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#tindómiel
jaz-the-bard · 5 months
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anghraine · 1 year
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I'm just thinking about Tindómiel's and Arwen's names again.
As I've mentioned before, Tindómiel's name seems a clear reference to tindómë, the Quenya word for the twilight of the morning or dawn, by contrast to undómë, the evening twilight referenced in Arwen's name Undómiel or Evenstar. The distinction between tindómë and undómë comes from LOTR itself, so it's not the relic of an early draft or a late retcon or anything.
If Undómiel = evening star (as it clearly does), it would seem to follow that the counterpart name Tindómiel would translate as 'morning star.'
People sometimes suggest that the meaning of Tindómiel mirrors Tinúviel rather than Undómiel. I don't think that works as well given the information in LOTR, though, because while Quenya tindómë and Sindarin tinnú are related etymologically, tinnú refers to evening twilight/early night, like undómë (in Sindarin, morning twilight is minuial). Hence the poetic translation of Tinúviel as 'nightingale.' So if either Undómiel or Tindómiel were going to be equivalent in meaning to Tinúviel, it should be Undómiel. That would even fit well enough with the frequent comparisons of Arwen to Lúthien.
But Undómiel is not translated that way in LOTR. It is translated as 'evening star.' Given the identical structures of the cousins' names and the nuances of Elvish terms for twilight in both languages, it seems more likely to me that post-LOTR, Tindómiel is meant to be a counterpart name to Undómiel, and that in-story, Arwen was named for Elrond's niece.
Tangentially, I think Tindómiel herself was likely named for her grandfather Eärendil, the morning star. But on the meta level, the subtext of her name's structure and meaning is to mirror Arwen. Tindómiel is born as the first of the mortal princesses and queens of the Númenóreans, where the death of Arwen, queen of the last Númenóreans, closes out the era of the Elves.
At the same time, while the evening and morning stars symbolically represent the inverse of each other, the reality is that the evening star is the morning star. Eärendil was hailed on Valinor as the "star in the darkness, jewel of the sunset, radiant in the morning." So both granddaughters' names call back to him and to each other, which I find very touching, actually.
I find it all the more so, though, because while we don't have any dates for Tindómiel's life, we know that she must have been born some time after the year 61 of the Second Age, since she is the second child and that's when her older brother was born. If her lifespan is similar to her brother's, she would live around 410 years—perhaps a little more, as Númenórean women were typically longer-lived, but I can't think by too much at that point in time, given the 500-year lifespan of their father. Tindómiel was likely dead by the year 500 of the Second Age.
The Second Age would last until the year 3441, another 2,941 years. Over a hundred more years passed before Elrond and Celebrían's marriage, and over a hundred more until Arwen's birth in the year 241 of the Third Age. By the time she was named, Tindómiel had been dead for over three thousand years. Elrond had seen the final wars against Morgoth, the rise and terrible fall of Númenor, the provisional defeat of Sauron, and innumerable nephews and nieces. Tolkien can't even fit the early house of Elros onto one genealogical chart and by Arwen's birth, there are numerous offshoots of Elendil's line alone. Elrond has seen a lot of people come and go, many of them related to him.
And yet, when it came time to name his only daughter, he thought of Tindómiel.
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@halfelvenweek day three || númenoreans 🌟
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yellow-faerie · 10 months
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#22 with gil-galad son of curufinrod? with either curufin or finrod your choice! :)
You know I was just thinking about this au when you sent this ask? I love writing it so thank you for sending it in!
Send me a prompt from this list.
22 - "I could never hate you. Not truly."
Gil-Galad has been reborn for a long time when word reaches him, in the far flung lighthouse in which he took up residence, that his father had been reborn as well.
Not Finrod, for he had left Mandos' halls before Gil-Galad had even died and often sailed up the coast to see him with mothers and little half siblings and occasionally other family whenever he could.
No, not Finrod.
It is in his brother's most recent letter that Celebrimbor tells Gil-Galad that Curufin had left Mandos' halls for the land of the living and had been living quietly in their grandmother's house for the time being.
It's not public knowledge yet, Celebrimbor had written, and I do not think he knows that I know. I am only aware for Nibenaes is always away of the comings and goings of all the House from how close she is with great-grandmother Míriel.
So Gil-Galad hadn't been expecting anything, especially not as the months turned ever on and there was neither sight nor sound of his father.
Tindómiel and he are cleaning out the great fire pit while the sun is high and boats don't need their direction when there's an angry shout downstairs, something slamming and then silence.
"Finellach!" Eleniquë calls, her voice slightly strained. "Get down here, your father's at the door!"
Tindómiel shares his confusion. "Finrod visited just three weeks ago, I thought he would be in the Valmar by now."
"I guess something must have happened." Gil-Galad rubs his hands on the front of his apron and goes to the ladder. "You'll be OK finishing up on your own?"
"Shouldn't take too long - although ask if Helcaear wouldn't mind helping me moving the logs up here. Give cousin Finrod my love."
