#noldor/vanyar/teleri/sindar are light elves

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

When light elves insult the dark elves for the nth time in front of legolas (and sis):

Light elf: -you’re such barbarians, i don’t understand why anyone would- what are you doing?

Legolas & kleoyia: *writing something on notepad*

Kleoyia: playing a game.

Legolas: i mean it’s always the same song and dance with you-

Kleoyia: “barabarians” “heritics” “idiots” “have no comprehensive of a ruling government” “dishonor on you! Dishonor on your family. Dishonor on your cow-“

Legolas: we’ve even made a game of it!

Kleoyia: *turns her notpad around to show a bingo square* Bingo! Everytime we have to interact with you light elves-

Legolas: we bring a bingo sheet with common insults you hurl at us and see who has bingo the fastest.

Kleoyia: it’s usually filled within 15 minutes.

Legolas: ironically the 2 squares that are almost never crossed off are “original insults” and “acusations of things we’ve actually done”

Kleoyia: we keep them in because it makes it interesting

Legolas: but really, do you never get tired of the same song and dance over and over and over again?

Kleoyia: at this point your insecurities and issues are easy to see

Legolas: it’s like going to a museum. “And over there is your superiority complex, over there is your self loathing, and over here is the crippling fear of being an outcast amongst your pears, so instead you make others the outcast!”

Kleoyia: “now if you follow me to exhibit b, we can see how these personal issues fuel violent and discriminatory actions against a people you’ve no understanding of just trying to live there lives”

Legolas: don’t you ever get tired of the constant hatred you spew?

Kleoyia: if i had the time and energy you have to spare to hate people that don’t even know you exist, i could probably solve world hunger.

Legolas: so why don’t you eat something and go to bed? You get cranky when you’re hungry.

Kleoyia: after all, babies need plenty of rest in order to grow into productive, esteemed members of society!

Light elf:......

Elladan and elrohir, who invited the sibs in the first place and watched all this go down: holy shit-

[niennawept]

Warning(s): None Rating: Gen Summary: The origins of moon dumplings, shared amongst all branches of elven kindred, are a source of frequent arguments, both culinary and scholarly.

An annotated copy of a recipe book from Nargothrond before its fall

To make moon dumplings:

A short time before moonrise, take a good amount of ground corn (as was the gift of the Valar for the Great Journey) and by gradations, add to it enough water to make a fine dough. Knead this with your hands until it is well combined. Allow the dough to rest under the light of Tilion’s full face for a time.[1] Knead the dough afterward until it is smooth. Allow this to rest again until the moon’s face is the breadth of one finger above the horizon and the dough feels as soft as a fawn’s ear. Divide the dough into four parts. Keeping one out, cover the others with a dark cloth so that they absorb no more light.

Pluck a piece of dough from the ball that is as wide as a thumb from tip to first joint. Flatten this to a disc and then, roll it flat with a pin using more ground corn to prevent the moon dough sticking. Place a good amount of filling[2] on top and carefully pleat the edges shut, using water if necessary to seal. The finished dumpling should be the shape of a crescent moon.

[1] The amount of time for the first resting of the dough is a matter of heated debate among the various branches of elvenkind. While the Exilic Noldor say that it can rest no longer than seven minutes, Vanyar sources claim that precisely fourteen minutes is optimal, in honor of the Valar themselves. The Teleri and Sindar agree that the dough can rest for up to ten minutes, but disagree on the manner by which the time to knead again is decided. The Teleri say that it should be done once the surface of the dough has a pearlescent sheen to it; the Sindar say it must be done when a cloud breaks the moon’s gaze or the full time has elapsed, whichever comes first. The Nandor are an outlier, who claim that dough for moon dumplings is only ready after twenty full minutes at rest. Notably, all of the other groups agree that this is too long of an exposure and produces a tough dough with an overwhelming flavor.

[2] The source declines to describe what manner of filling should be used, and consequently, the original filling is also a matter of intense research. During the early part of the Second Age, the scholar, Díril of Lindon, undertook a lengthy project, traveling across Middle-earth and even into the East to interview elves who could remember when moon dumplings first arose within their communities. This undertaking did not result in consensus.

For @silmarillionepistolary week

[thesummerestsolstice]

Headcanon Crafts for the House of Finarfin

Earwen: a sailor. Yes, I know, the Teleri are the sea elves, but while most of them can manage in a rowboat, only a few are true sailors; able to navigate the Teleri's finest ships, even in rocky bays or stormy waves. And Earwen was the best of the best. She was particularly fond of venturing out where no one had before, seeing everything there was to see on the ocean, though she always turned back to Valinor eventually.

Finrod: a bard. While Maglor's focus was always on the oral history of the Quendi, Finrod preferred to learn folktales and lays, which were often preformed more casually and retold with somewhat improvised lyrics on the fly. By the time of his death, he knew more myths and legends (elvish, mannish, and dwarfish) than anyone else, though most of it remained unwritten and died with him.

Angrod: a spinner. Well, he didn't just spin wool into thread– though he did keep a few sheep, and was very fond of them. He spun thread and yarn from various materials, and then hand made dye to turn it various colors. He valued his work for its rich hues and remarkable resistance to fraying. He was basically the only person whose thread was high quality enough for Caranthir; the two of them really bonded over fiber work.

Aegnor: a dancer; more in-line with traditional Vanyar work than most Noldor crafts. He had the strength and precision for the most complex dances, though he was sometimes a bit awkward when it came to dancing with a partner. Some speculated that he would swear his service to Nessa, as one of the few dancers skilled enough for a place in her halls, but he never did. He always felt there was more for him in life than endless routine.

Orodreth: a gardener. Look, a garden is an amazing work because it's always growing and changing, and it's made in collaboration with nature. Orodreth loved that sense connection with the world around him, and tried to make garden that looked more natural and weren't bound to beds or boxes. His favorite flowers were always tulips. Though it was underground, Nargothrond still had beautiful gardens thanks to some creativity on his part.

Galadriel: a baker, like Finarfin. As a child, she wanted to follow in her father's footsteps and make something that everyone would be able to enjoy; she learned a lot of her craft directly from him. Aredhel would often bring her fresh ingredients from the Valinorian woods. After going to Middle-Earth, she set her craft aside because she had no use for fancy craft work when she had to deal with fighting hordes of orcs and trying to deal with Sindar-Noldor political relationships. Also Finarfin and Aredhel weren't around anyone. She came back to it in the Second Age, and was able to find peace and happiness in her craft once again, although she never lost any of her warrior's skill.

Bonus! Although he wasn't aware of it, Finrod actually managed to make his way into legends and folktales throughout the peoples of Middle-Earth. Though his story was changed over time, he's always remembered as a faithful friend and a ray of light in dark times– and as having a rather impressive amount of fancy jewelry. He learns this all in Valinor, from his conversations with another famous keeper of tales: Bilbo Baggins.

Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the rest of the House of Finwe.

[nyxshadowhawk]

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

Please read parts one and two first: https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/726120109073104896/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/726261927846772736/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part

Chapter 4: Of Thingol and Melian In which Elwë/Thingol gets horny and abandons his quest, and behold, a language is born.

I said that Melian would be important, but that’s because the book said so. Unlike with Olorin, I don’t actually know anything about her in advance. So, now we’re going to find out what her role in the story is! Melian is a Maia and she lives in Lórien, where she is best known for her singing. The whole world stops to listen to her sing. Before dawn, she comes to the “Hither Lands” (Middle-earth?) to teach the birds to sing.

While the Elves are traveling, Elwë, the leader of the third group of Elves (the Teleri) is scouting by himself. He hears the voice of Melian and is entranced. He finds her in a forest glade, and as soon as he touches her, she traps him there. He stays in the glade while time moves on around him. His brother Olwë takes over the kingship of the Teleri, and Elwë never sees Valinor again. He and Melian are quite productive, though, and end up becoming the ancestors of an entire race of elves, called the Sindar, “Grey Elves” or “Twilight Elves.” Sindar are “grey” because they are neither Light Elves who saw the trees of Valinor, nor “dark elves” who chose not to go to Valinor. Elwë Singollo became known as Thingol, which still means “Greymantle,” but in Sindarin. Thingol and Melian became King and Queen of the Sindar.

To elaborate on the significance of this: “Elvish” is probably the best-known of Tolkien’s conlangs, but there’s actually two completely different Elvish languages. One is Quenya, the language spoken by those Elves in Middle-earth who are descended from the “High Elves” or Light Elves of Valinor, and the other is Sindarin, the language spoken by the Sindar. When you think of “Elvish,” you are probably thinking of Sindarin, because it’s the most common Elven language in Middle-earth. The Elves of Mirkwood are descended from yet another subgroup of Teleri Elves, called Nandor (no, not that Nandor), who split off from Olwë’s group and went off on their own to live in the forests. They have their own language, Silvan Elvish, but Thranduil definitely spoke Sindarin, and his name is in Sindarin. So, the Sindar are kind of a big deal.

Thingol and Melian by Elena Kukanova

Chapter 5: Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië In which the Elves settle into their new home.

The Vanyar and Noldor finally reach the westernmost coast of Middle-earth, and are confronted with the ocean that they have to cross to reach Aman (the continent where Valinor is). Ulmo comes and talks to the Elves, playing his shell pipes for them, and they lose their fear of the ocean. Ulmo drags up an island from the ocean, and brings it into the bay as if it were a ship, and all the Elves climb on it to sail it to the other side of the ocean. (Part of the island was broken off and remained in the bay, becoming the Isle of Balar.)

The Teleri arrived too late. They missed the island-boat, Elwë abandoned them for Melian, and now they’re stuck in East Beriand. They name Elwë’s brother Olwë as their king, and they learn about water and music from the Maiar Ossë and Uinen. Everything’s fine for a while, but the Noldor in Valinor missed the Teleri, and asked Ulmo to go and get them. Most of the Teleri are willing to uproot themselves again and continue on to Valinor, but Ossë (the Maia of waves) is sad to see them go, and persuades a few to stay so that they can continue to sing for him. The ones that stay become the Falathrim, the first mariners. Had enough subdivisions of Elves yet?

No you haven’t, because there’s another one — the friends and family of Elwë who are still wondering what the hell happened to him. They still want to go to Valinor, but Ulmo doesn’t wait for them to find Elwë, so they’re left behind. They call themselves Eglath, the Forsaken People, and live in the forests yearning for a place that they will never see. Elwë does eventually find them, though, and he looks so glorious and beautiful with his silver hair and his unusually tall stature that they almost mistake him for a Maia. So, they’re okay now. Presumably they become Sindar.

