by using lesser weapons.” With that he walked off, hair a glowing beacon in the evening light.

The three of them watched him go. “There were survivors of the Great March among the Vanyar, right?” asked Angrod.

“There are. There are even survivors from Cuivienen. But none of them are participating in the campaign.” said Arafinwe.

“That would explain a lot.”

“The Valar have deemed that we can wait no longer. If we intend to rescue anyone from Beleriand we must leave and soon.” Eonwe was back in his herald form, all shining light and statuesque build. “Has this council decided on the deposition of the army?”

“The Vanyar shall arrive first.” Ingwion’s proud features seemed to glow in the dim confines of the tent.

“Go right ahead.” mocked Earwen. “Be an example to the rest of us.” She took a sip of wine. Normally she was a much more useful participant, but having Ingwion there seemed to drive her to drink. Having Ingwion there tempted Arafinwe to join her.

“Very well.” Eonwe nodded, ignoring Earwen. “Will you accept assistance from the Maiar?”

Ingwion’s arrogant stance fell into a deep bow. “The Vanyar will be eternally grateful for any help the divine see fit to bestow on us.”

“You’re going to need it,” muttered one of Orome’s Maiar, Pallando, thought Arafinwe, but he wasn’t familiar enough to be certain. “You all did incredibly badly in the training.”

“Very well,” nodded Eonwe. “And the rest?”

Earwen took over from there. “The Teleri shall remain on the ships as guards. We shall secure the supply lines and arrange the distribution of materials. Not just food, but medicines, shelter, even weapons and armor. In the worst scenario, we will also coordinate the evacuation.”

Finally it was Arafinwe’s turn. “Most of the Reborn have decided to enlist with the Noldor, though some have joined their Teleri kin. As such, our battalions are mixed. We have tried to make sure that each major unit has a variety of specialists, but the bulk of the army is still infantry. As such, we will be behind the Vanyar. While they are in charge of claiming territory, it will be our responsibility to hold it, at least the areas that are not destroyed by the Valar in the fight. In addition, we will take charge of negotiating with the remaining forces in Beleriand.” Since Ingwion couldn’t negotiate his way out of a paper bag, Arafinwe thought unkindly.

“A good distribution. As for the Maiar . . . Manwe’s forces shall be lead by myself. We will join the Vanyar at the forefront. We will deal with any Balrogs or dragons and provide intelligence on the other forces as well as any changes in terrain. Should we encounter any Free Peoples not already aligned with the coalition, we shall bring representatives back to deal with Arafinwe. They will also act as commanders for the Vanyar units since there seem to be a dearth of those.

Ulmo’s Maiar shall be lead by Osse, with Uinen staying here in Aman to assist in coordinating. They shall patrol and try to deal with sea monsters, but the Teleri should be on guard still. Also, Ulmo has offered to try to deal with some of the more infested areas by drowning them under tsunamis. Hopefully once the war is over that territory can be reclaimed.

Most of Aule’s and Yavanna’s Maiar are staying behind to help the support effort. Tulkas, Nessa and Orome’s will be joining the Noldor units. They are to work in conjunction with those commanders. In cases of Balrogs, dragons and other Maiar, they have command. Otherwise they are subordinate to the ranking officers.” Eonwe looked around. “Any other questions?” There were none.

“Very well then. My Teleri will start ferrying over the Vanyar tomorrow. Once they’ve claimed a toehold, we’ll start bringing the Noldor over to fortify the territory.” Earwen finished the meeting with a clear dismissal.

As Arafinwe left, he was stopped by Ingwion. “You’re not actually letting the Reborn command Noldor forces, are you? I admit they are better than I thought, but still . . . they lack the superior qualities that define leaders.”

At this point Arafinwe was just tired of arguing. “No, while they have joined, the army is still in control of the Noldor.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s good to know the right kind are the ones making the decisions.” Then he left, taking his obnoxious gold hair with him.

“Aren’t most of your generals, captains and commanders Reborn?” asked Eonwe.

“Yes, but it’s not like Ingwion needs to know that.”

#silmarillion #arafinwe #war of wrath #noldor #vanyar #teleri #racism #classism #the vanyar got hammered during the war #they took the first victory #but there were none of them left by the end #too dumb to live #hatesink ingwion #he doesn't have any characterization any way #no reborn participating in war of wrath is propaganda

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djinmer4 · 6 years

Text

A Fright of Ghosts

Inspired by: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12136836

When the sensation of being watched changed from a distant awareness to the feeling that of someone observing just over his shoulder, Elrond knew he was close. The forest on the western side of Ered Luin should have been empty, the humans wintering in the welcoming lands of the east below Forochel and the dwarves to their settlements under the mountains. Not even Cirdan would bother patrolling the desolate Forlindon in the winter. But Elrond knew there was someone here and hitched the rucksack higher, as if to cover his back from an enemy.