The first sign that something is wrong is the complete lack of conversation. Something about Finrod was that he could talk his way into the hearts of literally anyone, and regularly did it - in fact, he'd been up to visit so much that even Helcaear enjoyed conversation with him.
The second and third signs appear at nearly the same time; as Gil-Galad looks around, he sees the downright murderous expression on Helcaear's face and the weirdly adoring one on Eleniquë's.
Gil-Galad scrunches his face in confusion as he untangles his feet from the rug at the bottom of the ladder and turns around.
"Atya, aren't you meant to be visiting your grandmother-"
It all starts to make sense when it's not Finrod standing there.
Curufin still stands tall, his grey eyes still as hard as flint, but there's a certain unsurety to his posture that makes it seem very likely that he might run out the still open front door at any moment.
He doesn't look at Eleniquë who had once worked as a foot soldier for him, nor at Helcaear who's home he once helped destroy.
He just looks at Gil-Galad as if he couldn't believe that he was standing right there.
"My mother's depiction does not do justice to the ellon you have grown into," Curufin says eventually, breaking the silence.
Helcaear makes a sound and Gil-Galad is distinctly aware that he should probably do something lest a fight starts in the front hall.
"Tindómiel needs help with the logs," he says to his coworkers, keeping his expression painfully neutral. "We'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
He turns on his heel, hoping that Curufin is following him but unable to turn around and look. He can feel the burning gazes of both Helcaear and Eleniquë on his back, and he's already thinking of how he's going to respond to their questions later.
How to explain that he's a part of the infamous House of Fëanor, to admit to being the High King Gil-Galad, to explain his childhood to them and every complicated feeling he holds for his family deep in his heart.
Running away - running here - hadn't worked the first time.
"Would you like some tea?" Gil-Galad asks as he closes the heavy kitchen door behind them, just in case there are any eavesdroppers on the other side.
He's still keeping his face in that trained neutrality, the expression he practised endlessly as king.
"No. Thank you."
Gil-Galad wants some tea though. He leaves Curufin standing awkwardly near the door to boil the kettle and find his favourite mug and the best tea and is slow as he stirs honey in.
It's only then that he turns around, feeling in control again.
Looking once more at Curufin leaves that control in shreds. It makes him feel like a small child who's found his way under his sharp judgement yet again.
"Why are you here?" Gil-Galad asks, more accusatory than he had intended to ask it.
He clenches his hands tighter around his mug and they burn.
"I met with your father a fortnight ago," Curufin says and Gil-Galad can hear the careful way he's stepping around his words. "He told me I should come see you."
"You are here at Atya's request?"
That honestly makes sense when Gil-Galad thinks about it but it leaves him feeling weirdly disappointed.
"No," Curufin says, shaking his head, "I am here because you deserve an apology, even though you undoubtedly hate me."
Curufin pauses, as if waiting for Gil-Galad to say something, but he waits in vain as Gil-Galad takes another sip of tea.
"You and Celebrimbor - neither of you deserved to have your family torn apart because of your parents' actions."
"Your actions," Gil-Galad corrects, perhaps a little harshly for - by his own admission - Finrod took up some of the blame for how their years in Nargothrond ended.
"My actions," Curufin agrees a little too readily. "I have made a lot of mistakes in my life - swearing the Oath, killing in it's name - but you and your brother are most definitely not among them."
Gil-Galad's mouth tastes like ash. "If you try to claim that leaving us in Nargothrond was to protect us," he starts, his voice a little shaky, "I shall remind you that we both nearly died in the ransacking."
"I was never going to," Curufin says vehemently and Gil-Galad finds that he believes him. "It was cowardly, thinking I could leave you there so that you would be free."
"Celebrimbor and Finduilas are the reason I was ever free from you," Gil-Galad says, remembering the way the two of them had managed to manipulate Nargothrond gossip to removing mention of Curufin from his parentage. "You just left and made it easier."
"Celebrimbor told me."
Gil-Galad takes a sip of his tea, revelling in the way it burns his tongue and stops him from getting lost in the melancholy of his childhood.
"I never forgot, not once," Gil-Galad tells him plainly. "I used to ask Celebrimbor to tell me stories about you and Atya and my uncles, and he hated doing it but he still did it."
For once in his life, Curufin doesn't seem to have anything to say. Maybe that was his whole apology.
There's this memory, that Gil-Galad has, of hiding behind Celebrimbor's legs as his father and his uncle rally the people of Nargothrond behind them and his father had had so many words then.
Maybe it was because he wasn't baring his whole soul back then.
Maybe it was easier for him to talk a whole people into a frenzy than it was for him to have an honest conversation with his son.
A moment passes where they just stare at each other, and then another.
"I should go," Curufin says and turns to the door.
And that's the thing that gets Gil-Galad the most.
"Again?" He asks, ignoring the lump in his throat and the hitch in his voice and the heat welling at the back of his eyes. "You're going to just up and leave again? You can't even give me an address or-or anything?"