Ossë chases after the other Teleri. When they hear his voice, the Teleri beg Ulmo to lock the island in place in the Bay of Eldamar. Ulmo doesn’t mind doing this, because he didn’t think it was a good idea for the Elves to leave Middle-earth in the first place. The island becomes Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle. So, after all of that, the Teleri still don’t make it to Valinor (because they just love the sea too much, I guess). The Valar aren’t happy about this, and Finwë (the leader of the Noldor) grieves to hear that not only are the Teleri not coming, but Elwë got lost somewhere along the way. The Teleri are happy, though (and literally within sight of Aman so if only they had a boat or something…). The important thing is that this is why they speak a different language from everyone else. Like I said before, language is what drives the worldbuilding, as opposed to narrative or character or anything else. In Tolkien’s defense, this is definitely how real-life ethnic groups form (not islands magically moving and stopping, but groups breaking off from each other during migration) so he’s doing a great job on that front.

Eventually, the Teleri do make it to shore. Elves are like moths in that they’re constantly drawn towards the light of Valinor. So they change their minds, and ask Ulmo to bring them to shore. Ulmo tells Ossë to teach them how to build boats, and Ossë does, though very reluctantly. As a parting gift, he gives them swans to pull their boats. (My immediate thought was that this is a reference to the Tuatha Dé Danann in Celtic mythology, but I might be misremembering it, because I can’t find any proof of that. Moving on.) The Teleri come to live on the shores of Aman, within reach of Valinor, but closer to the sea because they like the water so much. The Noldor give them lots of jewels, which they scatter across the beaches, and they build themselves palaces out of pearl in their city of Alqualondë.

The Ships of the Teleri Drawn by Swans, by Ted Nasmith

There’s three cities in total: Valmar, the city of the Valar, Tirion, the city of the Noldor, and Alqualondë, the coastal city of the Teleri. The Noldor built Tirion on top of a hill called Túna (I know it means something in Quenya, but there’s no way I’m taking that seriously). They love Telperion, the White Tree, so Yavanna gives them one of its seedlings, which becomes another white tree that looks just like a smaller version of Telperion, except that it doesn’t glow. In Sindarin, the little tree is called Galathilion.

The Noldor like to learn things, discover things, and make things. They were trained by Aulë himself, so they’re experts in all kinds of craftsmanship. Their masons discovered precious stones hidden in the earth, which they learned to cut. Noldor have an insatiable love of learning, and whenever they find something new, they make up a new word for it in their language (Quenya). The dark side of a love of learning is that one might not know where to stop, i.e. “just because you can doesn’t mean you should” and “these were things mortals were not meant to know.” The Vanyar live directly with Manwë, which makes them both the coolest Elves and the least interesting because nothing about them is known to anyone else. The Noldor, however, still remember Middle-earth — dark, quiet, and full of stars. The grass is always greener, I guess.

We know next to nothing about the Vanyar because they stayed in Valinor, but the Noldor eventually came back, so we know their whole genealogy. As boring as that sounds, I do have to describe the whole thing here, because it is important: The King of the Noldor is Finwë as we’ve said before, and he has three sons: Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin. Fingolfin and Finarfin have the same mother, a Vanyar elf called Indis. Fëanor’s mother, however, is another Noldor elf called Míriel Serindë. Of the three sons, Fëanor is the smartest, Fingolfin is the strongest, and Finarfin is the wisest and the most beautiful. He eventually befriends the Teleri and marries one of Olwë’s daughters.

Finarfin, Fingolfin, and Feanor by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Fëanor has seven sons: Maedhros the tall, Maglor the singer, Celegorm the fair, Caranthir the dark, Curufin the crafty, and the twins Amrod and Amras. Fingolfin has two sons and one daughter: Fingon and Turgon are the sons, and Aredhel the White is the daughter. Finarfin has four sons: Finrod the Faithful, who eventually gains the epithet “Felagund, Lord of Caves” (really interested to hear that story), Orodreth, Angrod, and Aegnor. He also has a daughter — Galadriel. (Yes! Finally a character you know! Well, apart from Olorin, that is…) She is known for her golden hair, so shiny that it is if the light of the golden tree, Laurelin, shines within it.

That’s all the genealogy we need to know for now. Again, Tolkien gets points for authenticity here — a significant portion of real historical epics are long lists of everyone’s names and who they’re related to and who their kids are, which is of great interest to historians, but not very exciting if you’re primarily interested in a cool story about people killing each other. You know what, even if Amazon did get the rights to The Silmarillion for Rings of Power, they would probably have the same trouble adapting it that people usually have when they try to adapt epics like The Iliad or Beowulf: Epics just aren’t structured like conventional narratives. Even if there is a story, it usually plays second fiddle to all these historical details and other infodumps. Don’t get me wrong, epics are more than capable of being emotionally impactful, and I was pleasantly surprised by the Iliad and Odyssey more than once. But they don’t follow the same kind of five-act story structure that novels and films typically do. The narrative is interspersed with records of events and people, since an oral tradition needs to be able to preserve cultural history in addition to telling a good story, and the result is more like a series of significant events rather than an actual plot with a tidy ending. The cultural history is very important to the people whose history it is, and the people who study it, but when you have a complex cultural history of people who don’t actually exist, then the only people who are going to be interested are people who are already invested in Tolkien and his world. Basically, you can (sort of, barely) get away with infodumping if you’re intentionally following the conventions of an obsolete literary genre, and people already care about your worldbuilding.

If LotR is the story of the One Ring and the things that happen around it, then The Silmarillion is the story of this family, and the things that happen around or because of them. So, you’re going to want to keep track of them:

House of Finwe by @cy-lindric

Chapter 6: Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor In which we meet our… uh… protagonist?

You can tell just by the title that this is when everything goes to hell, right? It was too good to last. Although the Elves lived in bliss in Valinor for however many centuries, if someone didn’t fuck everything up, we wouldn’t have a story. That someone is Fëanor, who is the nearest thing this story has to a protagonist.

Fëanor by Insant

He was born in Valinor. His original name (or patronymic name) is Curufinwë, but his mother called him Fëanor (FAY-ah-nr), which means “spirit of fire.” Míriel, Fëanor’s mother, all but died in childbirth. After he was born, she refused to bear any more children, because all of her life-force and that of any future children had gone into Fëanor. Giving birth to him was like being burned away by fire, to the point where Míriel basically didn’t have any will to live… except that elves don’t die. So, Finwë went to Manwë for help, and Manwë allowed Míriel to go live in the beautiful gardens of Lórien with Irmo, the god of dreams. Once she got there, she basically died; her body went to sleep, but her spirit passed on to the Halls of Mandos.

Finwë was very sad at having lost his wife, but dedicated as much love and attention to his son as possible. Fëanor quickly proved himself to be one of those gifted kids who are naturally good at everything. He excelled in craftsmanship, figured out a way to make gems bigger and brighter by infusing them with starlight, and invented lenses. He didn’t invent writing — that was an elf called Rúmil, shortly before he was born — but he did improve upon it to produce the Elven alphabet that Elves still use today. And that was all while he was practically still a teenager!

Fëanor marries an Elf called Nerdanel. His father-in law, Mahtan, learned metalworking and masonry directly at the feet of Aulë, so Fëanor learns a lot more about making things from Mahtan. Fëanor’s relationship with Nerdanel is summed up pretty well by this quote:

Nerdanel also was firm of will, but more patient than Fëanor, desiring to understand minds rather than to master them, and at first she restrained him when the fire of his heart grew too hot; but his later deeds grieved her, and they became estranged.

Yeah… that tells you everything you need to know about Fëanor. He’s one of those arrogant, hotheaded men who needs his wife to put a lid on him so that he’ll calm the fuck down before something blows up. And eventually, managing him becomes too much for her. I guess we’ll find out why.

Meanwhile, Finwë remarries. His new wife is a Vanya elf called Indis, a close relative of the High King Ingwë. Fëanor is not happy about his father remarrying, and mostly ignores his stepmother and half-brothers. The thing about familial strife amongst royalty is that it ends up affecting everyone else, too, usually in catastrophic ways. Looking back, the Elves wonder if everything might have been different if Finwë had just gotten over the death of his first wife and been content with having only one son, especially one as mighty as Fëanor. On the other hand, the world would also be lacking if Fingolfin and Finarfin hadn’t been born, so… this is one of those “what if we went back in time and killed Hitler” questions; history would have been so different if Finwë hadn’t remarried, it’s almost impossible to tell whether it would be for better or worse.

As Finarfin and Fingolfin grow up, Valinor’s heyday is already almost over. The thing about Sealed Evil in a Can is that it doesn’t stay sealed. Eventually, it gets out, and when it does, it’s like a volcano erupting. For once, though, it’s not because some idiot went and broke the seal on the can of evil — it’s because Melkor finished his sentence. The Valar decide that it’s time to put Melkor on trial again. Melkor’s envy and hatred are dialed up to eleven when he sees the Valar on their shining thrones and the Elves gathered at their feet like kittens. He also really likes the look of all the gemstones that the Noldor have dug up, and wants to steal them. But, he’s more cunning than to make his evil thoughts obvious. He really sucks up to the Valar during his trial, in the most cloying and pathetic way possible. He even promises to fix all the things that he broke (which, I’ll remind you, was everything).

Manwë buys it. I guess he just really wants to believe that there’s good in everybody? Or that everybody deserves a chance at redemption? Tolkien’s explanation for why Manwë pardons Melkor is that, just as pure evil cannot comprehend goodness or happiness or love, pure goodness cannot really comprehend evil, either. As far as Manwë is concerned, a sincere apology is all that’s needed, and why wouldn’t Melkor’s apology be sincere? After all, Melkor and Manwë were both Ainur created by Ilúvatar, so there must be good in him somewhere, right? The other Valar aren’t as easily fooled, though. Ulmo knows better than to trust Melkor, and Tulkas is just itching to punch him. But it’d be pretty hypocritical of them if they punished Melkor for rebellion and then turned right back around and disobeyed the orders of their king, so they don’t do anything.