As it was, he nearly fell into the blaze, when empty woods suddenly changed to a neat camping site. A strong arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him away and saving him from a nasty burn. “Alatulya, yonya. I did not expect to see you so late in the year.”

Elrond sighed, then sat down on the bench beside the fire. The small encampment he had been expecting to find was actually a large clearing, with a well-built cabin to one side with the beginnings of several structures. The bonfire he had nearly walked into was in fact the beginnings of a small forge, too small for any great work, but set away from the cabin. He ignored the various flickers of red on the edge of his eyes, and focused on his father.

“Mara re, atar. I had not thought to look for you so soon after our last meeting, but I needed to speak to you about something.” He passed the rucksack to Maglor. Within contained some items he did not think the other could obtain easily in isolation: some bottles of wine, cheese, a set of silver strings spelled against corrosion. A new cloak, although it appeared that the Feanorian’s current one was still serving well. “Did you see a ship sail into the Gulf of Lhun this past year?”

“I did indeed.” The older ner set the the rucksack aside. “And I know exactly what and who came on that ship.”

Elrond released a silent sigh of relief. Cirdan had known the Maia for what they were immediately, but not who. And given what happened the last time a Maia claimed to be a messenger of aid sent by the Valar, any information on the identities of these Istari was essential. “Could you tell me who they are and what we should expect?”

Maglor did not answer, but instead looked over his son’s head. The sensation of being watched did not cease, but doubled, then split and came to rest on each side of Elrond. He kept his eyes on his father. “Alatar,” said a voice like the crackling of fire, a shadow of smoke and soot on his right. “A servant of Orome. Strong, aggressive. More interested in the arts of the ethereal than the physical.” Images came to mind, of shared hunts and bitter arguments in distant Valinor.

From his left, a gurgle from a torn throat. “Pallando is the other. Alatar’s friend and follower in all things.” He knew if he turned the image would be far less abstract, but more disturbing, almost a real body but with dull eyes and blood dripping from both throat and mouth. Elrond wondered how Maglor could bear to look. From this shade he received no memories, but merely a sensation of wistfulness and loyalty.

“Hantanyel, uncles. Could you tell me more, please?” But Maglor stirred himself, and put out the forge fire. “Not tonight. The others are scouting the area. They can tell you more.” He picked up the rucksack and turned towards the cabin. “You take the bed and I’ll take the floor. As I wasn’t expecting company, I don’t have any meat, but there’s lembas and plenty of fruit.”

The peredhel smiled. “They’ll go well with the wine and cheese I brought.”

The next day, father and son spent the day preserving meat and curing hides. Elrond didn’t ask how the pile of skinned corpses had appeared outside Maglor’s door overnight, and Maglor didn’t ask how Elrond had slept with the howls and screams that had filled the dark. When the day approached the end, again the sat by the forge fire. Today, instead of a feeling of being watched, the air felt heavy, smothering and cold, as if he was deep under the waters of a lake rather than walking in the air. No shade or ghost appeared before him, but rather heavy hands upon his shoulders and a cold breath ruffled his hair.

“Aiwendil, follower of Yavanna. Naive and scatterbrained, but brave in his own way. Lover of birds.” Elrond fought for a deep breath. “So we can trust him?”

Bitter icy laughter, and the heaviness drew crushingly tight around his chest, like one of those strange waistcoats they wore in Arnor, made from whalebone and steel. “You can trust him to follow his nature and to follow the mission he was given. But Yavanna loves the wolf as much as she loves the deer. Loves the end of life as much as the beginning. Loves the Eldar, but the rat and the fly as well, and there are millions of them for every one of us. Trust him to follow whatever mission the Valar gave him, but he is no more a friend to us than a plague is.”

With that, the heaviness constricting Elrond disappeared, but the cold air remained. “Enough for tonight?” asked Maglor, coming up with an armload of firewood. The younger ner nodded. “I’ll stoke the fire a little more tonight. Maybe add some of the linseed oil so that it will burn a little brighter.”