Curufin turns around and looks - Gil-Galad laughs despite himself - terrified, all because Gil-Galad is crying now, in that ugly way that will have his face all red and blotchy and his nose bunged up.
"You just...you come and you go and you never make a fucking effort."
Curufin is frozen, the hand that was on the door handle falling to his side.
"What do you want me to do?" He asks, soft and tentative.
Eru above, there is so much that Gil-Galad would want him to do.
"Right now?" He says, putting his mug down lest his shaking hands pour it all down his front. "I would like a hug."
Curufin is still shitty at hugs. He's all awkward corners and edges that don't quite fold into something comforting, and yet...
Gil-Galad buries his face into the coarse fabric of Curufin's travelling shirt and starts crying even harder.
There's another memory Gil-Galad has.
It's dark, the lights in his room all off but the one by his light dimmed to almost darkness. His father sits on the edge of his bed and he's running his hand through Gil-Galad soft curls.
Gil-Galad is somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and he never quite worked out if Curufin really pressed a kiss to his forehead before he left or if the grief of finding out the next morning that his remaining father had left as well had conjoured the memory in his head.
He doesn't know.
All the time in his childhood that he had known Curufin, he hadn't done gentle affection. If Gil-Galad ever wanted a hug and comfort, he ran to Finrod or Celebrimbor or Finduilas or even his uncle Tyelko.
When he scraped his knee, Finrod would kiss it better but Curufin would wrap it carefully in a bandage and tell him to be more careful next time.
Curufin distracted him when he was sad rather than talking it through, he was painfully practical where Finrod nurtured and smiled and was full of silly metaphors.
Gil-Galad sometimes wonders what attracted the two of them together.
But this hug, the first one since Gil-Galad must have been really small, reminds him that Curufin is still that painfully practical elf. The apology is so him, so stupidly perfect and planned that it makes Gil-Galad want to scream.
"Your apology was based on a false assumption," he says, sniffing and still hiding his face in Curufin's shoulder. "I could never hate you. Not truly."
"Really?" Curufin sounds genuinely incredulous.
Gil-Galad sniffs again and pulls away to rub his nose with the back of his sleeve. "I missed you and I was angry and you have done some really shitty things but I never hated you."
Elrond - one of the few people who knew his actual parentage - had asked him that once, during his continuing angsting over the Maglor Situation (as it had been deemed).
Gil-Galad had told him that whenever he tried, all he could think of was his calloused hands tying a bandage around his knee or the random information that attached itself to the stupid problems little children have or the softness of a kiss to the forehead.
Maybe he was too young when Curufin left to have grown to hate him, and too old to not have fond memories, and the two had mingled together until he had this idea of a father.
Maybe if he forgives Curufin for leaving and for breaking up their family so dramatically, he will find that the man is actually insufferable and grow to hate him.
That, Gil-Galad thinks, is worth the risk.
"Would you like some tea now?" He asks, going to put the kettle back on.
Curufin accepts the tea but declines the offer of a bed for the night - likely wise, considering that Helcaear would probably try and kill him - citing that he left Huan and Celegorm out in the snow somewhere and that they would be returning to civilisation together.
"He probably wouldn't even notice if I left him out there," Curufin says, significantly less tense as Gil-Galad leads him to the door than when he had been let in. "But I would rather not lose him."
"Is that likely to happen?"
Curufin shrugs, making it look remarkably eloquent even in rough travel clothes. "He gets bored very easily."
"Alright then, I'll see you in a few months?"
"I'll send you a letter when Nelyo and Ammë decide on a date." Curufin rolls his eyes. "It's a yearly debate with how many people you have to organise."
Gil-Galad smiles. "Will Atya be there?"
"He might turn up. You should ask him yourself."
Gil-Galad nods, putting that on his mental list of things to do. He opens the door, waves his father away and then he's alone again.
"Is he gone?"
"Fuck," Gil-Galad exclaims, almost falling against the wall. "Tindómiel, don't sneak up on someone like that."
"Sorry," Tindómiel says, not looking very apologetic. "I came down to ask if you wanted any of the roasted hazelnuts Helcaear is making." She lowers her voice theatrically. "If I was you, I'd say yes. He's been pissy all afternoon that we brought a kinslayer into the house."
"He's not going to let it go, is he?"
"Better find yourself a good apology Fin."
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sauronnaise · 2 years
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"Then, the investigation became a top secret meeting in a room full of broomsticks and cleaning tools. Erestor, Tindómiel, Thranduil and I were squeezed like thieves, discussing the matter. The secret council was stopped midway as a servant opened the door to fetch a bucket and brushes. Imagine being a staff member of the castle and find four important people sitting in undignified positions and whispering like criminals. Miel was sitting on my lap. It’s a good thing she’s my niece, the domestic won’t think too much of it. I can’t say the same for Erestor who was settled between Thranduil’s legs and was caressing his thighs because he could, with Thranduil poking his stomach (Erestor is ticklish. He kicked me because he was squirming too much)."
Dear You is updated!