Remember, Melkor blames the Elves for his initial downfall, because the Valar fought for their sake. And also because they’re happy-go-lucky little Elves in their little Elf world and everything is bright and shiny and so saccharine it makes your eyes bleed. So, Melkor responds by being even more saccharine and kissing up to the Elves as much as possible. “Oh, do you need help with anything? Can we be friends? Do you want to know everything about how the world was created?” The Vanyar aren’t interested, because who needs lore when you have trees? The Teleri don’t even interest Melkor because he sees them as weak and useless. But the Noldor, oh, the Noldor like making things and they like secret knowledge. They’re just the kind of people who would eagerly agree to a deal with the devil to learn all the secrets of the universe.

Melkor claims that Fëanor learned everything he knows at his knee, but as usual, he’s lying for clout. No one hates Melkor more than Fëanor. In fact, it was Fëanor who first called him “Morgoth” (“dark enemy”). Besides, Fëanor himself is just as arrogant, and insists on working alone. The only person he ever goes to for help is his wife.

[elamarth-calmagol]

Headcanon Advent Day 23

TW: suicide (kinda)

I finished Glorfindel, so I'll post it, but I have non-adventy things for the next two days, and I won't be doing the Peredhel Family because that would be so much work.

Glorfindel

Name(s): “Glorfindel” is an epessë meaning “golden haired” in the Mithrim dialect of Sindarin.  The Quenya version is Laurefindil, or Lauro as a family nickname.  He is very strongly attached to his epessë and rarely uses his other names anymore.

Appearance: 7’2’’, muscular, very light skin, honey blond hair, blue eyes

Age: about 7,500

Heritage: 3/4 Noldor, 1/4 Vanyar

There are many possible origins for Glorfindel, but I chose that he's the daughter of Findis and a Noldor prince.  He also had an older brother.  Both of them pledged themselves to Turgon once they were old enough.  Glorfindel had a girlfriend in Aman for maybe a century, which was probably a long time in those days, who refused to go with him when the Noldor rebelled.

In the First Kinslaying, Glorfindel didn't participate, and tried to shield civilians, who were mostly Teleri because more Noldor civilians were able to stay back.  (I always think of the helicopter pilot in the My Lai massacre.  Someone must have been that guy in the kinslaying.  Probably several people.  I mean, a lot of people were there.)  However, he and his brother still followed Turgon out of loyalty.  The journey across the ice was difficult, treacherous, and traumatizing, and ultimately his brother gave up.  He let himself die because it was the only feasible way back at that point, leaving only Glorfindel out of his family to go on.

Glorfindel’s first real battle was when Fingolfin’s host finally arrived in Middle Earth.  Later, he became very skilled in both fighting and leading troops in war.  The Noldor stayed a while by Lake Mithrim, with the northern Sindar, and Glorfindel became good friends with them, having some of them join his house.  My theory is that the reason Glorfindel’s name doesn’t quite fit with later versions of Sindarin (according to Tolkien) is that it’s in the Mithrim dialect.

I have surprisingly few headcanons about Glorfindel in Gondolin, but he definitely learned a lot about politics, leading a house, and leading an army.  He was close with Idril, since he was one of her closest relatives in Gondolin.  But I do have things to say about the fall of Gondolin.  He was pretty sensible in the battle: they were horribly outmatched, and he wouldn’t have survived by throwing himself at the enemy.  Also, because of his relationship to Idril, he may have known about her secret passage (or at least that she would have something in mind).  This is how he ended up getting out.

Glorfindel did tie his hair up, of course, when he put on his armor.  (By the way, I’m pretty sure elves wear chainmail, not plate mail.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen them drawn with that though.)  But not even elves can keep their hair in place throughout an hours-long battle.  Also, he canonically wore a helmet, since Lost Tales says that the balrog grabbed his hair “under his golden cap”.  My image of this battle is book-based: the balrog is twice his size, more or less human shaped, with a body made out of shadow and flame, and no wings or horns.  I like to think that he knew the balrog had his hair and threw it off the cliff anyway, because that was the only way he saw to defeat it.  His sacrifice wouldn’t be as meaningful if it was done on accident.

Glorfindel healed emotionally in Mandos and was reborn when he was ready.  He wouldn’t have been the first to be reborn (in fact, some people died and were reborn before Feanor’s birth), but he was definitely the first of the rebellious princes.  He went back to live with his parents.  In the Second Age, the Valar chose a few Noldor (and maybe Vanyar from the War of Wrath) to be allowed to go back to Middle Earth to help Gil-Galad, and he was the only one to actually agree to do it.  He sailed to Númenor with the Blue Wizards and was then ferried to Lindon, where he served Gil-Galad for a while before going with Elrond to rescue the survivors of Eregion and found Rivendell.  It’s quite possible that he actually stayed to guard Rivendell to defend it during the War of the Last Alliance, since they were still in danger of siege.

I wish I knew more about his part in the war against Angmar.  The Ringwraiths are afraid of him because he’s seen the light of the Trees, and because he’s as capable in the Unseen world as the Seen, and possibly also because he’s already died and come back, and they’re afraid of death (though it’s a different death).  After a few battles that lead to them fleeing, they never even let him come close enough to cross swords with them.

Glorfindel isn’t actually part of Elrond’s house, but doesn’t have his own house either, he’s just an allied lord.  He is one of Elrond’s best friends and most trusted advisors, and there aren’t many secrets between them.  He’s also friends with Gandalf, whom he knew in Valinor.  This mostly means they make fun of each other, though.  He definitely started the tra-la-la-lally song in the Hobbit, with the intention of annoying Gandalf.

Canonically (not in my fic though), Glorfindel either stayed in Rivendell to defend it from the siege he expected, or rode westward to draw Sauron’s attention.  Him leaving Rivendell would have attracted all kinds of attention, which is why he didn’t go with the Fellowship.  He probably wouldn’t have killed the balrog without dying a second time anyway, and then we wouldn’t have had Gandalf the White, so it’s better than way.  (When he finds out how Gandalf copied him with his death, he’s going to kill him a second time.)

Glorfindel is very open, sociable, and joyous, though there’s a lot of depth behind that, and he is as wise as Elrond (or more).  He has pretty strong foresight, but he doesn’t try to control or harness it: thoughts just come to him that he knows are true.  It’s a normal part of his thought processes, to him.  He’s skilled at fighting, and works at it, but he’s also interested in things like horse breeding, history, and linguistics.  He’s not just a dumb jock, even if he acts that way most of the time.

I'm not quite sure which Artbreeder portraits of him are my own work and which I saved from other people, and none of them are quite right anyway, so let's leave out Artbreeder. Here's the closest to the "correct" colors I have (of course it's only flat color but whatever).

[sniperct]

Depends on the setting, I'll go into the one I know best, Middle-earth.

TLDR: If you were an elf alive in Valinor at the same time as the Two Trees, you're a High Elf. The Two Trees being the only light source in the world besides the stars at the time. There was no moon, there was no sun.

The High Elves, or the Calaquendi, are those elves who saw the light of the Two Trees in Valinor, the undying lands. These include the Vanyar, Noldor and certain of the Teleri called the Falmari, but in all cases ONLY the ones that were alive at the same time as the Two Trees. Those born after the trees were destroyed are not High Elves.

So all High Elves are Vanyar, Noldor and Falmari, but not all Noldor/vaynar/falmari are High Elves.

Feanor, Galadriel and Glorfindel are High Elves.

Luthien and Gil-Galad are Noldor, but not High Elves

Elves who either refused the summons to go to Valinor or did not complete the journey are the Moriquendi, or Dark Elves. These include the Nandor, Sindar and Avari.

Legolas, Thranduil and Celeborn are all Dark Elves.

Technically, so are people like Luthien and Gil-Galad but most people don't usually think of them that way.

Avari are elves who refused to go on the journey to Valinor, Nandor and Sindar are the Teleri who stopped at some point on the way there, and the Falmari are the Teleri who completed the journey. The Nandor further break down into elves that include the Silvan Elves, that is the elves of Mirkwood and Lothlorien (not counting their rulers who are Noldor or Sindar).

Actually here's a chart:

What is even the difference between an Elf and a High Elf?

[aragornsrockcollection]

For people who demand fantasy skincolors be “realistic” and mean “white.”

Gonna need you to justify why your Vanyar do not look like boiled lobsters when they live directly under a light source many times more powerful than the sun, and the Noldor do not live much further.

All the Noldor royalty besides the Feanorians have Vanyar blood as well, and thats basically all the major characters in the Silmarilion outside of Doriath.

Stop shoehorning white elves into the Silmarillion for your political agenda.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[silmaspens]

Elven Fashion Week

Nandor elves- wear rich and vibrant earth tones, complimented with a silvers and turquoise. Nandor clothing is sturdy and easy to move in, but ornamentation is not sacrificed for functionality. Their hair is almost always a shade of brown and is worn either very long and braided or styled short and manageable.

Avari elves- don’t see the light all that much and both their collective complexion and clothing traditions reflect that. Like the Nandor they prefer long braided hair or short and sleek styles. They prefer the darkest clothing of all the branches of elves, which they accent with deep blues, rich purples and sometimes irredescent hues. They never wear anything shiny or flashy, but they are fond of embroidery as long as it’s subtle.

Teleri elves (Sindar & Falmari)- are almost the same people aesthetic wise. Clothing, adornment and hair styling are all practically the same save color schemes. Sindar adore darker blues and greens, while the Falmari are into pastel, or lighter colors, namely sea foam green and teal. Falmari elves absorb themselves in pearls, shells and corals, while their cousins the Sindar prefer silver and precious gems. All Teleri elves have varying shades of blue eyes. Silver hair is common in the Falmari while Black hair is more common in the Sindar.

Vanyar- long golden hair, amber eyes and sun kissed skin are the main features of this branch of elves. Each vanyar has a fondness/devotion to a specific Vala which they model their personal clothing after. Embroidered golden feathers or jeweled vines for Manwe or Yvanna, a radiating headdress for Varda or flowing robes that dance and shimmer like fire for Aule.

Noldor- unless they are busy crafting, their hair is worn free, very long and unstyled. Almost all of the Noldor have green eyes and black hair, with red hair being very rare (they are the only group that has redheads). Noldor will wear all the colors on the spectrum in a variety of styles. They have the most ornate clothing of all the elves, and are famous for their intricate embroidery and stunning jewelry which is always worn with tremendous pride.

[autumnmobile12]

Tolkien Elf Terms Explained

Here goes:

All elves are the Quendi, also known as the First People.  (Men are the Second People.)  Both were created by Ilúvatar, the Father of All, and the elves awoke by the lake Cuiviénen.