The next day proved that winter was well on it’s way. Even the inside of the cabin was covered in delicate webs of frost. They spent that day bringing in the last of the garden vegetables before the cold ruined them. The frost formed brilliant patterns over everything, like the finest embroidery fit for a king, and lingered far into the afternoon. When they finally sat down to talk, Maglor had taken some paper and a sharp quill and was copying the icy patterns designs onto paper. Elrond did not ask to see them and Maglor did not offer him any.

This day Maglor did something a little different. The forge had stayed closed today since the Noldo didn’t have any repair work to do. But at the end of the day, Maglor opened the forge door and there was golden light inside. He pulled out a large gemstone, like a topaz carbuncle but glowed with it’s own inner radiance. He looked up and laughed at Elrond’s wide eyes. “Did you expect I’d carry it around everywhere I go? That would be quite inconvenient.”

“You’re using one of the most precious artifacts of the First Age as a forge fire?”

“It’s quite appropriate, thematically. Besides, it gives both of us a chance to have some privacy in our thoughts.”

The ghost of the greatest craftman of the Noldor did not look like a ghost or wraith or remotely supernatural. If Elrond hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was looking at a living person. “Curunir’s clearly been appointed as their leader. He’s another one of Aule. We knew him well. Ambitious and active. Curious and delights in pushing boundaries. Against the dark he is a formidable ally.”

The smile on Feanor’s face became sharper and darker. This might have been the face he showed Fingolfin, over a sword in Tirion. “All things that were said of Sauron too.”

That night was filled with nightmares. The golden light of the Silmaril seemed blood-tinged and the shadows it cast moved like living things upon the walls. Despite the love between them, Elrond began looking forward to leaving Maglor’s home. Sensing his disquiet, Maglor drew him outside, to finish the conversation in the light.

“The last is Olorin, who has been in the service of Manwe, Varda, Irmo and Nienna.” Maglor did not bother to wait for any of his brothers to appear, instead filling the role of teacher by himself. “Of all the Maia sent, he is the one who perhaps best understands those of us still here in the changeable world.”

“And the caveat?” But the answer came not from Maglor, but rather a familiar voice behind him. “Of all of them, I do not believe that Olorin will fall.” Maedhros was bright, burning. If Feanor could have been mistaken for a living Eldar, then Maedhros for a Maia. He was like a shade of stained glass, overfilled with the light of the Silmaril he had burned with. “Nor will he forget that he is here to succor the Free Peoples of the West. But as the others fail or falter, he will be forced to take more and more burdens. He will not fall, but he may fail and return West with the mission only half complete. And even if he doesn’t, the choices he will make will be ruthless indeed.”

Mercifully, Maglor had let him sleep after he had fainted. Elrond suspected his father had cast a few spells of his own, allowing him a peaceful, dreamless rest. Even with that, however, the clearing was overfull, with the flickers of color seen from the edge of his eye, areas of heat or cold or pressure.

“You will be here for a while?”

“Yes, the twins would like to spend more time on woodcraft. And after spending a decade in a Secondborn settlement, I’d like some time to myself.”

“When I first came, I had thought of asking you again to come to Imladris-”

“No.” Maglor cut him off gently, but firmly. “Perhaps in a century or two I’ll visit for a month or a year, but I cannot stay long in the presence of other Eldar.” The younger ner just nodded. He’d braced himself, but even he had found the phantoms that surrounded the last living Feanorian too much. For other elves, lacking the connection he had with the House of Feanor, those sensations were a hundred times worse. His uncles and grandfather had tempered their fear around him and given useful advice. The only other person they had been as kind to had been Celebrimbor. “Give my regards to Artanis.” The last time Galadriel had attempted to see Maglor, she had fainted before getting within a mile of him. Celeborn had had to drag her back to Mithlond before she had revived.

(Strange that the Secondborn never were effected. They could be harmed, hurt or helped but they never saw or noticed the ghosts. When Maglor wanted company, he would go to their settlements to stay for a while.)

“I will.” Elrond hesitated for one long moment, staring around to determine where every shade was preoccupied with something else before stepping close to Maglor. “Atar, have you ever considered . . . getting rid of it? Just toss it into the ocean. Maybe then both you and they would be able to get some rest.”

“Oh Elrond, don’t you think I’ve tried that already.” They both gazed at the Silmaril, glowing gold in the forge again. “It always comes back.”

#elrond #maglor #ambarussa #caranthir #Feanor #maedhros #JRR Tolkien #the coming of the istari #silmaril #ghost enforced isolation #feanor still has it in for galadriel #celeborn wishes dead noldor would stay dead #the silmaril came back #elrond is remarkably stable given his life (both childhood and adulthood)

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