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heckofabecca · 2 years
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A quick Tindómiel for @anghraine, traced off of a photo from here. I’d like to revisit this when my neck is less sore from bending!
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unmak3r · 7 months
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for lady éowyn of the rohirrim. @dernhelmalso
[set after the ambush of the rohirrim] the very air of fanghorn forest had changed, a ripple of anger carried through and set her hair to stand upon end. from her place upon a high branch her elven eyes fixed upon carnage between men and orc, the trees of fanghorn swayed and groaned in anger as the fetid & foul presence of orc and uruk filth intruded upon them. motionless she fixed her eyes upon the battle, a stern face giving the barest glimmer of emotion as she saw the men triumph over saruman's beasts; abominations. she'd spied what appeared to be little folk amongst the fray but lost sight of them and disappeared back into the forest, her ears picking up the sound of treebeard (she still referred to him as fanghorn) making his presence known. the ancient magic of the trees would be more than a match for whatever foulness grew bold enough to intrude upon his realm.
and tindómiel kelerel's feet swiftly carried her away. she wasn't needed in fanghorn anymore; she had beheld (with great happiness and joy) that gandalf had been returned to middle earth, radiant in his white form and treebeard would seek the maia out himself ... nonetheless the war against sauron was stealing the very life from all of ennorath, it felt somehow more suffocating and corrupt than the war of the alliance. the power of the elves was diminishing, even she could feel it ... faith in men was their best, and only hope; despite what she knew her uncle lord elrond believed. she knew the white horse upon the fields of green; the sigil of calenardhon; rohan — she mounted her steed and turned her sights to the city of edoras.
... ... ...
it had been almost two centuries since she had seen the meduseld, which was now ruled by the descendent of the last kings she had met... king folca and his then-son and heir folcwine. the man was king theóden, gandalf greyhame spoke of him in good favour — but it seemed wrong; a smear of darkness tarnished the golden hall. something rank and evil had slithered here, and it was for that reason that she paused in her approach. waiting, watching, she saw the men of the mark return ... the golden-haired commander from the edges of fanghorn leading them; she could smell the scent of rotted death on them - evidence of the battle. the half-elf had hoped that the presence of the white-hand marked uruk-hai would muster the horse-lords towards the goal of the destruction of the dark lord — and yet she saw a banishment. it was all wrong. king folca had destroyed the last orc-hold that lay within the realm of the rohirrim, and now the creatures laid waste to calenardhon. angrily she though to herself; what use could the kingdoms of men be if they tore themselves asunder from within?
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she had been wandering ennorath, obscuring her elfen ears and adopting the alias of kelerel (when a name was required), for many centuries. she entered edoras with her horse's reigns in her hand, she stepped carefully and with her head tilted somewhat downwards as she made her way towards a small cluster of rohirrim whom she overheard speaking about what had just occurred — she interjected, curiously and evenly, "for what reason was the marshall of the mark cast from edoras?"
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who-needs-words · 2 years
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I’m going a little feral over the textual ghosts in Tolkien’s works.
On one hand- oh my god the sexism dear lord
On the other, such a big sandbox to play around in
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tatyafinwe · 2 years
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Portraits of Elros and Elrond
(In universe backstory)
The portrait of Elros is painted by his only daughter Tindómiel, showing the the first King of Númenor holding the Sceptre of Númenor and a map of the land. 
A copy of this painting survived the Fall and came to the House of Elrond. It is believed that Arwen created portrait of her father Elrond in homage to Tindómiel’s painting.
(Portrait of Elrond posted before)
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Hold His Own | on ao3.
Elros and his family, for @nolofinweanweek.
Elros left his children the tools and the means to commit all the mistakes of his forefathers, and new ones besides; and he was not sorry for it in the slightest. (All of them come to him in the dark once at least, crying and seasick, wanting to be held and sang to quietness. There was a wave, little Vardamir said it first; and his children after him, too, weeping and afraid as he had vowed they never would be. A wave, and it was angry, and it came for everything).
In his old age, Tar-Minyatur looked little older than his grandson's children. Silver was in his hair, and the silver of his eyes a little dulled; but his mind was sharp still, and eager. He walked the quays every day, and bent his back on harvesting seasons. 
Only his son's growing weakness kept him from venturing out on the fishing vessels that scoured Ulmo's realm for fat tunas and rich whales - and all his children and their children were raised more on tales of the first eventful seal-hunting expeditions up and down the shores of Númenor than on tales of Beleriand.
 Sirion, Doriath, Gondolin and Hithlum - those came later, when they learned their letters and their histories. His brother, in love with lore and the keeping of lore, would argue against it, and no doubt rear his children in the wisdom of Melian's line and the solemnity of eternal memory.
Elros was mortal. He raised his people to love themselves first of all, their cities and language and ways. They sang new songs every season, composed new and useless rhythms with dizzying speed - and the king of Elenna, who had grown among enemies, and made war on Melkor, delighted above all things in this speedy work, the restless pettiness of every day's effort.