When Morgoth threatened the elves, the Valar gods opted to invite them to their stronghold in Valinor in order to protect them from evil.  Those who accepted the invitation are the Eldar elves.  The Avari, fearing the Valar, refused and remained in Middle Earth.  There are three sub-groups of the Eldar:  the Vanyar, the Noldor, and the Teleri.

The Vanyar are the first host of elves to journey to Valinor.  They were led by the elf Ingwë, who is the High King of elves.

The Noldor were the second host, led by Finwë.

The Teleri are the sea elves and the last host to make the journey to Valinor, although this group is divided into those who actually went to Valinor, led by Olwë, and those who remained in Middle Earth, led by Elwë, also known as Thingol.  (Elwë/Thingol went missing for a time and a number of his people couldn’t bear to leave without him.)

The Vanyar, Noldor, and the Teleri who made it to Valinor are the Calaquendi, those who saw the light of the Two Trees of Valinor.

With me so far?

Elwë/Thingol ruled over some of the Teleri who remained in Middle Earth, establishing the kingdom of Doriath.  These elves are the Sindar.  (Grey Elves.)  Other elves that didn’t fall under Elwë/Thingol’s rule are the Nandor (the ones who peaced out on the journey to Valinor before they crossed the Misty Mountains) and the Laiquendi (The Green Elves.  These guys are the most shy of the elves, live in a region called Ossiriand, and largely stay out of conflict with everyone else.)

Altogether, the Sindar, the Nandor, and the Laiquendi are referred to as the Úmanyar, the elves who intended to go to Valinor but for a variety of reasons never completed the journey.  Together with the Avari, the elves who initially refused the invitation of the Valar, they are collectively the Moriquendi, the elves who never saw the light of the Two Trees.

Galadriel:  counted among the Noldor, but her mother was Teleri and her father was half-Noldor/half-Vanyar.

Elrond:  great-great-grandson of Elwë/Thingol, so Sindar with some human ancestry.  (What was that about men being weak?)

Thranduil and Legolas:  Sindar

[eri-pl]

I like it too, but also I really don't like the idea that all Vanyar are morally better than other Elves. :D

They're more… lawful, maybe? More compliant? But they do have faults. (Also, their king semi-canonically almost tricked Finwë into falling in love with Indis, Indis is not at fault, but Ingwë, oh, Ingwë, I want to punch him, yes, this is the same guy that spends his time sitting at Manwë's feet and adoring him… he played matchmaker with a not-even-divorced-yet Finwë)

I always thought Sindar and Teleri had shades of gray, silver and black hair (including white?) and Noldor had dark, except rare cases like Miriel and Celegorm, whom I attribute to some Telerin genes.

But also I don't have the "gold hair = good" association. Sure, some people have both (Finrod <3 and Earendil I think?), but not that many. Like, Varda has white hair (and everything made of white light, her most common fana is described in the Silm), Manwë is commonly portrayed with white or blue hair... and tbh with his domain, if I had to attribute any hair color available to Elves for him, it would be either white, grey or eagle-like-brown.

Tulkas has golden hair, but that's it.

I can't think of a case of evil golden-haired, though. If you hc Sauron as yellow blond. Or Melkor :D Early Galadriel is sketchy, and half-golden. Ingwë is sus, as I mentioned, but not seriously evil. Celegorm doesn't make genetic sense to have golden hair.

I know it is a thing in European culture (Disney... some fairy tales too), but I don't translate it into the Silm.

I HATE the retcon Tolkien made about only the Vanyar having golden hair.

It just feels like there's a layer of Eugenics to it.

All these blondes who look alike are an exclusive club who stick the closest together and also they're flawless and incapable of making mistakes and God's chosen ones. Ugh... I'm kinda getting the ick.

I love that the Noldor can basically pass as Teleri & Sindar and vice versa, it feels like there's less of a separation between these two groups and I like there isn't that much of a divide like the Teleri are lesser or anything.

Golden haired purely Sindarin Thranduil you will always be special to me. You don't need to be descended from the chosen one club to be special, just as your son Legolas proved you don't need to be a descendant of Finwe or Thingol to be special.

[gffa]

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE PARTS OF THE SILMARILLION. YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE IT’S SO MUCH TO THROW AT YOU WHEN YOU’RE ONLY LIKE A FIFTH OF THE WAY THROUGH THE BOOK.  AS IF ALL THE OTHER STUFF WASN’T SO MUCH ALREADY, NOW YOU HAVE THE SUNDERING OF THE ELVES AND THEY’RE SPLIT INTO MULTIPLE GROUPS WITH A BUNCH OF NEW NAMES TO THROW AT YOU. I love that it’s fairly easy to keep track of the original three groups of Elves--the Vanyar, the Noldor, and the Teleri--like, okay the Vanyar are the Teachers Pet Elves, the Noldor are the exciting ones because they’re going to make all the cool stuff and also have the really batshit ones, and the Teleri are the hippie ones who love to sit by the sea and sing and mostly their building is focused on boats.  (That’s going to be important later.) Then you’ve got the Avari, the ones who were like, “No thanks, we’re not leaving Middle-Earth, we’ll see you in about 3,000 years from now, bye.” Okay but now, once the Teleri get to Aman, they call themselves the Falmari, but these are specifically only the Teleri Elves that went to Aman. All of the above are a type of Elf called Calaquendi (or High Elves), basically any Elf who went to Aman and saw the light of the Two Trees.  They called any Elf who had not been to Aman, the Umanyar. And then the Calaquendi called the Umanyar + the Avari as Moriquendi, because they were all Elves who had not seen the light of the Two Trees. But then you have the Teleri that didn’t go to Aman (because Thingol was so busy in the woods lost in rapture staring at Melian, I don’t blame you, my dude, hard same) who wanted to go, who accepted the invitation, but lingered because they weren’t going to go without their king, and called themselves Eglath.  Eventually they decided to stay and were the Sindar. Then you’ve got the Teleri Elves that accepted the invitation but decided to not go any further once the main group got to the Misty Mountains and those were called the Nandor. The Silvan Elves came about from the Nandorin Elves, the ones who never got past the Misty Mountains.  Then you have the Laiquendi (Laegrim), the Nandor who later came further west and joined Thingol’s kingdom. AND I LOVE ALL OF THIS BECAUSE IT’S THROWN AT YOU WHILE YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHO ANY OF THESE PEOPLE ARE, YOU DON’T KNOW WHO INGWE OR FINWE OR ELWE ARE OR WHY YOU SHOULD CARE ABOUT THEM. IT’S JUST SO MUCH AND IT EXPECTS YOU TO READ THROUGH ALL THOSE NAMES AND TRY TO PARSE IT AND I LOVE IT BECAUSE YOU REALLY HAVE TO REREAD IT LIKE THREE TIMES BEFORE IT STARTS TO STICK, LIKE, YES, THIS IS THE IMPOSSIBLY HIGH LEARNING CURVE TO UNDERSTANDING TOLKIEN THAT I LOVE.

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Faramir, elf enthusiest: so, Legolas! I have some questions about elven culture if i can ask them!

Legolas, silvan (dark elf), has a vague idea of how the noldor/sindar (light elf) realms in middle earth function but not really that knowledgeable about it, which is presumably what faramir does know. Also, certified little shit: sure, lay it on me.

——————————————————————-

Idk, i hink it’s be funny if faramir was fanboying about being able to ask an actual elven prince about elven things, only for legolas to have like 5% knowledge of the elven realms under noldor/sindar rule, which is what faramir has learned about. And then deciding to mess with him anyway.

Don’t worry, legolas eventually tells the truth and offers faramir volumes worth of knowledge about the silvan and avari elves that have faramir vibrating with excitement.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Teleri

The two things about the Teleri that keep coming back in the account of the Great Journey are that they take time about their decisions, and they include a wide range of people with different desires, perspectives, and choices (whereas the Vanyar and Noldor and comparatively united around their kings in the early days, though all of them move slowly during the Great Journey).

From the start, they “were not wholly of a mind to pass from the dusk to the light of Valinor,” and they take varying paths. They love the Anduin, and a group of them go downriver with Lenwë, some to the area that would become Gondor in later ages. They love rivers, and “greater knowledge they had of living things, tree and herb, bird and beast, than all other elves,” - even more so than the ones that spent centuries living around Yavanna and Oromë, which is impressive.

Interestingly, the rest of the Teleri appear to cross the Misty Mountains and Eriador and the Blue without Oromë. Up until this point all three groups of elves have only travelled when he’s with them. But now Oromë’s gone back to Valinor to consult with the other Valar (as the Vanyar and Noldor have reached the Sea but fear it), so the Teleri appear to go on alone, “being urged on by Elwë Singollo.” It’s easy to extrapolate that Elwë and Lenwë were at opposite poles of Teleri opinion, Elwë being the most eager to return to Valinor (being the only one who had seen the trees) and Lenwë, “ever the hindmost on the road,” the most inclined to stay in Middle-earth.

But those who leave with Lenwë don’t appear to be a single political unit under his rule. Some stay in the Vale of Anduin (perhaps some live in what would later be Lothlórien?); some go down to the sea-mouths of what would be Gondor in later ages; and others go north from there into Eriador, including Denethor son of Lenwë. When wargs and other beasts of Morgoth become more common, Denethor leads them over the Blue Mountains to Ossiriand, having heard of Thingol’s kingdom. When Denethor is killed in the Fist Battle against the orcs, his people, the Laiquendi, do not take another king. The Silm attributes this to them mourning him; and that may be part of it, but from the description of their earlier scatterings, it seems like they choose a leader on occasions when there’s a major decision to be made (leaving the westward march, or entering Beleriand), and then disperse into a looser political form once the decision is made. Kinglessness seems to be their default state.

Likewise with those who intially follow Elwë into Ossiriand; when he disappears with Melian, there’s another split, with one group who “took Olwë, Elwë’s brother, to be their king,” - an interesting phrasing that suggests their kings, perhaps like those of the Nandor, are popularly selected. When they depart, there’s another split - between the Teleri who go with Olwë to to Valinor; the Eglath (later the Sindar) who have not given up looking for Elwë but are rather aggrieved at being left behind; and the Falathrim, whom Ossë convinces to remain living on the sea-coasts of Beleriand. Cirdan is lord of the latter group, but is not called a king.

And the Olwë’s people live long on Tol Eressëa before at last being taught boat-building by Ossë and coming to Valinor proper. But the decision is made slowly and gradually, and even after they come to Valinor and have the choice of seeing the Trees whenever they like, they prefer to stay on the coasts; they don’t come to the havest festival that Morgoth uses as his moment to destroy the Trees, because, getting most of their resources from the Sea, harvest-time is less salient to them.

So it is not surprising that the Darkening of Valinor would have comparatively less impact on the Teleri than on the other Eldar; the light of the Trees, while they like it, is not as essential to their lives.

And all this goes to show why Fëanor’s approach to recruiting them is so tone-deaf and so utterly unsuccessful. They make decisions gradually; Fëanor wants everything done immediately. They are relatively less politically centralized; Fëanor is leading his revolt based purely on force of personality. He’s trying to arouse resentment against the Valar when the Teleri have no such resentment. And it’s almost amusing, if you forget for a moment what comes after, to contast the high drama of Fëanor’s speech in Tirion with him giving the same speech to the Teleri and getting shrugs and some polite disagreement. And it stands out just how little of an effort Fëanor makes. Fingolfin’s and Finarfin’s people haven’t even caught up with him yet. The sensible next try would to be to see whether Finarfin and his kids could try to sway anyone with other arguments, such as the appeal of checking on Elwë and his people who are still in Middle-earth. I’m not even claiming this would necessarily have been successful (though if we go with the later Galadriel drafts you’ve already got one Teleri and one Noldo who want to go and are capable of building boats that can cross the Great Sea), but it was clearly the best thing to try next. Particularly since, as noted above, the Teleri don’t tend to decide all as one, and there might be some who are more inclined to that perspective than others. Instead, Fëanor insults them, pulls out the cultural chauvinism, and then decides to resort to violence.

And speaking of the cultural chauvinism, it is outright funny that Fëanor insults the Teleri as “fainthearted loiterers” for coming too slowly to Valinor, when his entire argument is that the elves shouldn’t have come at all. “You didn’t go along with this thing (that I think was a bad idea) quickly enough!” is just….peak Noldor. We may not make good decisions, but we make ‘em fast!

Olwë’s line “It may be the part of a friend to rebuke a friend’s folly,” is still, to me, one of the strongest lines in the Silmarillion, and one that some Noldor (*cough*Fingon*cough*) could benefit from thinking about a good deal more. And it’s necessary to recognize what it expresses - not just that the Teleri value the swanships and respect the Valar, but that they think the Noldor leaving is a bad idea and they’re not willing to enable them in pursuing a mistake: “They were indeed grueved at the going of their kinsfolk and long friends, but would rather dissuade them than aid them.” It also stands out that Olwë, unlike Fëanor, does try to take into account the cultural and emotional context of the people he’s talking to by describing the value of the swanships to the Teleri in a way the Noldor can identify with.

It’s hard to imagine or convey just how horrific the kinslaying must have been for Olwë. Even beyond the killing of his people and the theft of their ships, thus is being done by a people who you’ve considered close friends for centuries; this is being led by a family that’s married into your family; your own grandkids, even if they didn’t actively participate, are going along with this! The sense of betrayal is immeasurable.

[mimilind]

A History of the Elves

The elves were created by Eru Ilúvatar (God), and they were the fairest and wisest of his children. When they awakened on the young Arda (earth) and learned to speak, they called themselves the Quendi (speakers).

Later there was a war between the Valar (demigods) and the evil Vala Melkor (Morgoth), and afterwards the Vala Oromë decided to take the elves with him to Aman, a continent in the west where the Valar's realm Valinor was located. Oromë loved the elves, and it was he who named them the Eldar (people of the stars).

Some elves wished to stay in Middle-earth; those where called the Avari, and later Moriquendi (dark elves) because they never got to see the light of the Trees in Valinor.

Those who followed Oromë were three clans: the Vanyar, the Noldor and the Teleri. During the journey, Oromë's path was blocked by the Misty Mountains, and he went ahead to create a path through them. But when he finally returned, some of the Teleri had come to like the place so much they wanted to stay. Those were called the Nandor, and settled in Greenwood (which was renamed Mirkwood in the Third Age).

A few of he Nandor later went through the Misty Mountains after all, but settled right on the other side of it, those were called the Laiquendi (Green elves). Those who remained in Greenwood became known as the Silvan.

Now Oromë and the elves still following him had come into Beleriand, a country that lay west of the Misty Mountains and later got destroyed. Here they again lost some elves, for a Teleri leader disappeared into the forest of Doriath (his name was Elu Thingol and the reason was - of course - a pretty girl: the Maia Melian). Those who remained to wait for him settled in Doriath and became the Sindar (Grey elves).

Meanwhile, Oromë and the Vanyar and the Noldor went to the coast, where Ulmo, the Vala of the Seas awaited them and ferried them over the ocean to Aman. But the remaining Teleri (those who were not waiting for Thingol in Doriath) had been dragging their feet, probably talking to trees, singing etc., and so when they finally arrived, they found that Ulmo's ferry had already departed.

The Teleri waited for him, but when he returned to pick them up, part of them had fallen in love with the coast and decided to stay in Middle-earth after all. Those were called the Falathrim, and their leader was Círdan Shipwright. Those who went to Aman were called the Falmari. Both these Teleri branches became great ship builders, and it was because of the Falmari's ships, the Noldor later caused the first Kinslaying (with elves killing other elves) when they wanted to return to Middle-earth.

- - -

Just some research I did for my fanfiction and thought I might share. :)

[wonderwafles]

Secret Hope

My Tolkien Secret Santa gift for @avantegarda! I apologize, as this turned out to be a little bit, um, much longer than I anticipated - I hope that turns out to be a benefit rather than a drawback! I hope you like it!

News of Middle Earth only trickled in slowly, like a river gone dry. It had been that way since the end of the First Age and the War of Wrath, when Elves had come en masse from over the Sea to settle in Aman.

Nerdanel had watched them all, then, although she didn’t make it look like she was. She carved a relief of their return, of ships coming into Alqualondë, on a piece of ivory.

Since then, art historians had debated why there were no visible Elves in the work, only ships. Nerdanel had thought it obvious, and refused to answer any questions about the subject, on the rare occasions when some of them became bold enough to come to her little cottage in the hills.

In any case, the country around Nerdanel's cottage was still more often than not, and when it was disturbed, it was often her father, come to bring supplies and metals she'd requested. She visited Tirion only rarely, to meet with her family and little else.

This suited her. In quietude she did her best work.

Her pieces after the Flight were reserved, more realistic. She took up painting for a short while, but even as she grew to master it she could tell it was not her art.

It took her a while to find her way back to sculpting, though.

On that morning Nerdanel was woken by the sound of something far more annoying than birds - Elves.

Mahtan? she asked herself, because sometimes her father was very loud. Sometimes he would drop something - wood he was bringing, more often than not - and it would be unclear if his shouting or the sound of the log escaping down the hill was louder.

But no. This was far more than that, and far more than one Elf, in any case.

She went to her window and drew it open. As the light poured in, she became aware of the fact that she was not going to be going back to sleep.

The hills were alive, if only sleepily. The Elves walked, pranced, or otherwise migrated in groups no bigger than five. She would catch one or two at a time, sometimes mingling, most times keeping to themselves.

They looked happy. Mostly.

She pulled the curtain over her window and shrugged to herself. The only thing that mattered was that they left her alone.

She lay back down on the bed, despite her previous realization, and filled her head with thoughts of the day. Progress she could make on her sculpture, a letter she could send to Indis about visiting later that month.

None of this materialized as she continued to lay there. The faint sound of laughter carried over the fields and drifted, gently, through her window.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Dammit," she said. She was now curious.

…

Away to the north, before the gentle plains of Valinor gave way to the chill lands of Araman, there was a forest that had become the home of many Avari and Sindar who did not wish to relinquish their old way of life.

Yavanna had tended it since. In the ages since Nerdanel has lived here, the forest has grown from a smear on her horizon to loom over her house like one of the great dark walls of Beleriand's mightiest fortresses.

She traded with the forest Elves, sometimes, but for the most part, they liked to keep to themselves. 

Now, though, some of the Elves making their way through the fields where Sindar or even Avari. Sometimes they crossed paths with Noldor or Teleri, and talked like old friends.

Nerdanel had never seen anything like it. The grudges of the old days had long been buried, but she had thought the Elves of Middle Earth and the Elves of Aman would always have a divide between them. Born not of hostility, but merely time and culture and pain.

Perhaps -

She was moving before she realized it. The fields of golden flowers crumpled beneath her feet before springing up again in her wake.

The sound of laughter grew closer. A pair of Elves appeared in her vision, walking, talking, holding hands.

"Greetings," one of them said to her, her voice light. Her hair was golden. Were these Vanyar?

"Greetings," Nerdanel responded. Her tongue felt weird, her words heavy. She hadn't spoken to another soul in almost a month.

"Are you journeying to Alqualondë, too?" The other woman asked her. Her hair was fair to the point of almost being white, and her skin was dark. More Teleri than Vanyar, Nerdanel guessed.

"Journeying?" Nerdanel asked. She narrowed her eyes. "What's happening at Alqualondë?"

The two women looked at one another uncertainly, as if they had happened upon a simpleton. Nerdanel bristled with impatience and prepared to snap at them. But she held her tongue.

"Why," the blonde one said. "You haven't heard? The exiles are coming home."

Nerdanel shook her head. "The exiles came home a long time ago," she said.

"The rest are coming home," the Teler said. She grinned like nothing in the world could make her happier than saying those words. "The power of the Rings in Middle Earth is broken. Sauron has fallen. The Elves return."

The Rings? Nerdanel wondered. She had heard the stories, of course. The resurfacing of Sauron, and his deception of her grandson. Arafinwë and Indis had kept her as updated as possible, when they saw her.

More pain for my family. She shoved the thought out of her mind.

"Our cousins from across the sea," the Teleri said, which is when Nerdanel realized by her accent that she wasn't Teleri. She was a particularly tall Avari - even curiouser. “The rest of the Noldor. They’re coming back.”

Nerdanel wanted to say something, but it felt like she was frozen. Her tongue formed words, but none of them would come out. 

“The Noldor?” she managed, nonchalantly, she hoped. “All of them?”

The Vanya nodded. She seemed to squeeze the other woman's hand more tightly. "They say," she said conspiratorially, "that Artanis will be returning with them."