The work of one's hands was rarely more beautiful than when it was raised up to protect against wind, hail and spray - than when towers were raised on strong foundations, and around them cities raised on beautiful lines.
He wrote his deeds and thoughts in treatises and decrees, the lore made to be read by lore masters in centuries to come. It was important to keep the past alive, and prepare for the future, study portents and ignore not foresight - Yet not, Elros wrote in the letters he tossed at the waves, Mithlond-bound, at the expense of this year's seaweed nurseries.
Vardamir was hungry enough to learn, and Tindómiel cared mostly for the business of the ships and the studies of the stars - Atanalcar went pearl-diving most of the summer, every summer of his life, and Manwendil liked riding best of all, and was a friend to the sea-birds that brought him small tokens of sea-glass and feathers.
Elros left his children the tools and the means to commit all the mistakes of his forefathers, and new ones besides; and he was not sorry for it in the slightest. 
(All of them come to him in the dark once at least, crying and seasick, wanting to be held and sang to quietness. There was a wave, little Vardamir said it first; and his children after him, too, weeping and afraid as he had vowed they never would be. A wave, and it was angry, and it came for everything).
He soothes them all. Lullabies, half-forgotten and half-improvised, sweet with Menegroth's lilting rhymes; a few tries at the harp, and their little heads rested trustingly on his shoulder, asleep without fear again.
Dreams were only dreams, in the morning. None of them saw bloodshed before their coming of age; none of them would shed blood unjustly, for greed.
Tar-Minyatur knew this, because they were his children. He knew also that their children were like to have children themselves, and for all the friendship of the sea, an island was only so large and plentiful as the number of its people allowed them to be.
The gulls brought gifts to him, too. Perhaps they would do so to his descendants, too, five or ten births down the line, if not twenty. Did birds lose the keenness of their memory, as old men did?
The king's windows were always open, to the fresh star-lit light of the evening, when the weather allowed. In his last years, his bones turned into tyrants even on warm nights, but Tar-Minyatur found time to evade his minders, to bring out his bowl of seaweed and dumplings to the parapets of his towers and speak to Gil-Estel all the same.
All the old people of the island did, when they were soon to die. That last bearing of witness, some of the Edain held, was what stars were for, and this one most of all.
They may choose to tear them down in time, and build them anew, wrote Tar-Minyatur, silver-haired and trembling with the cold of an open window, young still in a way his brother would never be again.
He had taken to reading old philosophical texts with his son's grandchildren, now that they were old enough to be interested in these things, to know death and be a little angry at it, and petulant about the old king's way of teasing them. They went off to complain to Vardamir, who explained everything a little better, a little more sensibly.
No one had called him Elros in many years. All the same, the king wrote: Let them be as they would! That will be their choice! But they shall choose, and choose to look onwards, not back into the unalterable past. The best gift I can give them is to give them some stone and soil to stand upon, and the will to go onwards as they would, with the years they have to live.
 Tar-Minyatur raised his children to know this. Great and terrible things came of that, and he foresaw many, if not most; but then, one must think of this day's effort most of all. The future would come, as certain as the tides and the summer storms. It was enough to leave behind strong foundations, and something of estel to pass onwards. All wise old men in Elenna knew this, and held it to be true.
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camille-lachenille · 4 months
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Fourth Age headcanons (part 1/?):
Aragorn and Arwen's children: Eldarion, Tindómiel and Tinwërínel, Eldalótë
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About the picture: Eldarion is wearing the ring of Barahir as well as the Elessar. Tindómiel favours dark colours, especially the royal colours of Gondor, and a few pieces of jewellery. Tiwër��nel prefers a lighter and brighter palette for her clothes, and most of her wardrobe is inspired by Elvish fashion. Eldalótë wears bright colours and Elvish cut gowns, and she prefers pearl jewelery.
Eldarion always looks grave and thoughtful (he’s got his dad’s resting bitch face) but is actually very kind and optimistic. He makes for a good king in times of peace, close to his people and always ready to improve their life conditions. One of his chief missions is to expand the school system his mother established even to the most remote parts of the kingdom and founding affordable universities, the most famed being led by his sister. He is very fond of the sea, and spends as much of his time as he can in the coastal regions of his kingdom. He meets his wife, Medliniel, in Dol-Amroth, and they have a daughter, Míriel, who succeeds him on the throne.
Tindómiel and Tinwërínel are twins, born four years after Eldarion.
Tindómiel is stern and studious, preferring the company of old books to people. She is fiercely protective of her family and, much to the amusement of her parents inherited many of Elrond's mannerisms, notably his Disappointed GlareTM. Famed lore mistress, Tindómiel is the Lady of Isengard and dedicates her life to cataloguing and archiving all the things Saruman and his predecessors left in the tower of Orthanc, turning it in a high place of knowledge and studies in the Reunited Kingdom. She remains unwed but considers all the women of Gondor, Arnor, Rohan and beyond she taught as her daughters. She names one of her great-nieces as her heiress, declaring that the fiefdom of Isengard should always be ruled by a woman since men brought only ruin there. The Ladies of Isengard become known across all of Middle-Earth for their wisdom and knowledge.