Arafinwë's daughter, she thought dimly. What did that make her? Her niece? Grand-niece?

Still, it was a sign that this woman knew even less than she did. Even Nerdanel knew that Artanis went by Galadriel now - although she was privileged by her acquaintance with Arafinwë, conversations with whom could not go by without news of his daughter in Middle Earth being mentioned at least once.

The Avari brightened. "Would you like to walk with us?" she asked. "For a while, at least."

Nerdanel was just about to ask. She was glad she didn't have to. 

…

Their pace was unhurried - they explained that the arrival of the ships was likely at least a month away. It would take a week to reach Alqualondë on foot, if they quickened their pace.

But, they explained, the point was that something of a festival had grown up around the port city, and Elves of all kinds had come to welcome their kindred home.

Nerdanel left a note for Mahtan, although she was sure word would reach him eventually. Besides that, she made no preparations, no ordering of her house. It would be here when she got back. None of it was as important as those ships.

They traveled night and day, making no distinction between when the sun was out and when the stars shone above them. They slept only when they felt like it. The days were warm without being blistering, and the nights were cool and temperate.

Nerdanel thinks she likes the nights best. The Eldar are the people of the stars, after all, and her father told her many stories of the Night in Middle Earth that came before day, when the darkness was fearless.

“Who are you expecting?” Nerdanel felt bold enough to ask one night. The two women - Wiryarë and Kinnlel - were curled around one another, beginning to settle down to sleep.

“I?” Wiryarë asked. “Not many. All of the Noldor I care for returned at the end of the War. Kinnlel, however…”

She nudged her wife. Kinnlel looked at Nerdanel, her expression not entirely comfortable, and Nerdanel began to wonder if she had overstepped.

“Many of my cousins remained on Middle Earth,” she said. “I was one of the few who left, an Age ago.”

When Elves left for Valinor without their family with them, that never boded well for their time on Middle Earth. Now Nerdanel was sure she was probing a wound that was not meant for her.

“Now I hope that they will come,” she said. “They loved the Earth, all of them. But I hope.”

They lapsed into silence. Wiryarë rubbed Kinnlel’s back and Nerdanel looked up at the sky and thought about a pool of water they had passed, that was probably a lake in wetter seasons. It was filled with stars as night fell. She resolved that, if she ever took up painting again, that lake would be first.

“What about you?” Kinnlel asked. “Who do you wait for?”

They had not asked her name. She would have given it if they had. None in Valinor bore her a grudge - besides Feänor, maybe, or more heartbreakingly, her sons.

She feared that far more than the judgment of strangers. But now she hesitated. She didn’t want to disturb the peace of this night. 

“My brother,” she lied. Lying came both easy and difficult to her, like coaxing a shape out of stone. The path was obvious, but incredibly easy to fall off of if your hand was not steady. “He settled in Lindon after the War, and then Rivendell, and has not been convinced to leave since. He was happy there, I think.” She paused. The words would not come anymore.

Her companions found that satisfactory. “Sleep well,” Wiryarë told her. “Tomorrow we will be meeting with some friends of ours.”

Her lie was immediately in jeopardy. She couldn’t help but find it funny, and though her new friends asked her what she was laughing at she couldn’t say.

…

“There!” Kinnlel said, pointing at the horizon.

Nerdanel squinted. Her eyesight was marginally worse than many of the other Elves, which her father never tired of attributing to her late nights working on sculpture. As if he were any better.

A figure rose a hand in greeting. The figure separated into two, which began making their way down the ridge.

This far east, Nerdanel could smell the sea. It wasn’t much longer now. She had been gone for nearly two weeks now, but she didn’t mind the delay. 

As the figures approached, Nerdanel frowned. 

“How do you know them, again?” she asked Kinnlel.

“Kinnlel!” the Man yelled, throwing his arms up. If she didn’t know him better, Nerdanel would have guessed he was angry with the other Elf.

“It’s good to see you again, Tuor,” Kinnlel said, throwing her arms around him. Idril smiled appraisingly at Wiryarë, before stopping on Nerdanel. Her smile deepened, and a new curiosity entered her eyes. 

She bowed slightly to Nerdanel, in a style meant for greeting a courtier or one of nobility. She didn’t say anything, however, and nobody seemed the wiser.

“How long has it been?” Tuor demanded of his foster-mother, a one-time comrade of Annael. “Really, I’ve forgotten.”

“That’s because you never visit.”

“I visit!”

“Sure. Once a century or so.” She pinched his cheek like a mother, although the immortal Man looked like he might have been twice her age, by the reckoning of both Men and Elves. When he smiled, though (which he did often), neither the wrinkles nor the beard made him look older than a young man, out on a marvellous adventure.

Nerdanel realized she had been distracted in studying him. It would be interesting to attempt a sculpture of him, she thought. She had tried to do so with Men before, only by the descriptions of the Elves from Beleriand, but had never been satisfied with the results.

“And this is our friend,” Wiryarë said, gesturing towards Nerdanel. She realized she had missed out on a good portion of the conversation. “She joined us not far from Tirion.”

“A pleasure,” Tuor said, and held out his hand in a Mannish greeting. Nerdanel knew enough to grasp it in return. His hand was strong and calloused, still, although he could have let it soften from life in Valinor.

“And this is my wife!” Tuor said, gesturing to Idril.

Idril raised an eyebrow at him. For a moment, Nerdanel had an absurd fear that she was going to break her cover.

“Most Elves know who I am, melmë,” she said. She smiled fondly at him. 

“Indeed,” Nerdanel said, finally returning Idril’s bow. “Lady Idril.” Idril stared back at her with barely disguised amusement.

They sat on the grass and ate some of the food Kinnlel and Wiryarë had made. Kinnlel had insisted that Tuor and Idril have some.

Honeyed bread, with brisket made from meat from Oromë’s hunting grounds. It amused Nerdanel considerably to see Kinnlel, an Avari of no notable blood, ply Idril Celebrindal with a second serving to “put meat on her bones”.

As night fell, Wiryarë asked the obvious question. “Will you be going to meet the ships?”

There was no need to explain what she meant. “We will be,” Tuor said. “I hear Elrond will be returning.”

That was a name which took Nerdanel a moment or two to remember. “In the meantime,” Idril continued, “we are heading to Elwing’s tower. We wish to visit her and pass the message on to our son.”

Nerdanel swallowed. She waited a few moments, until she was sure her voice would not betray her. “Will they come to meet the ships?”

“Likely not,” Tuor said. “Elwing may, but I think she would rather her son come to meet her in her tower.”

Idril and Tuor were silent. Nerdanel felt guilty for her few moments of relief at the news.

Still, it was not a topic she knew anything about or could speak of. She glanced away as the silence probed the edge of being awkward.

"So," Kinnlel said. "Are you coming with us, or what?"

"A fine idea!" Tuor boomed, seemingly himself again.

"Is that alright with you, Wiryarë?" Idril asked.

"For Eru's sake, Idril," Wiryarë said. "You're my friends too."

The little group laughed and embraced each other. Nerdanel sat on the grass and felt the wind in her hair and listened to laughter drift over the breeze.

…

Tuor and Idril wished to detour northwards, towards Elwing's tower, before proceeding to Alqualondë. 

Nerdanel had no objections to the delay, but a shiver ran down her spine at the idea of seeing Elwing again.

They had met only once, in Tirion, at her and her husband's formal reception in Valinor. Elwing was skinny, suspicious, and standoffish.

When Arafinwë introduced her as the mother of the Sons of Feänor (who had latterly, evidently, been given a capital letter to refer to them by), Nerdanel had not seen the need to feel any kind of shame.

Instead, she was oblivious to Eärendil and Elwing's stiffened features in her haste to speak to the returned ambassadors from Middle Earth. She asked how her sons were.

It was embarrassing, but no one blamed her and she was not going to blame herself. She only wished, in hindsight, that her meeting with them had gone better.

Especially as they drew closer to Elwing's tower now.

"Excuse me, friend," Idril said as they came closer. "May we speak?" She touched Nerdanel's arm.

It was noon. The group had been walking all night. Nerdanel liked that now, especially. The stars comforted her.

"Of course," Nerdanel said.

They wandered away, towards the beach. The sea's crash was especially violent today, Nerdanel thought. Perhaps Ossë was upset, as she was.

They walked in silence for some moments. Idril was a woman of few words at times.

"If you would rather remain behind," Idril said, eventually. "Nobody would blame you."

Nerdanel shook her head. "I have to meet with her eventually," she said. "Frankly I should have done so sooner. But I have been busy."

Idril shrugged. "It's your choice, of course."

"And I am not worried about her breaking my cover, of course," she said, finally throwing Idril a bone.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Idril said. "Any reason for secrecy?"

Nerdanel knew that Idril already guessed the answer. She did not bother pointing out that she had never lied about who she was, nor did she intend to.

"It would be impossible to say who I am and not have people guess why I am going to the Havens," she said. "Who I am hoping to see."

Idril shook her head. "That was thousands of years ago," she said.

"And yet to many Elves, all too recent," Nerdanel countered quickly.

"Maybe," Idril said. "Maybe to you as well."

"I wish it was too recent when the memory of my sons was fresh and untainted."

Idril sighed, but stayed next to Nerdanel. It was this which made her a good confidante - she did not miss a step when the stubbornness of a friend was an obstacle.

Eventually they came to the middle of the beach. They stopped, by unspoken consensus, and let the waves come and go before them.

Elwing's tower stood in the distance. They had walked further than Nerdanel had thought. She couldn't help but frame its shape in her mind. A template for a future sculpture.

"All I mean to say is, do not think you have to do anything you don't want to," Idril said. "Nor do you need to feel guilt for wanting to meet someone you love at the shore. Almost everyone in Aman feels the same."

When Nerdanel didn't respond, Idril pressed just a little further. "You remember Maeglin," she said.

"Of course." A quiet young quende who had only been released a century ago. He had since nearly vanished to live by himself, near Araman in the north. She knew of his history, of course - everyone did - but it was difficult to see it now.

“Ever since Aredhel was reembodied I have been close to her. I should say, once again close to her. When Maeglin came back… do you think I begrudged her for wanting to see her son again?”

Nerdanel cast her gaze down towards the sand. 

“Let it not be said that I forgive him,” Idril said, a small smile on her face. “But I don’t need to. Aredhel is entitled to her love, whatever else may come.”

She placed a hand on Nerdanel’s shoulder, and squeezed it slightly. “Think about it,” Idril said. “In the meantime, we’ll be with Elwing. You don’t have to join us if you don’t want to.”

As she walked away, Nerdanel thought about the first time she had met Idril, when she was just a girl, Nolofinwë's granddaughter. Nerdanel had known that she had grown much for ages now, but it still sometimes surprised her.

In the end, she sat on the beach until the others were done, watching the tower on the cliff. In her mind's eye, she was hewing it from stone, watching it take form before her.

…

In the end, Elwing didn't come. Tuor and Idril were disappointed, but not surprised. As they sat around the fire, Tuor said,

"I only wish I knew what bothered her. Maybe then I could help."

Idril quirked an eyebrow at Nerdanel, and all of a sudden she thought she understood.

"Time will tell," Kinnlel mouthed around a chunk of bread. "And we have time, here."

Tuor nodded, but didn't say anything. Nerdanel wondered if he, of all people, ever forgot that. That he had time, now.

…

They reached Alqualondë about a week after the festival had already begun.

Thor and Idril were greeted as royalty. Metaphorically speaking - Idril had no claim over the city of the Teleri, even had she wanted to exercise it.

Wiryarë, Kinnlel, and Nerdanel were welcomed on a more even footing. Kinnlel was grabbed by a handful of her Teleri cousins and Wiryarë made her excuses to speak to another Vanya who had been living here for some centuries.

Nerdanel was left on her own again, for the first time in weeks. She couldn't help but feel gratified.

She made her way through the streets. The sound of people celebrating, dancing, playing, laughing, didn't quite drown out the sea, lapping against the shore visible from the city limits. Around her, people talked in Telerin, which she was rusty in.

The sea, too, was full. Boats made their way to and from the elaborate, twisting docks, sails full-white and reflecting the brilliance of the sun. Ossë had evidently been tempered, and the sailing looked easy.

Nerdanel had never been tempted by boating before, but the Teleri made it look like pure freedom.

A young elleth came up to her, holding up a crown of flowers in her hands. Nerdanel took it hesitantly. 

"Hello," the girl said in Noldorin. "Are you enjoying the festival?"

Nerdanel placed the crown on her head. The girl in front of her reminded her strongly of Tyelkormo when he was young. The gifts of the wilderness, flowers, intricate leaves and so forth, added to the similarity.

“To be honest,” Nerdanel told her, “I find myself wanting for something to do.”

The girl nodded, as though she had heard this before. “Come and talk to Olwë,” she said. “He can give you that.”

The girl romped away, more crowns slung over her shoulder. Nerdanel stood at the docks for a while longer, staring out at the sea. She took the crown out and examined it.

Flowers from the gardens of Valmar. Common in festival crowns, they could only indicate strength and renewal. Strong, hardy flowers that grew by the ocean were woven into them. Some thought they were gifts from Ulmo, although flowers were not his suit, and others that they were brought over from Middle Earth on Tol Eresseä.

Either way, they were commonly associated with survival. Nothing grand or glorious, but the mere act of remaining standing after the storm has passed. Unsurprisingly, they became favored in the years after the Darkening.

She held in her hands a few moments more before turning towards Olwë’s palace, where the king and his sons still lived after the ages passed from the years of the Trees, and where his daughter still spent much of her time.

Eärwen happened not to be here today, and Nerdanel received no indication of where she - and the rest of the surviving Finweans - were. Instead, she was ushered through hallways of pearl and salt, brushed to the finest grain, to the point where she could hardly distinguish between the two.

One of Olwë’s sons did a double take upon seeing her. He greeted her with all the correct courtesy, but still couldn’t chase the surprise from his eyes.

“Um, hello,” he said, once the formalities were over. “It’s good to see you here.”

“It’s always good to see me,” Nerdanel said drily. “What makes here especially good?”

“The lighting, I would imagine,” he replied.

Nerdanel laughed. This one was sharp. It made her feel a little worse about not remembering his name.

Eventually she was placed into a smallish room, lit only by the glow of lamps made of seaglass. It was enough to lend the space a warm feeling. She didn’t mind being left behind as the other Elves went off to do more important tasks than guiding her around the place.

She did not have to wait long. The King’s entrance was something of an anticlimax. He veritably slumped in, looking beleaguered even in the low light, and took his seat as if by custom. A handful of courtiers followed him like gnats.

Still, he brightened when he saw her. “Nerdanel,” Olwë said warmly from his seat. It was a seat, not a throne, although it was still intricately designed, inlaid with patterns and waves that made it look like a swell of water, frozen in time and delicately shaped into something suitable for an Elf to sit on.

She stopped herself from being distracted by it this time. “King Olwë,” she said, and bowed.

“So, you would like to make yourself useful?” Olwë asked.

Nerdanel blinked. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess!” Olwë tilted his head back and laughed. Some of the courtiers around him joined in, although none of it seemed forced. Joy came freely in Alqualondë. “Your reputation precedes you, craftswoman.”

She grinned at him. “Then what would you have me do?”

…

The next few weeks were something of a blessing.

Nerdanel missed the road, sometimes. But she couldn’t deny it was difficult, not having something to work in her hands, making no progress on any of her projects. 

Olwë needed her for much. She wondered how they got on without her, truly, but she didn’t really mind.

She was in charge of the aesthetic space of the port - which vendors could be allowed to set up where, where visitors hoping to greet the arrivals could wait, where those pushed out by lack of space would be placed. She did something about the signs and placards that talked of coming home at last, as the Sindar, Silvan, and Avari had understandable qualms with it.

Many more Elves arrived from around the continent. Elves returning home was by now not a new phenomenon, but the fact that this was merely the first wave of all Elves in Middle Earth coming to Valinor brought them en masse. It was an administrative nightmare.

It was something like art. Through all her centuries Nerdanel had somehow never come across  urban planning as a hobby, but she thought she liked it. Herding people was not unlike coaxing a shape from stone, when you thought about it.

A shadow remained, however. Something that could not be assuaged by distraction, like razor wire tightening around her heart. The thought of the ships’ arrival only brought it tighter.

After the war ended, she had - not so much contented herself, but at least made herself accept the reality that she might never see her sons again.

Would Mandos release the six of her boys who had died over the sea? Would they languish like Feänor? So far, all she had been able to gather was that all of them were damaged by their time in Beleriand. None of them were ready to come back yet.

At first she had raged at this. She was convinced it was just a fable of Manwë’s, meant to explain why none of these problematic Elves could come back even after the banishment was lifted. She spread her theory to all who would listen, and knocked on the golden halls of Valmar more than once for an audience with Manwë.

This she was granted - through means of a very embarrassed looking Eonwë. The momentary awe of facing the King of Arda was averted, not that it would have deterred her, and she had demanded for her sons’ return.

The Maia met her with kind, but determined resistance, occasionally disappearing from some time and reappearing with new answers. It was not up to his master, he insisted. It was not even really up to Námo. It was up to her sons. And they were not ready.

As time wore on, she didn’t grow any more inclined to believe him. But she did stop asking for their release, and focused on her requests to be allowed to see them. There was more than one way to move a mountain. Patience would do for now.

The point was - if the care of Mandos couldn’t help her sons, then what hope did Makalaurë have, wandering Middle Earth by himself?

Sweet, gentle, musical Makalaurë. Her insides froze solid at the thought of what time had done to him.

The idea that he might not even be on any of the boats nearly stopped her heart. She focused on party planning instead.

…

The day came without much fanfare.

Nobody was quite sure when or how the ships would be coming. As time passed, Maiar would bring some word of how far out the ships were. The day was today, most presumed, although in seafaring nothing was certain.

A blue-robed Maia of Varda, who seemed to have a flair for the dramatic, came in the shape of a bird above the streets of the city. She landed in the midst of the port, making sure all eyes were drawn to her as she shed her old form and took on the aspect of an Elf.

“Ahem,” she said. “The first ships are no more than an hour away from docking.”

Cheers went up. Noldor, Vanyar, and Teleri crowded around her, straining to see the Maia, although all could hear her fine. Nerdanel felt her stomach lurch.

“Patience, friends!” the Maia said, lifting up her arms. “Please remember that the returning Exiles will be disoriented, and especially so for those who have never seen the shores of Aman. Be patient with them! They will need much help!”

Another cheer went up. This responsibility was lost in the midst of all the excitement, although Nerdanel felt it keenly.

The bird flew away, and something like a true festival descended upon Alqualondë. Nerdanel hadn’t seen its like since the days of the Trees, although in fairness, she had not been to many parties.

Elves intoxicated themselves on honey-wine and climbed the low-built homes and buildings of Alqualondë’s shore. They made music and sang shanties slightly too dirty for some of the children present and made each other happy. Lights burned on the shore like stars in the daylight.

What a thing to come home to. Nerdanel felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes, the first in a long time. She truly, truly hoped that her son could be there to see it. 

(Moreover, she tries not to think, that he won’t garner a much different reaction when the Teleri see his face in Alqualondë again.)

When the first specks of the ships appear over the horizon, Wiryarë and Kinnlel are at her side again, somehow. 

“There you are!” Kinnlel says, half-accusing.

“Here I am,” Nerdanel said, distracted.

Wiryarë followed her gaze. “It’s exciting,” she said. “I told you I have no kin on those ships. But some time here has changed my mind.” She spread her arm around. “Everyone here is my kin. Their loved ones are mine. I’m delighted as if I were their blood.”

“Don’t mind her,” Kinnlel said. “She’s had some mead. And burned something recreational, I think, although she won’t tell me what.”

“It’s still true!” Wiryarë insisted.

Kinnlel nuzzled her and laughed in agreement. Nerdanel smiled faintly at them. They were sweeter than her and Feänor had been, maybe, but she couldn’t help but remember the way they used to be. 

Finally, the ships skirted Tol Eresseä and brought themselves to port in Alqualondë (although, Nerdanel understood, they would be spending most of their time on the Island, like many of the Exiles that had already returned.)

The crowd around her vibrated in anticipation. Nerdanel blanked out the stark raving terror in her head and tried to feel excited.

The anchors fell, the ships opened their decks, and time was a bit of a blur to Nerdanel after that.

She was pretty sure Kinnlel’s family were some of the first to come out. It was odd, for an Avarin family, but it was also odd for Elves to be sundered in such a way. Either way, she was happy for her friend.