Tinwërínel is as extroverted as her twin is introverted and she thrives in the political landscape of the Reunited Kingdom. Clever politician and ruthless diplomat, or vice versa depending of the situation, she is one of her father's most trusted advisors and he names her Stewardess of Arnor. Tinwërínel has to abdicate the function when she marries Elboron and becomes Princess of Ithilien, but she remains an active politician even as she raises three sons, and is part of her brother's council. She remains widowed at the age of 110 and returns to Annúminas where she is Chief Advisor of the Steward of Arnor until her death, several decades later.
Eldalótë, born seven years after the twins, is the splitting image of her mother, with her father’s love for wild places and his gift for healing. She is more than happy to be the youngest of the family, as it allows her to travel and explore without any care for politics. When in Gondor, Eldalótë spends most of her time studying the arts of healing, be it in Minas Tirith or beside Éowyn. It is during one of her stays in Ithilien that she meets Elfwine of Rohan, and they quickly start a secret courtship. They wed the year after she comes of age, making her queen of Rohan much to her dismay and her family’s amusement. Despite her initial reluctance, Eldalótë settles well enough in her role and dedicates much of her rule to building Houses of Healing in Edoras. She outlives her husband and, once their son is secure in his rule, Eldalótë leaves Rohan and divides her time between Minas Tirith, Orthanc and Annúminas. She is remembered in Rohan for her great kindess and constant cheerfulness.
About Eldarion's daughter under the cut:
King Eldarion of the House Telcontar, second king of the Reunited Kingdom, his wife Medliniel and their only daughter Míriel
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About the picture: Eldarion didn't change his style much as he appears here in his regalia. Míriel is wearing her formal court attire, icluding the ring of Barahir and the Elessar. The cut of her sleeves is a nod to her Elven ancestry while imitating a cape at the same time, which gives her more freedom of movement than wearing an actual cape. Medliniel comes from lesser nobility and she is more comfortable wearing simpler clothes (compared to her husband and daughter) and favours blue, the colour od Dol Amroth, over red and black.
CW mentions of miscarriage
Eldarion meets Medliniel in Dol-Amroth and it is love at first sight for the both of them. They wed after the shortest courtship and engagement possible without seeming entirely inappropriate and are expecting a child within the year. Unfortunately, Medliniel looses the baby and it takes them a long time before trying again. Medliniel miscarries twice more before finally giving birth to a healthy little girl they name Míriel. Eldarion and Medliniel commonly agree not to try for more children because another pregnancy could be fatal to her. They cherish their daughter and make sure she gets the best possible education as a future queen.
Míriel spends most of her childhood with her parents doting on her, but she also makes long stays by her various aunts and cousins to perfection her education. She studies history and ancient lore in Orthanc under the strict instruction of Tindómiel, rides wildly across Rohan with Eldalótë and learns the subtlety of both ruling and motherhood by her aunt Tinwërinel’s side. Strong minded and free hearted, Míriel has three children without ever marrying, though she openly lives with her lover and make no secret he is the father of her children.
When she becomes the first Ruling Queen of the Reunited Kingdom, Míriel continues many of the social refoms started by her father and grandfather. Her greatest accomplishent is to see Osgiliath fully restored to its former glory and, by the end of her reign, she even moves the capital from Minas Tirith back to Osgiliath. Her reign is highly controversed by the nobility but she is well loved by her people, especially the women. In fact, Míriel leads a great reform of the laws revolving around family, marriage and inheritance, and made sure women had equal rights over their children with their husband. She also funded a network of shelters for abused women and children.
And I'll stop here before turning this massive post into a fully fleshed fanfiction.
Next post of this series will be about Tinwërínel and Eldalótë's lives and their children.
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finweanladiesweek · 6 months
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DAY FOUR: Later Generations There are many more women in the House of Finwë, from Idril to Finduilas and beyond. Did these ladies ever get to meet each other, in Middle-earth or in Valinor? How did Idril feel setting out for Aman with a mortal husband in defiance of the Ban of the Valar? Why did Finduilas fall in love with Gwindor, and later Túrin? Did Celebrían feel lonely growing up alone, with only stories about her fallen cousins to keep her company? Was Arwen’s choice truly that of Lúthien, or of Elros, and what did her daughters think of her decision to become mortal? Did Tindómiel ever meet her elvish grandparents? Do you have a theory about how some other canonical character is actually Finwëan somehow? And what about Faniel and Finvain, the dubiously canonical, discarded daughters of Finwë—can you reincorporate them into the family tree? This day is for exploring the lives of Finwë’s female descendants beyond the third generation, canonical or not.
These prompts are optional, and we are open to any content about the Finwëan Ladies whether or not you stick to our suggestions! Please tag your posts with #finweanladiesweek AND @ mention this blog @finweanladiesweek​​ so they can be easily found.  If your submission turns into a long post, please put what you can beneath a “Keep reading” divider. If you are posting your submission to AO3, you can add it to the event collection here.