As Kinnlel introduced them to their daughter-in-law, Noldor emerged. Enough emptied from the ship that Nerdanel could be convinced that this was the last of the Noldor in Middle Earth. They made their way almost sheepishly into the city, perhaps deservedly anxious at their reception.

They needn’t have worried. All grudges had been laid to rest, all the pain between the Elven kindreds. The Teleri clasped them like returning friends.

Nerdanel was hopeful at the sight of it. Maybe -

Next to emerge was Artanis - Galadriel, now, and a queen in her own right.

If she was anything like the Artanis Nerdanel remembered, she would have trouble without a crown in Valinor. She quirked a smile at the thought.

Their eyes met over the crowd. Galadriel’s widened.

“Aunt Nerdanel?” she asked, like she was young again.

Nerdanel made her way up to the ship. She kissed her niece’s cheek in greeting. “The very same,” she said. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Galadriel said.

“Me neither.”

“I’m glad you’re here now. I have someone I’d like you to meet,” she said. “Though you’ll have to come below deck to do it.”

Nerdanel smiled faintly. “Well, alright,” she said, although her thoughts were already turning to Makalaurë.

Inside the ship there are only a few Elves. The sounds of the party outside drift in only faintly. A lantern burns in the corner, sealed in Elven-glass in a design unfamiliar to her. 

“This,” Galadriel said, gesturing towards a figure in the dark, “is Elrond. My son in law, the Half-Elven, they call him.”

The figure stood up straight, as though startled. It turned towards Nerdanel and stepped out into the light, and Nerdanel looked on Elwing and Eärendil’s son. The man her sons had orphaned in all but the most literal way.

The man looked young, never having quite succeeded in getting rid of his baby-face, but with the weight of many years upon him. It pained her to know where some of that weight must have come from. He bowed towards Nerdanel.

“Greetings,” he said. “I have heard much of you.”

“Well I haven’t!” chimed a voice from behind him. Nerdanel barely stopped from laughing aloud at the sight of the little creature that stepped out behind the Elf. 

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” the little - Man? - said, extending a hand like Tuor. 

Nerdanel shook it, allowing herself to giggle. “Nerdanel, at yours,” she said.

“That’s it? No titles, no ‘of the Wooded Glen’ or anything like that?”

“Oh,” Nerdanel said, “I have a title or two I could throw at you. But I fear we would just be wasting time.”

After she was fairly sure she had met everyone in the hold, including a shy, quiet little Hobbit named Frodo, Galadriel’s face turned serious. “I shan’t mince words,” she said, nodding at Elrond. “Aunt Nerdanel, you look upon your grandson.”

Nerdanel looked at Galadriel, then at the Hobbits, as though they could provide some answers. Bilbo just shrugged.

“After the attack on the Havens, all those years ago,” Elrond said, “My brother and I were brought up by Maedhros and Maglor.”

It took her a moment to remember the Sindarin names, the names her boys were known by through history. “Brought… up?” she asked. She had never heard this before. Had nobody told her? Was the news lost in the flood of information from Middle Earth after the return?

Of course she had heard that they had spared the Peredhel boys. But what then?

“I see,” she said, after a few moments.

Elrond shifted his feet. “I will always be the son of Eärendil and Elwing,” he said, although Nerdanel never doubted it. “But one can have more than one father.”

“I think that is wise,” Bilbo said, nodding.

“That is - that is…” Nerdanel stumbled over her own words for a few moments. “That is, good to know. Thank you for telling me. If that is what I can remember of my sons now, then you have given me a great gift.”

Elrond and Galadriel looked at one another. “How well can you keep a secret?” he asked Nerdanel.

“Oh, very well,” Galadriel answered for her. 

Elrond was silent for a few, heart-rending moments. Then, he nodded towards the shadows.

As it turns out, she hadn’t quite met everyone on the ship. Another stood, casting off a blanket that had been hanging loosely on him. In another life, long after this, Nerdanel would find his attempts to hide hysterical, but also couldn’t deny that it fooled her.

Makalaurë stepped into the hold of the ship and held his mother’s gaze. 

“I must say,” Bilbo was the first to speak, “he’s a nice fellow. I’m not sure what all the secrecy is about, but I like it. One last adventure.”

He coughed. “I should probably be going,” he said, reading the room. “People, places to see, whatnot. Come along, Frodo.”

The Hobbits left the hold, but not without first exchanging a smile with Makalaurë. Her son’s was gentle, hesitant, nervous, and he hardly took his eyes off of his mother.

“I-” He coughed, cutting himself off. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” Nerdanel said, her heart in her throat.

“You, um,” he continued, wringing his hands. They were scarred, rough with burn marks. Nerdanel longed to hold them, rub a salve on them as much good as it would do.

She stepped forward, almost without realizing it. Her son tensed as though she were about to attack him.

She embraced him, held him close, brought his head down into the crook of her neck even though it had been many years since he had been shorter than her.

“You’re home,” she said, overcome with the vastness of those words. “You’re home. You’re home.”

The concerns of his reception in Alqualondë, her worries about his acclimation, even the presence of Elrond and Galadriel in the ship faded to the side. None of it mattered now.

“I’m… home,” he said, testing those words, finding them to be true.

[elamarth-calmagol]

Some suggestions for elf skin color

I think a lot about the logic of elven skin color.  Elves were born before the sun existed, so it makes sense that they’d be pale, since sunlight is literally the only thing that leads to different skin tones.  But we don’t want all our elves to be pale, do we?  It’s boring and racist.  And the sun eventually rose, so do we have a lot of sunburned elves?  The problem is, there aren’t enough generations, especially generations after the sun, to evolve different skin tones.

There actually aren’t enough generations of Men to do that, either: Men have been around for roughly 7,000 years by the War of the Ring, whereas in the real world, homo sapiens have been around for an estimated 200,000 years.  That’s easily excused by saying that Men awoke in several places (similar to a theory that used to be believed by scientists, though I think it was falling out of favor by Tolkien’s day) and Eru created them to have the right skin color for the place they live.  It’s a bit more complicated when everyone awoke in the same place like elves.  They did wake up in different groups, though, at least according to the one story about Cuivienen we have.  (I’ve mentioned in the past that I think that’s a myth, but it probably has some basis in truth.)

Anyway, here are a few ideas I have for elvish skin color (and other racial characteristics).

1. The easiest one: forget science and just choose whatever colors you want for your characters.

2. Different races within the elves have different appearances.  Keep in mind that the Avari are made up of both proto-Noldor and proto-Teleri, so they’d be mixed.

3. The different groups of elves who first woke at Cuivienen each were a different race.  So the Vanyar (consisting of one group) were mostly all alike, whereas the Noldor and Teleri had two groups each, so they each have two different races mixed up within them.  This and #2 suggest their society would probably be racist in a similar way to ours.

4. Everyone is dark skinned because that was the first human skin color and they haven’t had enough generations to evolve anything else.

5. Everyone is light skinned because they were developed for a world without light.

6. The elves at Cuivenen had random skin colors, because there was no evolution to demand one or another.  So there are all sorts of what we’d consider mixed-race elves, and skin color doesn’t have any sort of cultural significance to it.

7. The rising of the sun triggered skin color genes within elves to express themselves, and within a couple of years, everyone had changed to darker skin tones, even though they’d previously all looked alike.  The implications would be interesting.  Would they not care because there’s no pattern to it?  Or would they prefer people who had lighter skin because they looked more like everyone used to look?

8. The genes were only triggered in the generation born after the sun rose.  If you have really pale skin, everyone knows you’re old.  That could either be good (old people are respected) or bad (you’re not adapted to the sun and burn all the time).

9. Their skin changes significantly due to sun exposure, especially considering how long they live.  It’s not like us getting tans or freckles: they can go from very light skin to brown skin if they’re out in the sun.  (I think there’s canonical evidence for elves having changes to their skin if they’re exposed to sunlight, because Tolkien specifically mentions Galadriel and Arwen having white arms.  This was commonly used to show that a lady was high class, because she didn’t have to work in the sun and could choose to use a parasol or something when she did go out.  So presumably he’s signaling that they’re nobility by saying that, which means they must tan or something?  Anyway, if the changes are big, this would matter more.)

10. Evolution happens with the cells in their body rather than on a species level, so if cells with more melanin survive better, the elf turns dark skinned over hundreds or thousands of years, whereas if they’re not getting enough vitamin D, they turn lighter again.

11. This only affects where the light touches, so they have really, really noticeable farmer’s tans.

12. Their skin is determined by how much sun exposure they get in their first few years.  People living in the woods (e.g. Maeglin, who is canonically pale) have lighter skin than people living on the coast.

13. Their genetics are triggered by how much sun their parents got just before they were born.

14. Lamarckian evolution is true for elves, so if a parent tans, their child gets that skin tone rather than the parent’s original skin tone.  A lot of elves are born freckled or sunburn red.

15. Elvish evolution goes at warp speed compared to ours, with noticeable evolutionary differences between a parent and a child.  This could relate to non-racial traits, too.

16. Laurelin’s light counts as sunlight, so the Noldor exiles have much darker skin than the Sindar they come across.

17. Laurelin’s light does not count as sunlight, and in fact, elves interact with sunlight in a very different way than Men because of their history with the Trees.  They don’t need sunlight for vitamin D (likely true, otherwise all pre-sun elves were vitamin deficient), and they also don’t get burned by it, so skin tone doesn’t matter and is either completely random or somewhere in the middle.

18. Since they have to create babies with a conscious use of their fea, elves have designer babies, where they get to influence things like height and what color their skin and hair is.  A child’s appearance is based on their parents’ aesthetic choices.  I don’t even know where to start with the cultural implications of this one.

19. Elves can change their skin color over time to whatever works best for them, because they have conscious control over their bodies.

20. The differences in elves’ skin is imperceptible to mortal eyes, and they don’t understand why we think they all look alike when OBVIOUSLY he has stripes and she has patches and so on.

21. If you really want to go off canon, you can have some wild things, like elves’ skin matching the colors of the things around them, so wood-elves have green skin and Noldor have gold or gemstone-colored skin and the Falathrim have stormy gray skin.

22. Or elves just have green or gold or gray skin, nobody’s stopping you.

23. Or they’re like octopuses or chameleons, changing skin color to blend in or communicate.

24. Elves don’t have skin, they have exoskeletons.  Or environmental suits that cover their skin 100% of the time.  Or something else sci-fi.  (There are plenty of possible explanations here for their glowing eyes, too.)

25. I don’t know, you fill this one in.