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anghraine · 6 months
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❄️ please!
Of course! This one is:
Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.
Hmm. Hmmmmm. Okay:
Elrond could perfectly recall his first reunion with Elros on Númenor, his brother embracing him before eagerly showing him about Armenelos, then a pale but promising shadow of its later glory and size. It was Elros who ensured that Elrond had his own rooms in that second home, carefully maintained and held empty for him. A few decades later, Elrond had returned to find Elros as unchanged in appearance as Elrond, but accompanied by his betrothed, a Hadorian loremaster. She met Elrond with a trace of awkwardness but distinct warmth, and her anxiety had dissolved when he asked after her archives. Elrond stayed for the wedding-day, an occasion of joy for all concerned, and came back again for the births of the children.  An uncle should not have favourites, but he could hardly fail to think of Tindómiel particularly, his first niece. She used to grasp Elrond's robes and clamber onto his shoulders, prattling away in the high-Elven Elros favoured—one of the few things they remembered of Eärendil their father. Elrond had loved her dearly, and not understanding how distant that time would one day be, he had welcomed the knowledge that she would live for over four hundred years.
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"But on him mighty doom was laid, till Moon should fade, an orbéd star to pass, and tarry never more on Hither Shores where mortals are..." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Many Meetings"
@tolkienofcolourweek || day 3: ancestors/descendants + stories || eärendil, tindómiel, & arwen undómiel
[ID: an edit comprised of 6 posters in shades of golden brown.
1: A close-up of Michael Lockley, an african-american model with brown skin and a blond afro. He is looking to the left with a serious expression and is outlined by a white frame. White text at the bottom of the image reads "eärendil" and "of mariners most renowned" / 2: A starry night sky with the clouds of a nebula or galaxy / 3: Foamy ocean waves / 4: A close-up of Indira Scott, an african-american model, laughing in the sunlight. She has light brown skin and hair in box braids, some of which are bleached. Same format as Image 1, but the text reads "tindómiel" and "morning star of anadûnê" / 5: Ana Flávia, an afro-brazilian model with brown skin and coily black hair. She is wearing a white top and has on a jeweled hairpiece along with some facial jewelry. She is looking towards the viewer with a neutral expression. Same format as Images 1 and 4, but the text reads "undómiel" and "the last ember of a dying age" / 6: A sunset in the woods /End ID]
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yellow-faerie · 1 year
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Could you please do prompt 46 or 50 for platonic aroace tindómiel (chose elves)/alloroace gil-galad? Either prompt is fine, but more fluff than angst, please.
Thanks!
Ooh yes! This is a really interesting prompt particularly as I love Elven Tindómiel and also the idea of her being Aroace is something I really like the idea of!
(Also I'm using prompt #46 because I'm obnoxious and am going to put in my headcanons for constellation stories at any opportunity)
From this prompt list.
46 - "Did I ever tell you the story of that constellation?"
Tindómiel was a lighthouse keeper on Númenor and when she sailed to Valinor, she took a job to help the string of lighthouses along the coast.
Tindómiel is at peace by the sea and she likes to be alone: it is her perfect job, really.
She sleeps when the sun is up and wakes with the stars, setting a light in her tower and settling in for a night of reading or mending or, occasionally, waving at a boat coming in.
It is rare that anyone sails so far north up the coast as to see her tower but she is here all the same. It's preparation for a time in the future when Valinor may not be as safe as it is now and her lighthouse may become a ward against the Dark things in this world.
So she waits.
Her soul is immortal by her Choice. It was not a conscious choice but as she found her friends and family succumbing to mortality, she lingered on in her place at the coast until she found her own boat to the holy shores of Valinor.
She is immortal and so she will be good at waiting.
Not that she is completely alone anway. The Lighhouses of Valinor are a long string from somewhere far down south where jungles lie unadventured, to the far north where it is cold nearly all year round.
It is there Tindómiel resides.
There are three others who live with her up here.
Eleniquë was a Fëanorian soldier who had died at the Nirnaeth and taken the north as her refuge from being dragged into further strife. She did little upkeep of the lighthouse itself, mostly spending her time hunting food and finding plants hidden under the snow, but despite this Tindómiel quite liked her.
There was also Helcaear, the old Teler, who had been living here before Tindómiel. While his original companions had retired to Alqualondë upon being replaced, he had been quite insistent he stay and show the newbies how it all worked. They didn't really need him anymore but he had a magic touch with the light and made the nicest stew, so no-one complained.
And then there was Finellach, their newest companion.
Now Tindómiel isn't stupid. She might never have met the high king in person while she still lived on Númenor but she had seen pictures and heard much in her uncle's letters.
But he is sweet and hardworking and clearly working through some shit, so Tindómiel respectfully doesn't bring it up.
It's one late night when Tindómiel finds herself alone with him. Helcaear is in bed and Eleniquë has yet to return from her recent hunt, and so they stand guard over the lighthouse fire to make sure it doesn't go out.
Despite the bright light at their backs, they still have a fair view of the stars on clear nights like these, so it has become routine for them to congregate at the barrier and stargaze.
Tindómiel had asked as she hadn't been raised an elf. The stars had always amazed her but she had never grew up hearing of them as her fully elven counterparts: her father's relationship with his elvish side had always been difficult so what Tindómiel knew of their culture was patchy at best.
These lessons also left them...closer than the others. Tindómiel doesn't think it's attraction she feels for him but it is certainly something warm and something bigger than just friendship.
"That one on the horizon," Finellach says, pointing out. Tindómiel follows his finger. "The one that looks like a W - if you follow the point on Telumendil up you find the end."
"I see it," Tindómiel says as she finally finds the five stars he's talking about. "I don't remember that one."
"Wilwarin. The butterfly. Did I ever tell you the story of that one?"
"I'm not sure. It's not familiar with it in any case."
"Well," Finellach leans back slightly, "the way my fathers told it to me, Wilwarin was a Maia of Manwë before the elves awoke. She was wild and beautiful, dressed often in deep blues and shining light.
"But for all Wilwarin was of Manwë's, her heart lay far higher than his winds could take her. She wove light into her raiment and silvers into her blue much like the Maiar of Varda, and would sit high up in the branches of trees to watch as they created their starlight and began to light the sky.
"It was Ilmarë, Varda's handmaiden, who spotted her. She first thought that she might be a servant of Melkor and asked Wilwarin to show her something that only a being uncorrupted could.
"She sang, something quiet and mournful and yearning, but it was enough for Ilmarë who had once known the Maia now known as Sauron and how he could never create something of such beauty.
"'I shall take you to my Mistress," Ilmarë said, "for you have shown your intentions to be true.'
"Wilwarin followed Ilmarë through the land of the Valar until they reached a long river that played it's way through the valley, and heard the song of pipes on the wind.
"There in the water was another Maia. Her name was Lantasírë and the song she played was that of the river itself.
"'Where are you going, a star handmaiden and a wind spirit?" she asked, pausing her music only a moment. 'You make odd company.'
"'Our journey is long yet," Ilmarë replied, "and so we cannot dawdle.'
"'Then stay just one song. The river always likes a new dance partner.'
"Lantasírë was a convincing spirit with her wide grin and fey fingers playing their notes, and so Ilmarë and Wilwarin agreed to one dance. They danced together on the grassy bank of that wild place and as she passed and twirled and jumped and swirled, Wilwarin thought she understood what it was to be a star for just that moment.
"But then the song finished and they bid Lantasírë farewell so as to continue their journey.
"To get to the place where the Queen of the Valar dwelt, Ilmarë and Wilwarin first had to traverse a land that was filled with the shadows of Melkor. The mists of that place were thick and dark and within them, Wilwarin lost sight of her guide.
"She wandered long in that place, growing cold and alone and fearful, until a dark thing prowled out of the shadows. It was made of fire and ash and stood before Wilwarin like a Maia might.
"'What are you doing out here little thing?' it asked, it's voice smooth and silky. 'It's dangerous to be alone in these parts."
"'I am finding the Queen of the Stars,' Wilwarin replied despite her fear, 'for I wish to help her build the heavens.'
"'Little thing, why join the heavens when you can stay down here and join the shadows? There is power to be had here, you may do anything you wish.
"'I wish to be a light to guide the Firstborn when they are born. That I cannot do in your shadows,' Wilwarin said and she glowed with the holy light of the trees until the shadows hissed and broke apart in front of her.
"She stepped out of the land of darkness to find Ilmarë waiting for her and together they continued on to the throne of Varda, who waited there for them.
"'Wilwarin, you have come a long way with my loyal handmaiden to be here. You have shown yourself to be good and true in your song; to be joyful and bright in your dance; and straight and honest in your light. A star you shall not be, but instead one of my greatest constellations.' Varda smiled on Wilwarin and after that day, Wilwarin sat as one of the brightest constellations among Varda's stars: a guide for all the Eldar of this world."
Tindómiel sighs. "Wow, that's a lot of responsibility. Imagine wanting that."
Finellach shrugs. "I guess it's not so dissimilar to what we do. This whole string of lighthouses keeps fishermen and adventurers from crashing against the shore in the dark. It lights their way just as she does."
"I suppose so..."
Tindómiel looks out at Wilwarin, slowly rising in the night sky, and wanders if she can hear them.
"Ah well," Finellach stands and stretches, "I think it's getting cold enough for some tea. What say you?"
"I could kill for something hot to drink. I'll add more fuel to the fire while you make it. And bring Eleniquë with you if she's back already, it looks like it's going to be a nice night."
Finellach gives her a jaunty, fairly terrible salute and disappears down the ladder.
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tilions · 2 years
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Tindómiel and Undómiel
@finweanladiesweek day iv - later generations
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